Call of the White (12 page)

In many respects cross-country skiing is a lot easier to learn than downhill skiing as it is basically walking (the motion is a bit like sliding along a polished floor in socks) but the skis do take some getting used to and require balance, particularly when going up or down slopes. Despite the difficulties and the fact that, for many, this was their first time on skis, the candidates did extremely well. The concentration and determination was clear on their faces and although there were tumbles there wasn't nearly as much falling over as I had expected. However, Kim, in particular, found it tough. Her spectacular dreadlocks were already caked in snow from her numerous tumbles and her woolly hat clung precariously to the top of her head, threatening to fall off with every fall. ‘My legs won't do what I want them to!' she complained. As I commiserated with her, Barbara fell heavily right next to me. I helped her up and had to laugh as she sighed in resignation. ‘I thought there would be some kind of instant thing where the skis and snow move together as soon as you put them on,' she admitted. ‘But it's not like that. I've got to be in control.' She nodded grimly in agreement with her own statement and pushed off into another glide, landing in a heap a few metres away.

We kept the first ski session short but returned to it throughout the day, alternating lectures inside with increasing periods of time outside. Gradually, the girls learnt to wear fewer clothes as they went outside, even when the wind was blowing snow horizontally through the air, and it was great to see the periods between falls getting longer. By our third day on the Hardangervidda the trainers were able to lead small groups on their skis on short routes around the hut, skiing up nearby hills and finding long slopes to practise on.

That afternoon the sky closed in again and as the air filled with blowing snow our world gradually shrank until we could barely see the accommodation block from the hut. The candidates needed to learn how to pitch the expedition tents and there was no better time to learn than in the middle of a Norwegian blizzard. The tents were a make and model that I had used on all my previous expeditions, and we planned to take the same tents to Antarctica. They were four-man tunnel tents with four poles that could be left
in situ
when the tent was packed away. They were well thought out in design, with a large enclosed compartment inside for sleeping and big areas at the front and back that could be used for cooking or storage.

In Antarctica these tents would be our only shelter, making them a vital lifeline. Without them we wouldn't last very long in the harsh conditions and would risk injury or death from exposure. The ability to get them up quickly was critical: it would be too cold in Antarctica to stand around in discussion and often the noise of the wind, combined with layers of face-covering, would make it difficult to communicate anyway – so developing a tent routine beforehand was important to make sure everyone on the team worked simultaneously and as efficiently as possible. Jo had been in my team that crossed Greenland and so together we demonstrated our tent routine to the candidates. The girls watched carefully before splitting into groups of four to try pitching the tents for themselves. All the trainers were on hand to help as the group struggled in the growing wind but they were determined to get it right, particularly as they all knew that tonight they would be sleeping outside in the tents for the first time.

As darkness fell and the wind continued, the temperature dropped noticeably and the thermometer outside the hut fell to
–
27ºC. All through dinner the girls were quieter than normal, nervous about the night ahead in the tents. We had prepared them with a lecture about keeping warm at night, sharing tricks that the trainers had learnt through experience as well as warnings about mistakes we had all learnt to avoid the hard way. Armed with sugary snacks, hot water bottles, head torches and warm hats, they reluctantly took the plunge after dinner, leaving the hut in small groups to face their sleeping bags, which were already laid out in the tents.

With all the candidates outside it was a quiet evening in the hut and a good chance to plan the next few days. I wanted to take them on a mini-expedition away from the hut so that they could get the feel of what a real expedition might be like. I spread out a map of the local area and took a good look with Jim and Peter. Each evening we wanted to camp near the road, just in case we had problems, but during the day we would send the candidates deeper into the Hardangervidda around the local valleys and hilltops. Each trainer would be in charge of a group of three or four women, so that the groups could ski separately, even though we would all follow the same route. The girls would also take turns to haul a sledge that would contain everything their little group would need for the three days, including fuel, food, sleeping bags and tent. The sledge wouldn't weigh very much but skiing while dragging a sledge can be tricky (I'd been run over by my own sledge enough times to know) and considering that the candidates had only been skiing for two days, it would be challenging enough. In the tents, the girls would be using liquid-fuel stoves, as we would in Antarctica. We had practised outside with the stoves until everyone was confident with them but any mistake when using the stoves inside the tents could be costly – I had seen how quickly tents could burn. I was uncomfortable with it, but I had to let the women try for themselves. They would all need to be competent with stoves in Antarctica and so it would be silly not to trust them with the stoves now.

I stayed up late in the little office at the back of the hut to catch up on the publicity work that needed to be done. Media in each of the eight countries were following the progress of the candidates, eager to know how they were doing. I was tired but it felt good to spend some time alone. The office with its single light hanging in the window felt cosy and Sarah had magically produced a chocolate pudding which she had left for me on the desk. I tucked in with a big spoon in between bursts of writing on the expedition blog. I'd asked all the girls to write about their impressions of each day and I transcribed some of their writing onto the website. ‘It felt like I was kayaking,' wrote Lina from Singapore about her first day on skis. ‘Although the snow was blowing relentlessly into my face when I was skiing, once you focus and get that rhythm going, you just shut everything off, it felt so free.'

The website was receiving well over 22,000 hits a day and it was incredible to think that so many people were following our progress. It wasn't long before the Norwegian media also showed an interest. As the group prepared to leave on our mini-expedition the next day, a film crew from the Norwegian national network TV 2 arrived, as well as reporters from two local newspapers. Having spent a successful night in the tents the candidates were all eager to try an expedition for real. Sledges were packed and well strapped, candidates stood ready on skis or made short practice runs up and down in front of the hut; we were ready to move out. With each trainer leading their small group we set off north from the hut, one group at a time. We soon met our first obstacle: a long but gentle downward slope. The slope was no more serious than others the candidates had trained on but in their haste to get going, plus the added pressure of the cameras and the new challenge of being attached to a sledge for the first time, there was carnage. Within minutes bodies and upturned sledges littered the slope. Candidates floundered in the deep snow to get back on their skis; others had collided and now struggled to disentangle limbs and skis. I winced as I glanced at the film crew busily filming the disaster. Too late I realised that I should have asked them to come back another day. The candidates didn't mind though: they were so busy laughing at their undignified falls that they were oblivious to the cameras. No one had been hurt and once the group had tumbled to the bottom of the hill everyone picked themselves up and carried on.

It was a gloomy day with a strong wind blowing clouds of snow along the surface, encrusting everything in ice and limiting our views. The groups drifted away from each other until they were just hazy figures in the distance, all moving in the same direction. Each group, under the direction of their trainer, stopped regularly for breaks, ensuring that no one had overheated while skiing or got too cold while they stopped. Progress was naturally slow and it took us three hours to reach our planned campground just 4 kilometres from the hut. The weather had deteriorated during the afternoon so that the girls struggled to get the tents up as the wind tugged at the material and cold wet snow slapped into their faces. They were grateful to finally get inside, get the stoves on and cook some dinner.

The next morning I took a walk around camp as the girls were finishing up their breakfast and getting ready to set off. I met Athina from Cyprus walking back from the camp's makeshift loo dug into the snow. ‘If someone had asked me a week ago if I would be doing something like this, I'd have said, “Are you nuts?”' she laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. Subzero living was a completely new experience for Athina. Half the time she wore an expression midway between terror and awe, while the rest of the time she literally beamed with the excitement of it all. This wasn't Athina's world but I could see that she was proud of herself for seeing it through and not giving up.

I ducked my head into one of the tents and spoke to Aparna from India. She was full of stories from the night. ‘When I woke up my nose was against the tent wall with the snow right outside!' she laughed. ‘I thought I'd lost my nose as it was freezing cold! But it's fine,' she added with a shrug. I was only in the tent a few minutes but it was long enough to notice that Aparna didn't seem to be helping much as her team busied themselves around her. I decided to ski with her team that day so that I would have a chance to see what was going on.

We were the last group to move out. As Stephanie from Cyprus and Aniza from Brunei led off, with Aparna and me following a little way behind, the other groups were strung along the route ahead of us, already quite a way ahead. Aparna took the first turn at pulling the sledge and chatted happily as I skied alongside her. ‘The sledge is not a problem,' she confided. ‘I am happy that this is my strength; this is the way I can contribute to the team because I am not so good at all that other stuff.' She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of our recently vacated camp.

‘Working out strengths and weaknesses is important,' I agreed. ‘But I don't think you can limit yourself to just one role, you need to pitch in wherever. For example, say you have someone in the team who is so confident with the stoves that everyone leaves that job to them. Imagine if that person gets injured and the others need to light the stoves but they've forgotten how to do it. You can have a specialism but you still need to be able to do everything else if you need to.'

We skied in silence for a few minutes as we both thought it over. ‘I am very strong-willed,' Aparna replied eventually. ‘This is often a blessing but now it makes things difficult for me here. But I will listen. I will try, Felicity.'

The insight and the honesty of her answer took me by surprise. It reminded me of why I liked her so much and I hoped that my comments, while necessary, hadn't offended her. We skied under a blue sky streaked with wispy clouds, the sunlight radiating from every surface so that it sparkled. Gentle slopes gradually rose on either side of us, creating a wide valley with overhanging rocks encrusted in ice and huge boulders topped with thick hats of fresh snow. The valley ended abruptly at a steep drop so that we could look down into a huge bowl that flattened out and stretched for miles. We could see the other groups making their way across the landscape, now so far away that they were just tiny multi-coloured dots. Since leaving the camp I had tried to close the gap between our group of stragglers and the other teams but our progress had been slow thanks to numerous stops to adjust clothing or to secure the sledges. I tried to impose a routine of stopping only once every 40 minutes – but five minutes later we were halted once again by an urgent ski-binding adjustment. I repeated my lecture. ‘I know it's hard but we need to reduce the stops. If something is wrong, don't stop immediately to sort it out if you can wait instead until our next break. We only need to keep going for 40 minutes at a time. If you plan ahead so that you are wearing the right clothing, there shouldn't be any need to stop between breaks.'

Aparna was the worst culprit, having stopped half a dozen times to remove and then replace layers of clothing. Despite our frank conversation earlier she snapped at me testily, ‘But what should I do? You say I cannot sweat, so I need to change my clothes. I cannot do that and ski.' I tried to explain about thinking ahead at each break, to wear less at the start so that she wouldn't sweat but it made little difference and we continued to stop as and when she felt the need. I got firm with the trio, refusing to allow them to stop between breaks and making them adjust clothing while on the move. Aparna fell over in the process and glared at me from the ground as if to say, ‘See what you have done?' but I refused to relent. This was a skill anyone wanting to go to Antarctica would need to be willing to master.

As we made our way across the bowl the sky filled with smooth, globular clouds, turning the snow a uniform grey and making it hard to pick out any features. The wind started to chase streams of powder snow across the surface and I helped the women cover their faces to protect their skin from the cold. We started to climb a gentle slope at the far side of the bowl, imperceptibly gaining height until suddenly a view opened up behind us, revealing how far we'd come. We met some of the other groups having a break on the broad summit of the hill and followed them on the soft descent. Stephanie had taken over pulling the sledge and valiantly brought it down the hill, repeatedly picking herself up after every fall. The sun reappeared to pick out the ripples in the snow with a golden yellow light before sinking once again into the now pastel-pink mass of cloud. The snow that had been running past our feet occasionally rose into squalls, floating across the landscape like ghostly spectres.