Call of the White (14 page)

I had been worried about breaking the news to Aparna but she was actually extremely gracious, so much so that I wondered if she had already known in her heart that she wouldn't be selected. She brushed aside the rejection and chatted instead about all the things she had enjoyed. I found myself feeling very sorry that we would be saying goodbye to Aparna; she had been a very good sport.

Reena was emotional about her selection but more so as I explained gently how close she had come to leaving with Aparna. She was genuinely mortified that we thought she wasn't contributing enough to the group and that we had concerns about her fitness. She listened intently as I suggested several areas she needed to work on. ‘I will work really hard, Felicity,' she reassured me. ‘I will not let you down and you will all be proud of me, I promise you.' As she left I felt a wave of guilt. It wasn't my intention to make her feel bad but I also needed all the team members to be realistic and to know what they needed to do. I could just give them all big hugs and tell them they were brilliant but it wouldn't help us in the end. They
were
brilliant but we also had a long way to go before we were ready to take on Antarctica.

With the last interview done I walked slowly over to the hut where all the candidates were now gathered. It was a strange atmosphere inside. There were lots of tears but there was excitement, too. Lina remained noticeably apart from the group, unwilling to talk to anyone, while Alecia and Athina, still in tears, were receiving plenty of hugs. Everyone seemed very supportive of everyone else but still I was pleased that we had arranged for the Land Rover to transport the seven that were leaving pretty much immediately in order to catch the next train to Oslo. Those that were staying needed time to celebrate without feeling guilty and I needed to concentrate on consolidating the new team. There were endless rounds of goodbyes and more tears before finally everyone who was leaving was in the Land Rover.

My new team stood in the snow outside the hut waving at the Land Rover until we couldn't see it any more. We stood subdued for a moment and I knew I had to say something. I pulled the group together, our heads bent forward as if in a rugby huddle. ‘This has been a really tough day but now we need to look forward. Take a good look around you at these faces because these are the faces you will be skiing to the South Pole with. This is your team now and whether it succeeds or fails is up to us.' I could feel the excitement radiating outward from the beaming smiles. The girls looked around at each other. This was it. This was my team: Era (24), a civil servant from Brunei; Steph (26), an IT worker from Cyprus; Barbara (29), a journalist from Ghana; Reena (38), a trekking guide from India; Kim (30), a political adviser from Jamaica; Charmaine (36), a military doctor from New Zealand; Sophia (36), a mother of three from Singapore; myself (31), representing the UK and our reserve, Helen (43), an outdoor activity instructor from Derbyshire.

The Ninth Team Member

Walking into Westminster Abbey, shivers worked their way down my spine and I felt euphoric. Organ music echoed from the walls and my eyes swept upwards, past the flags and flowers, to the webs of stone and glass high above. Imposing and majestic, the abbey radiated stately ceremony and my skin tingled as I thought of the weight of ages that surrounded us. I walked behind my new team, each of them transformed in their national outfits: Barbara looked stunning in her figure-hugging Ghanaian dress, the colourful woven material falling to the floor; Reena had wrapped herself in a magnificent crimson and gold sari that floated behind her as she walked; while Era was pink and floral in a silk headscarf, carefully pinned to tightly frame her face.

We'd been invited to Westminster Abbey in central London to attend the Commonwealth Day celebrations and to be presented to the Queen at a reception later that day in Marlborough House, the headquarters of the Commonwealth Secretariat. It had been
hard work and a tough wrangle to get all seven women from the training in Norway to London (including a last-minute interview at the British Consulate in Norway to get Barbara a visa), but watching the faces of the team as we waited in a small anteroom at Marlborough House for the Queen to arrive, I was sure that all the trouble had been worth it. The women waited in an expectant hush, all eyes on the open doorway. The Queen arrived, accompanied by the Duke of Edinburgh, and shook hands with each member of the team. The Duke listened as we explained our plans before giving his judgement. ‘You're all mad,' he announced, before moving on to the next guest waiting in line beside us.

As the women flew home, it was clear that we would need to meet again as a team before we travelled to Antarctica. I decided to arrange another training meet for September, which would be a few months before our planned departure for Antarctica. It seemed to make sense that we should head for New Zealand because Charmaine was confident that she would be able to use her military connections there to help us – and it was one of the few places we could find snow at that time of year. Apart from myself, Charmaine was by far the most experienced member of the team. I liked her enormously and I hoped that she would play a second-in-command role within the team, someone that I could confide in about team issues and could trust to back me up when tricky decisions had to be made. I usually spoke to the team, as a whole, as I would speak to the least experienced among them and I was worried that, because of this, Charmaine might feel undervalued, so I made a point of speaking to her before we left Norway to encourage her input. ‘It's really reassuring to have you on the team and I hope that you know a lot of what I say to the team is intended for others. I have no intention of teaching you to suck eggs.'

Charmaine laughed before becoming serious, ‘If ever you need a sounding board, someone to talk to, I'm happy to listen.' I appreciated her offer and was secretly relieved that she had taken on the responsibility of arranging the New Zealand training. It meant that I was able to concentrate on getting the rest of the team fit in time.

The team had left Norway under no illusion about how much effort they needed to put into their fitness training in preparation for Antarctica. Training for a polar expedition can be counter-intuitive in many ways; it is more about increasing stamina and endurance rather than general cardiovascular fitness. I spent a morning with the team putting a training plan together. We split the training into three main areas. The first was strength, using resistance training with weights to build up key muscle areas. The second was interval training, increasing cardiovascular fitness through short bursts of energy. The third, and most important, was endurance training through low impact exercise over increasing lengths of time. The team made reams of notes and once they got home it was great to see the email chatter flying back and forth as they started to put what they had learned into practice. I was relieved that they were taking it seriously and pleased that each of them quickly found a suitable trainer to help them put together a specific programme. Barbara continued to work with the terrifying Prince Agbemble in Ghana who had got her in shape for Norway. He ran a gym ominously called the Body Snatcher Boot Camp and insisted on being called ‘The General' during training sessions. In Jamaica, Kim had been offered support from the Jamaica Defence Force in the form of her very own officer who would help her with some motivating endurance training. Era in Brunei had teamed up with the wonderfully named Dr Danish of the Sport and Research Centre at the National Gym. In addition, she was keen to do as much expedition-specific training as she could. You often see polar adventurers training by pulling car tyres around to simulate pulling a sledge but Era went one better: she took the wheel off an old wheelbarrow and pulled it along the sandy beaches of Brunei to almost exactly mimic pulling a sledge on snow. Sophia was also training with a sledge. Under the guidance of Dr Ben Tan, head of Changi Sports Medicine Centre in Singapore, Sophia was pulling a sledge full of weights around what looked – judging from the pictures she posted on the expedition website – like a disused car park. Sophia religiously recorded the results of each training session on our team website and within a few months was training with terrifying weights, hauling 180 kilograms (at least three times her body weight) in her makeshift sledge. I started to get worried that she was overdoing it. ‘There is no need for you to be pulling more than 100 kilograms,' I wrote, ‘as we won't be pulling this kind of weight on the expedition. You really can't risk injuring yourself. This would be the biggest disaster of all.'

Reena had perhaps the best training ground. Returning from Norway her work took her back into the Himalaya where she spent day after day trekking at high altitude with heavy loads. This was great for endurance but she still needed to get into a gym to increase her strength and cardiovascular fitness. A dull morning in my office was brightened by an email from Reena describing her first ever visit to a gym. Whereas most people are ready with at least a dozen different reasons why they never go near a gym if they can help it, Reena had an almost evangelical conversion. ‘It was like going to a disco with the loud music and all the beautiful people,' she enthused.

With training programmes and support in place I was confident that the team would be prepared physically for Antarctica and that after our training meet in New Zealand they would also have the skills. Financially, on the other hand, our prospects were dismal. Antarctica is possibly the most expensive place to reach on the planet. Flying anywhere in Antarctica isn't simply a matter of buying a ticket for a seat on a flight; it involves hiring the whole plane, complete with crew, and buying the fuel to go in the tanks. We needed over $400,000 just to cover our flights and essential rescue cover. It was a daunting amount of money to find.

In India Reena had succeeded in making an appointment to see a senior minister who had access to sport funding. She arrived expecting to meet the minister but was instead given a ticket and asked to wait along with dozens of other petitioners. When it was finally her turn, Reena was shown into a room where she assumed she would meet the minister in person but in fact found only a phone on a desk. The minister's PA was on the line. Reena told him about the expedition and later related the conversation to me. ‘He was very enthusiastic and was sure the minister could provide some funding and he said that only a small commission would be necessary.'

‘Commission?' I repeated suspiciously.

‘Yes. In India, if you want a national award, you pay a commission and you get it.'

It took me a moment to realise that we were talking about bribery. Despite Reena insisting that ‘commissions' were inevitable in India, I was adamant that we would find another way.

Meanwhile, Era in Brunei had finally received the precious letter from the Ministry of Culture, Youth and Sport giving her permission to raise funds for the expedition but – as if the financial crisis wasn't enough of a handicap – now the world was gripped by the H1N1 virus scare. Some 66 people in Brunei had fallen ill, and the authorities responded by stopping all gatherings including sporting events and fundraisers. Era's planned sports tournament fundraisers would be cancelled on both counts. Even worse, no one was sure how long the ban on public gatherings would last.

Kim in Jamaica had decided to hold another fundraiser called Frozen. After the disastrous Cold Front event in which Kim had actually lost money, I was cautious as she talked through her plans but she assured me that this time it was going to be a success. I wasn't convinced but it was clear that she wasn't going to change her mind.

In order to secure aircraft support for the expedition we had to pay the logistics company, Antarctic Logistics and Expeditions (ALE), by a deadline that was fast approaching. We planned to depart for Antarctica in November and it was already August when I received a promising call from Sophia. A distributor of computer software in Singapore had mentioned that his parent company, Kaspersky Lab, were looking for interesting projects to sponsor. Kaspersky Lab is an Internet security firm led by Eugene Kaspersky, an expert pioneer in anti-virus software. It is now the largest privately owned company in the world and trades all over the globe, from the Americas to Japan. Our contact worked within Kaspersky Lab Asia. With India, Singapore, Brunei and New Zealand all falling within their sales region and represented on the expedition team, we had a lot to offer them in return for financial support.

Within a week of submitting a sponsorship proposal I received a call from a woman called Suk Ling in Malaysia. As she explained that she was the director of South East Asia for Kaspersky Lab I could feel my heart starting to thud in my chest. The fact that someone so senior had personally called the expedition indicated that they were taking our proposal seriously and I realised that this could be the most critical phone call of the entire project. This was my chance to sell the expedition, to make sure that Suk Ling would report back that we were the ideal venture for Kaspersky Lab. My heart thumped louder as she explained that Kaspersky Lab was only interested in being an exclusive title sponsor. I felt the pressure of the hopes and dreams of eight women, my team, all hanging on my performance at that very moment. This was it, every word had to count. We talked about departure dates and logistics, media coverage and our planned training in New Zealand. Suk Ling asked if the team could travel to Singapore for a press conference (I agreed immediately, visas permitting). As the questions became more detailed my hopes rose even higher. Suk Ling asked me to prepare payment schedules and draft contracts for her and finally we spoke about the name. Could the expedition be renamed to include Kaspersky Lab in the title? I agreed immediately and we played around with some options on the phone, such as the Kaspersky Lab Commonwealth Expedition or the Kaspersky Lab Women's Antarctic Expedition. After an hour or so Suk Ling seemed satisfied that she had the information she needed. ‘We will revert to you the final decision by this Friday,' she promised.

I put down the phone and pressed my hands onto on the table. My heart was still thumping and I was so full of excitement that I wanted to leap around the room, to yell from the rooftops but no, not yet: until I had a signature on a contract I would not allow myself to believe it was real. The conversation with Suk Ling had been so positive and so specific that it was almost impossible to think that Kaspersky Lab would decline to be our sponsor but still, I had been to the brink of sponsorship with other companies and other expeditions in the past, only to be let down way past the last minute. I could not, and would not, let myself get caught out like that again.

Waiting for the decision from Kaspersky Lab, I sat in my office hardly daring to breathe. I tried to get on with other work but ended up literally staring at my computer screen waiting for a response to arrive. As the week passed I received several emails from Suk Ling to clarify minor details. Replying to each email was agony. I felt as if each of my replies was a potential deal-breaker, as if one misplaced word, one badly phrased sentiment could ruin everything. This had been our best lead and it was also our last chance. The probability of getting this close to full sponsorship again before our payment deadline in a fortnight was less than zero. Everything depended on securing sponsorship from Kaspersky Lab.

Friday arrived and I was nearly sick with anxiety when I opened up my mailbox to find an email from Suk Ling. It said simply, ‘Great news. My management has approved the sponsorship.'

I wrote to the girls immediately. I could imagine the yelps and sighs of relief around the world as one by one the girls opened the email and replied – each with more imaginative use of exclamation marks than the last.

‘YIPPPEEEEE!!!!!! Finally, I can breathe a little easier now!' wrote Sophia.

‘Absolutely UNBELIEVABLE news!!!!!!!!!!!!!' emailed Steph.

‘WOW WOW WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!' typed Reena, ‘I am so happy!!!'

‘All right, now I know my Lord God is faithful to his children! Our tears, sweat, hard work and perseverance will not be in vain,' wrote Barbara to the team. She added, ‘Present status: being kicked out of Internet cafe for uncontrollable screaming!'

True to form, it was a few days later before Kim picked up the email, ‘I am still jumping around,' she said. ‘Have to digest it.'

Once the celebrations were over there wasn't a lot of time to dwell on our triumph. In three weeks' time we were all due to meet in New Zealand. Charmaine had taken the lead on the arrangements but hadn't provided many details. As much as I trusted her to do a good job, I needed to know where we would be staying and what kit she had managed to source locally. I was surprised at her lack of communication; it was almost as if she was deliberately keeping me in the dark. I sensed trouble but consigned the problem to my subconscious to mull over. Barbara was a more pressing priority. For the past month I had been nagging her daily about her visa for New Zealand in an attempt to avoid a repeat of the fiasco before Norway but communication was scarce. She avoided talking to me on Skype and her emails were vague. I started to recognise the signs: something was wrong. Sure enough, three weeks before our departure I received an email from Barbara informing me that she wouldn't be coming to New Zealand.