Helen and Kylie arrived a little behind the others but were soon joining in the celebrations, pushing aside goggles and masks to grin at each other with ice-wet faces and snow-dusted hair. We gathered together by the depot, resting our team camera on a ski to take a group photograph. Looking at that photograph now you can see the glee radiating from our faces. It wasn’t just the fact that we were looking forward to a long rest; the fact that we had reached the resupply (and a day earlier than expected at that) was a huge source of pride. Having skied over 200 nautical miles we weren’t yet quite halfway to the South Pole but somehow it felt as if, by reaching this point in our journey, we had proved ourselves worthy of being here in Antarctica at all. So many people had expressed so many doubts, that reaching our resupply felt like a vindication.
Still grinning with elation, we pulled our sledges a short distance from the flagged depot and fell into our normal tent routine. The wind was no more than a cooling breath and the sun warmed our backs through our jackets as we worked. I caught sight of the splotchy forms of the Thiel Mountains away to our west and couldn’t help pausing to run my eyes over their crooked faces. We’d first spotted them the day before and they had accompanied us ever since like benevolent guardians, shady forms making tooth-like indentations in the line between snow and sky. Rising no more than a thumb’s width above the horizon, they appeared to hover just a little above the ground, sometimes floating over their own reflections so that they formed distorted diamond shapes sharpening to points resting on the snow. The near-permanent mirage made it difficult to ever get a true sense of what we were looking at. It was already difficult to pin down size and scale in this vast featureless plain but now even the light was unreliable, twisting and morphing to change the form of whatever we looked at so that nothing was ever still, nothing ever definite. It added to the surreal nature of our monochrome world, always more dream than substance.
As much as we were looking forward to slumping in our sleeping bags for the longest sleep of our lives, I was keen to get organised before we relaxed. Our first job was to strip our equipment and sledges of every scrap of rubbish, uneaten rations and unwanted or unused kit that we didn’t want to carry for the second half of the expedition. Everything we planned to leave behind was collected together in an empty resupply bag. We would leave it at the depot to be collected by plane later in the season. As the girls dispersed to sort through their sledges I was shocked when Era produced more than 10 kilograms of uneaten day bags. ‘I’m sorry Felicity,’ Era apologised. Her eyes were lowered as she spoke and she looked sheepish. ‘I do try but I just can’t eat that much food in a day.’
‘I know it’s hard Era, but if your body doesn’t get all this nutrition now you will suffer later on.’
‘But I feel fine,’ she began to argue. I cut her off, ‘You might feel fine now but it’s a gradual effect. By the time you actually feel low on energy it will be too late to do anything about it. You have to replenish your energy every day.’
‘I know, I know,’ she replied impatiently. She had heard the same lecture a hundred times – a fact which made it even more infuriating that she continued to ignore the advice. ‘I will try harder,’ she promised. I couldn’t be too hard on Era as most team members had struggled to a greater or lesser extent to finish all our daily rations – even I had a kilogram of uneaten peanuts in my sledge that I hadn’t managed to eat – but Era was the smallest, physically, in the team and I worried that she was the most likely to suffer from exhaustion if she didn’t eat a proper intake of protein, carbohydrate and fat.
Steph, dressed in her thermal tights and elf-like booties, was the first to delve into the resupply bags. Her head totally disappeared within the cavernous bags so that her bum was stuck high into the air; she looked like an ardent sale shopper looking for a bargain. She eventually emerged, brandishing aloft a well-sealed waterproof bag in the air above her head like a trophy. ‘Oh my God. Clean underwear,’ she exclaimed, her voice wavering with excitement.
She delivered the various bags to their respective owners in the tents and I could hear the squeals of delight and exclaims of relief as they were gratefully received. It was our first change of clothes in three weeks. ‘I can smell detergent,’ I heard Reena enthuse as she ripped open her bag of undies. ‘Mmm, it’s like fresh flowers.’ The fact that the smell of newly washed clothes seemed to hang in the air inside the tents for the rest of the evening is an indication of just how dirty we were. In the resupply we also found the modest treats we had packed for ourselves: a party pack of cheesy nachos, a block of cheddar and a fruit cake.
After eating exactly the same food, every day, for 15 days, the thought of something different to eat was as mouth-watering as the finest delicacy. We gathered together in one tent to gorge ourselves on the treats, as well as the choicest bits from Era’s excess rations. While squeezed together, munching and laughing, we rang Patriot Hills for our daily call and triumphantly announced our arrival at the resupply. ‘Well done, girls!’ congratulated the operator. ‘You’ve done really, really well. Everyone here is very proud of you!’ The praise made seven already grinning faces beam even more.
The operator handed the satellite telephone to the doctor who was standing by to check on our medical condition. Helen asked to speak to him and as she started describing the difficulties she’d been having with her blisters I could hear her voice begin to crack with emotion at the memory of the pain she’d endured while skiing. Suddenly Helen let the satellite phone fall from her hand and covered her face as she broke into a loud sob. I passed the telephone to Era and pulled Helen towards me into a hug. I felt her body shake as she cried quietly and I hoped she was releasing some of the frustration she felt at the condition of her feet. When Helen recovered, she decided, after a long consultation with the doctor, that the blisters on her feet were infected and that she should take antibiotics. I disagreed with the diagnosis. Helen’s toes were the pink of newly formed skin rather than the red of infection but I couldn’t see what harm it would do to have Helen take antibiotics if she wanted to and so said nothing. I had no idea what a mistake this would turn out to be.
The satellite phone was passed around the tent as one team member after another gave a detailed account of their aches and pains. Listening to the report given by the women, it sounded as if we were all on the brink of hospitalisation. A sore muscle was described as a ‘sprain’, an aching hip as a ‘strain’ – neither of which was strictly true.
‘There seem to be quite a few concerns,’ the doctor warned me at the end of the call. ‘I know you’ve been making great progress but you might want to think about slowing the pace and taking some more rest days. Remember you don’t have to ski. It’s OK to walk.’
I was grateful for the doctor’s advice but also resented his insinuation that I was pushing the team too hard. I spent my whole day pondering the fitness of the team and the options available to us from walking rather than skiing (which so far hadn’t been practical due to the soft snow), to having a rest day, to the redistribution of weight in our sledges, to stopping early, to starting late. Despite the bleak picture the team had painted of their condition to the doctor the reality was that they were actually in great shape considering the distance we had covered. All the injuries were minor, only one or two women were taking painkillers regularly and we were still moving well. To expect to be without any injury whatsoever after skiing more than 300 kilometres was simply unrealistic. The phone call made me realise that I had to make sure the team understood how well they were doing. If they began to think we were a hobbling bunch of invalids this would affect their confidence and fragile morale.
Later that evening I noticed Kylie standing apart from the tent looking absently at the mountains. The hood of her down jacket was pulled tight around her face to keep her ears warm but her tightly plaited pigtails still protruded from either side of her jaw, the ends dusted with snow. She smiled as I approached and we both watched the silver reflection of the sun th
at smeared the tops of the mountains. ‘I hobbled into camp, literally hobbled,’ she said.
I made a sympathetic noise but was confused. I had watched Kylie ski the last few hundred yards to the depot and although she had been slow, she hadn’t been limping – but it was unlike Kylie to exaggerate. She seemed generally subdued and I wondered if there was something else on her mind. ‘Is everything OK?’ I asked tentatively. ‘In the tent, I mean.’
Kylie looked at her feet which were smoothing rounds into the snow and hesitated before replying. I could tell that she was fighting her natural instinct to say nothing. She didn’t want to complain or make a fuss. She looked up and I could see tears in her eyes. ‘Helen is an awesome lady but if she isn’t talking, she’s snoring.’ I saw her look at me to judge my reaction. Both Kylie and Helen had made pointed comments about each other to me repeatedly since we had left Punta. They were never overtly critical of each other but it was clear that their relationship was tense.
I put my hand on her shoulder in sympathy and I could see the relief in her body language as she continued. I listened as she let go of the irritations that had been building over the last few weeks. ‘From the moment we wake up we’re hearing about her blisters and although I’m really sympathetic – it must be awful – I just wish we could talk about something else sometimes. There’s just no escape.’ Her eyes searched the horizon as if looking for the right words. ‘I’m sorry Felicity, I’m just feeling a bit sorry for myself.’
I smiled at her and put my arm round her shoulders. ‘That’s OK. It’s allowed.’ I knew that Kylie was not being malicious. This was not a clash of personality, just the result of living so closely with one another for so long. ‘Kylie, I can mix around the tent groups. I’ll say that it was always in the plan to move everyone around at this stage so that no one will ever know that you have said anything but in the mix I’ll make sure that you and Helen are in different tents.’
Before I had finished Kylie was already shaking her head, ‘No, I’ve realised that my challenge on this expedition is not physical, it’s mental. For me it won’t be the skiing or the distance or the cold that will be the struggle, it will be this.’ I didn’t entirely understand her reasoning and emphasised how easy it would be to make a reshuffle of the groups seem completely natural but she was adamant, ‘This is my test,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fine.’
I considered taking an executive decision and reshuffling the groups anyway, regardless of Kylie’s protestations, but I hesitated. Reshuffling the groups would cause disruption to the systems and routines that were now working so efficiently and to switch everyone around would take time and organisation. In the other tent, Era, Sophia and Steph worked really well together and we enjoyed each other’s company. I knew how much I myself relied on their camaraderie to keep me going each day and felt disappointed for Kylie that she wasn’t having the same experience.
I opened my eyes the next morning but didn’t move. Silently I watched the gloves, goggles and watches hung on the washing line above me dance in the gentle vibration of the tent caused by the low wind outside. Pulling my sleeping bag closer under my chin I luxuriated in the warmth and the knowledge that I could stay like this for as long as I wanted today; it was our rest day. My last instruction to the team the night before had been to sleep as deeply and for as long as possible. I let myself float in and out of consciousness, ignoring the gentle nagging in my bladder. By now our bodies had become so attuned to our normal routine that we were not to be allowed a completely uninterrupted lie-in. I heard Sophia ease herself out of her sleeping bag, slip on some boots and disappear outside. Era soon followed suit. I heard them both return and hung on for as long as possible before giving in myself and blearily tripping out of the tent. The abrasive cold of the breeze searing across my cheeks soon banished any sluggishness as I blinked in the intense sunshine. For a moment the landscape was obliterated in the concentrated light like an overexposed photograph. Despite my reluctance, it felt good to be up. Today I could enjoy the miracle of our surroundings without the pressing need to pack up the tent and rush towards the horizon. Today, I didn’t even need to look at my watch. Today, I could take my time.
Back in the tent Steph still lay motionless in her sleeping bag while Sophia sat in her habitual cross-legged position at the far end of the tent. Bent over the kitchen area, she quietly lit stoves and put water on to boil for breakfast. Sophia was so efficient in her role looking after the stoves that I often worried that we took advantage of her but on the few occasions I asked if she wanted to swap roles for the day she looked horrified. ‘No, this is my relaxation. I sit and listen to everyone else talking and am happy doing my jobs. Compared to looking after the kids at home, this is a holiday!’ she laughed.
Today, Era sat close to Sophia and whispered conspiratorially as she sorted through the ration bags. Holding up three bags of instant noodles in wordless triumph, she grinned at me in excitement across the tent. It was clear that Era and Sophia were planning to treat themselves to noodles for breakfast rather than the normal porridge. No fan of porridge myself, I joined them. As we munched our Asian-style breakfast in companionable silence I took out our communal notebook and looked at my mileage calculations scribbled in pencil onto the back pages. So far we had done exceedingly well, meeting or beating our daily targets so that we had arrived at the resupply with a whole day to spare. We now had 300 nautical miles to cover to reach the South Pole and were expected to arrive on New Year’s Day in 25 days’ time. Using the mileage we had covered on a daily basis over the last two weeks as a guide I began to set daily targets for the rest of our journey, taking into account the fact that our sledges would get lighter as we progressed but also that we would be getting slowly more tired as time went on.
Polar travel is a war of attrition. Each day you spend in the polar environment your body will weaken just a little. You can slow the process by looking after yourself but nothing can entirely eliminate the gradual deterioration. While I favoured the slow and steady approach in order to conserve our energy and stamina for as long as possible, I was also mindful that the longer we spent out on the ice, the weaker we would get. I didn’t want to rush but neither did I want to drag out our journey for longer than was necessary. I estimated that, even allowing for the team slowing due to tiredness and injury, we could cover the remaining distance in just 22 days. I allowed ourselves a rest day which we would take whenever the weather was too bad to travel or, if we hadn’t needed it beforehand, to take on Christmas Day.
I explained my calculations to the whole team as we sat around in the sun-warmed tent later that morning. As the others munched absently on cheesy nachos, propped up against the tent walls with pillows made from sleeping bags, they gave their verdict. Sophia looked serious but shrugged as she spoke as if to indicate her compliance with whatever we decided as a group. ‘I am a conservative person so my instinct is that we should cover as many miles as we can now while we are strong so that we have lots of miles in the bank. We don’t know what will happen in the future.’
Era nodded enthusiastically as Sophia spoke. Having wanted to go faster since the very beginning it was no surprise that she favoured the flat-out strategy. Brandishing a pencil she outlined her own calculations. ‘If we do sixteen nautical miles every day and go without a rest day we can be at the pole in just nineteen days.’ She grinned at the rest of the team as their mouths fell open. I think even Era knew that her calculations were recklessly ambitious.
Helen was quick to give the opposite view. She still felt that we should set a slower pace. ‘Some people go a lot faster than others. My feet were ruined on that last leg when Felicity went speeding off,’ she said.
I felt a flash of offence at her unexpected criticism. I waited until she had finished her comments before I replied, choosing my words carefully and trying hard to keep the annoyance out of my voice. ‘Helen, your feet were ruined long before you arrived in Antarctica. I want to be clear that nothing that has happened on
this expedition has been the cause of the condition of your feet.’
I resented the insinuation that I was responsible for the condition of Helen’s feet. ‘I’m aware that pace is becoming a contentious issue,’ I continued, addressing the team through the assorted gloves, hats and goggles hung in the centre of the tent. ‘We’ve each got to remind ourselves that a lot of this is all in our heads. It often feels like someone is leading a fast pace on a particular leg and yet it was actually the slowest of the day. I make sure on a daily basis that no one goes outrageously slow or outrageously fast – that’s my job. At the moment the slowest leg is around 2.6 nautical miles and the fastest ever was 3.1 nautical miles – that is not a huge difference. In fact, looking at our progress, we have been incredibly steady and our consistency is something we can be proud of – believe me.’ I looked around at the team. Helen nodded in agreement but I wondered if she had really taken on board what I had said. Some looked down at their boots absently picking at threads or studied the faces around them. I decided this was a good time to broach the issue of morale that had worried me the day before. ‘Guys, please don’t lose sight of how well we are doing,’ I continued. ‘I know that most of you have some kind of niggling injury but considering how far we have skied, we are in rude health. I packed enough ibuprofen and paracetamol for every team member to be on maximum painkillers by this point. We’ve not even touched the stronger stuff and we haven’t needed to unpack the painkillers from the resupply. We are doing a lot better than expected – you should be really proud of that.’ The mood lifted a little in the tent and there were a few smiles but it was clear that the crux of the problem lay with Kylie, Helen and Reena. If I didn’t address their dip in morale, it was going to spread to the rest of the team.
Call of the White Page 23