Call of the White (16 page)

The day, generally, was pretty miserable. Confined to the valley our only option was to ski back and forth along a 2-kilometre stretch of lonely ski trail that snaked alongside a partially frozen river. The surroundings were extremely pretty but after the first half dozen repetitions it got a little boring. The sky that had been leaden since morning started producing sheets of soggy sleet that soaked through our clothing and equipment. Polar environments are usually very dry, so polar equipment is aimed at keeping out the cold rather than the wet. As a result, a downpour can be the most miserable experience possible. We pressed on through the sleet and I cheered myself with the thought that in many respects this was the best training we could have. It was monotonous, as Antarctica would be, and there was little opportunity to talk to each other. The team quickly felt cold, miserable and dejected – just as they were likely to do in Antarctica. The training became a preparation of mind as well as body in a way that I couldn't have designed in advance.

I secretly hoped that we would be able to make the journey to the South Pole unsupported, meaning that we would set off with everything in our sledges that we would need for the entire journey. To do this, I estimated that the team would each need to be able to pull around 80 kilograms in their sledge. If we couldn't manage this, I would have to arrange for a resupply to be placed by aircraft on the ice at a designated point about halfway through our journey. In order to gain a clear idea of how much weight each member of the team could realistically expect to haul in their sledge, we gradually increased our loads throughout the day. We used bags of snow as well as equipment to increase the weight in each sledge to 80 kilograms. We even used Rob (who had accompanied us to New Zealand to take pictures) as ballast, dragging him around the trails in a sledge like royalty. We had two slightly smaller sledges which were strung together, one behind the other, so that the weight was a total of 80 kilograms. Kim opted to tow the contraption but the ‘articulated sledge' became a particular burden. As the team glided around a descending corner of the trail I glanced behind to see Kim, near the back of the line, lose a sledge over the edge of the bank. The weight of the sledge falling towards the river below dragged her backwards until she was left gripping hold of the side of the trail with both sledges dangling from the harness around her waist. She cried out in alarm, halfway between a scream and a shout. Steph was first to reach Kim but was unable to stop her own sledge disappearing over the same bank. Both were finally man-handled back onto the trail and lay on the snow for a moment, out of breath but laughing at their ridiculous predicament.

At the end of a full ten-hour day I asked everyone to write on a slip of paper whether they felt they could manage to haul a similarly laden sledge all the way to the South Pole, bearing in mind that we had only tried it for a day – we would need to repeat the same effort every day for around forty days. The slips were anonymous to encourage honesty but in reality I couldn't help but recognise the handwriting as I read them later that evening. Era, the smallest member of our team, had written just one word: ‘Easy.' Others weren't so sure, quite rightly doubtful that they could possibly imagine what it would be like to pull such a load for so many days – even if it did get lighter each day as we used the food and fuel. The team seemed strong but I knew the toll that repeated exertion takes on the body; how hard it is to strap on a harness when every muscle aches; how every jolt seems to add a few kilograms to the weight of your sledge. I thought of Steve Jones, my contact at ALE. I have known Steve for a number of years and greatly value his advice, which has been amassed from leading dozens of polar expeditions himself. His guidance had been that leading novices to the South Pole, 5-foot-tall novices from tropical countries at that, was challenging enough without demanding that they be unsupported as well. I could see his point and yet I couldn't help toying with the temptation of allowing the team to really show what they could do.

On the last night of our mini-expedition we camped close to the ski lodge in preparation for our early departure the next morning. During the evening I took the opportunity to talk to Helen, Reena, Kim and Charmaine individually about the dynamics I had seen within their tent. I had sensed tension between Helen and Charmaine, overhearing the strain in their voices as they spoke to each other. ‘Everything has to be done Charmaine's way,' Helen told me. ‘She's very protective of her own personal space in the tent. There's not a lot of teamwork.'

Reena, on the other hand, expressed surprise at my concern. ‘Charmaine is really helping Kim. We are all very happy,' she said. I had been really impressed with Reena over the week. She had clearly taken everything we had said in Norway on board and had arrived in New Zealand looking fit and strong. Never one to be conspicuously in the centre of things, she had nevertheless taken on an important role within the team. She was incredibly giving, saw nothing but the good in people, and was always ready with well-timed praise or encouragement. I came to see Reena as the quiet but steadfast heart of the team, radiating enough goodwill to bind the rest of the group together. The one downside to Reena's constantly positive attitude was that I wasn't sure if she would tell me if there were problems, so it was hard to ascertain whether Kim and Charmaine's close friendship was making her feel excluded or not. Despite Reena's comments to the contrary, I couldn't ignore what I had seen in the tent.

I spoke to Kim and congratulated her on her progress; she really had worked hard to be self-disciplined. There were still problems but watching her performance in New Zealand my confidence grew that, with the support of the rest of the team, she would make it to the South Pole. Without mentioning names, I gently warned Kim about the dangers of relying too much on one person and suggested that an overly close relationship within the team might make others feel excluded. ‘I hadn't thought of it like that before,' she said. ‘I would hate to be making anyone else feel bad.' She went back to the tent looking thoughtful.

Later I caught up with Charmaine. It was pitch-black and we both stood looking up at the stars that glimmered in a perfectly clear sky. I had made a conscious effort to open up to her over the last few days, sharing my thoughts about the logistical issues that lay ahead and seeking her opinion on decisions that had to be made. I genuinely liked Charmaine a great deal and so it wasn't difficult to chat and share a joke with her as we skied, but there was still evident tension between us. Whether intentionally or not, in front of the team she was often openly disapproving of my actions and decisions in a way that was almost patronising and ultimately infuriating. I could see that the rest of the team had noticed the rift and while some swept it aside, others (as I had feared) found it unsettling. I mentioned my worries about Kim's growing dependence. Charmaine wasn't anxious. ‘I think it's just that Kim needs reassurance. This week has given her a lot of confidence so I think she'll be fine on the ice.' She was more concerned about Helen. ‘She's not very open to new ways of doing things,' she said.

Changing the subject slightly, I reiterated what I had said at the beginning of the week, ‘Charmaine, I know you don't always agree with the way I do things but we need to work closely together because the team are going to need that reassurance in Antarctica.'

‘Well, I hope you know you can rely on me,' she replied. I smiled in thanks but as we went back to watching the stars in silence, I wondered: when it came to it, would Charmaine work with me, or against me?

At the end of the New Zealand training not everyone was able to continue onto Singapore for the scheduled meeting with Kaspersky Lab. Reena, Steph, Era, Sophia and I nervously made our way to the hotel where we would meet our title sponsors for the first time. Suk Ling was an impeccably elegant woman who greeted us all like old friends, but the stack of folders and notebooks that she carried with her everywhere hinted at the relentless taskmaster we would come to know. She introduced us to her team and finally to her boss, Harry, the man who had given the critical final approval to the expedition's sponsorship. Harry was extremely influential. As well as being managing director of Kaspersky Lab Asia and a member of the board of directors, he had a reputation as a marketing genius. Given such an intimidating CV, it was a surprise to find him an extremely relaxed character. He said very little and smiled a lot but it was clear that Harry was a very astute and exacting businessman, and I was determined that the expedition would exceed his expectations in terms of a return on his investment in us.

Suk Ling had arranged a press conference at the National Geographic Store in Singapore to launch Kaspersky Lab's sponsorship of the expedition. We arrived at the store to find it had been transformed into a representation of the South Pole. In front of a large screen displaying an Antarctic scene was a tiered stage covered in polystyrene snow, crowned with a replica of the barber's pole and silver sphere that mark the real South Pole. We were to sit on the stage with Harry in front of an audience of journalists and would be interviewed by a presenter posing as a famous polar explorer. (There was some discussion about whether the presenter should be Robert Falcon Scott or Roald Amundsen. Although Amundsen was the first person to reach the South Pole, Scott of the Antarctic was considered more famous. When asked my opinion I pointed out that Scott had actually died, along with his men, during his expedition to the South Pole, which might not be the best omen for the expedition. It was decided to go with Amundsen.)

Finally, the journalists began to arrive and the five of us representing the team took our places on stage with Harry. As the presenter, dressed up in a polar jacket borrowed from the store, introduced himself as Roald Amundsen I wondered how many journalists in the audience would leave the event under the false impression they had seen the real Roald Amundsen. (Judging by the write-ups afterward, quite a few.)

After the event, Suk Ling seemed pleased with the coverage but was troubled that the subject of money had dominated the question and answer session. I make a point of never talking about exact figures with journalists and had asked the team to do the same. Inevitably numbers would get misreported or old information recycled and it could lead to all sorts of misunderstandings; so saying nothing precise about budgets and funding seemed the safest option. However, the difficulty came when we were asked if we had all the money we needed. The truthful answer was no. The money from Kaspersky Lab would cover logistical costs but we still needed equipment. Kaspersky Lab was our exclusive title sponsor, so we couldn't look for other sponsors to cover these additional expenses. Instead we hoped to raise money through fundraising events or to persuade suppliers to donate the equipment to the expedition. This troubled Suk Ling and she took Harry to one side to discuss it with him. I couldn't be precise about why, but the situation worried me. I felt vaguely anxious.

That afternoon we had another press conference, this time in the form of a video conference call to four countries at once: Malaysia, the Philippines, Hong Kong and Taiwan. There were a lot of journalists and a lot of interest but again, the subject of money dominated the interviews. Harry answered all the financial questions but Suk Ling looked uncomfortable. After the press conference, the team were asked to wait outside while Harry and Suk Ling spoke with each other. We were called back into the office and, although I couldn't see that we had done anything wrong, I prepared to defend myself and the expedition. I was in for a surprise. ‘Kaspersky Lab really admire your adventure and you adventurous ladies. We have put a lot of money into the expedition but we really want to see you and your team succeed – we want you to think of us as your ninth team member. But for us, because it is such a big investment, we don't want to share that with any other companies. That is why we want to be your exclusive sponsors.' I nodded and smiled enthusiastically. Suk Ling continued, ‘It's not good for us that you are still looking for money.' There was a pause. I looked at Harry who sat quietly, looking at the space in front of him. ‘That is why,' she continued, ‘Harry has decided to cover the rest of your expenses.' All eyes fell on Harry in astonished silence. ‘Harry will give you another fifty thousand dollars, even if it has to come out of his own pocket.'

I knew I should say something but I didn't know where to start. My eyes stung with tears at the overwhelming relief and as the news sunk in, I felt the financial stress that I had been carrying for the last year slide from my shoulders. It was, quite literally, a dream come true. All our money worries had quite unexpectedly disappeared. Harry was our unexpected knight in shining armour. Steph was the first to react, whooping with joy and rushing across the room to hug Harry. The rest of us followed and Harry laughed, clearly astonished that he had caused such joy. Harry and the Kaspersky Lab team had to leave shortly afterwards. We said our goodbyes and watched them leave before slumping into the cool leather sofas in reception. No one said anything for a long minute. Reena hesitantly broke the silence, ‘So, does that mean that we don't need any more money?'

‘We have everything we need,' I replied. ‘We're going to Antarctica.'

The Exam

The meeting with Kaspersky Lab in Singapore had been more successful than I could have hoped but with the sponsorship came a lot of responsibility. Returning to the UK in mid September there were just six weeks until the team departed. I was soon receiving at least a dozen emails a day from the Kaspersky Lab team and it became obvious that they expected results – fast. Not only did I have to arrange the rebranding of clothing and equipment but there was now urgent need for a new branded expedition website; departure and return events to be organised; a detailed media plan to be put in place and press releases to be written for all eight countries. The Kaspersky Lab team also had to be brought up to speed on every aspect of the expedition, particularly the details of our expected arrival at the South Pole. I threw myself willingly into the work – this was, after all, what sponsorship was all about – but it was overwhelming. Suk Ling had a team of five or six people working on the expedition at Kaspersky Lab but there was only one me to answer all their queries and requests; I was soon swamped.

Feeling my stress levels reaching new heights I relished a well-timed excuse to escape for a few days. I had been commissioned by a UK magazine to write about some walking routes in the north-east of England, and I couldn't afford to pass up the work. I set out early into the mountains, as the blue-tinged haze of morning was still clearing from the valleys, and weaved upwards towards the rounded summits of the Cheviot Hills through a spectacular rock-lined gorge, scrambling along boulder-lined streams and secluded waterfalls. It was invigorating to be striding alone across the high moors on a perfect autumn day. Feeling the sun warm my back as I climbed, luxuriating in the silence and the isolation, my mind mulled over the problems I had left at home. I was surprised that out of all the issues and difficulties faced by the expedition, there was one situation that caused me more worry and angst than all the others. It wasn't the sponsorship or the logistics; it wasn't the crevasses or the cold; it was Charmaine.

The concerns I'd had in New Zealand refused to go away. The bottom line was that she didn't agree with the way I was running the expedition and I suspected that she thought she could do a better job. Her frustration seemed to be vented, consciously or not, by being increasingly awkward. In just the previous week Charmaine had informed me that she would arrive a week late at our departure point for Antarctica and had complained about several critical arrangements. I had visions of making tough decisions on the ice, only to have my actions questioned by Charmaine. The last thing I wanted was to have to deal with a confrontation in the middle of a crisis. I remembered Robert Swan's book and the trouble he'd had with a team member who wanted to run everything his own way. I didn't want to have the same experience.

It would be easy to ignore the situation with Charmaine and tell myself that it would all sort itself out once we got to Antarctica – but in my heart I knew it wouldn't go away. If the team isn't right before you leave, it's never going to be right once you are on the ice and under pressure.

I thought about ways to improve the situation. I considered talking to her about the problem but felt that I had already tried this in New Zealand with little effect. With only a month to go until departure, there wasn't enough time to mend the faulty dynamics between us. That left me with only one option: to ask Charmaine to leave the team. The thought scared me a little. Without Charmaine, I would need to find an alternative New Zealand team member. It would be a risk to involve someone new so late in our preparations, but it seemed to be a greater risk going to Antarctica knowing that there was a problem. Already the issue was draining my energy and taking my focus away from other aspects of the expedition.

I couldn't take the gamble: I had to ask her to step down.

I thought ruefully about the question I had been asked at the dinner party in Singapore, ‘Have you ever had to sack a team member?' It had seemed like such an impossible scenario back then, but now it was very real.

Charmaine would be devastated. I also wondered how the rest of the team would take the news, particularly Kim. It was going to be awful for everyone, including myself. How could I begin to tell someone that I was taking away their dream? I resolutely packed away my budding reluctance: however hard it was, it had to be done. This is when being the leader really counts, I told myself, when there are tough, unpleasant and possibly unpopular decisions to be made. I would not allow myself to hide from them.

Despite my resolve it still felt slightly unreal as I dialled Charmaine's number at the arranged time. She had been reluctant to talk but I had told her it was urgent. I was sure that what I had to say would be a shock.

‘Charmaine, this isn't a happy phone call,' I paused, taking a long breath. ‘I need to talk to you about your involvement in the expedition and your place on the team.'

‘All right,' she replied. She sounded intrigued but nothing more. She clearly had no idea what was coming.

‘I'm ringing to ask you to step down from the team.'

There was silence on the line.

‘When you joined the team I hoped you'd be a confidante, a kind of second-in-command, because of your experience, but it doesn't seem to have worked out like that. There isn't the trust between us that I think is necessary and I know that it's going to cause problems when we are in Antarctica. It may seem dramatic but I have seen situations like this that have been ignored and caused serious problems. I just can't take that risk.'

I stopped talking and waited for a response. There was a long pause.

‘If you have issues with me we can work them out. I honestly don't have a problem with you being the leader, I'm fine with that. Everything will be fine when we get to Antarctica, just give me a chance.'

‘I'm sorry, Charmaine, but we don't have the time to work this out. We tried in New Zealand and it didn't work. I can't just cross my fingers and hope everything will be OK in Antarctica. I can't take the risk.'

‘But you didn't mention anything in New Zealand. You could have at least given me the opportunity to put things right.'

I thought about the conversations we'd had during the training expedition and couldn't see how she could have missed my concerns. The fact that she seemed oblivious to any problem just confirmed all my worries that talking wouldn't make any difference – not in the time that we had left before the expedition.

I stared out of my office window at the greenery of the trees being buffeted by the wind. I felt slightly dreamlike, as if I was acting in a film and none of this was real. In a way I
was
acting – I had to be more obstinate and unkind than I'd ever had to be in my life.

‘Charmaine, I've made up my mind and I'm afraid my decision is final.'

I pressed on with the practical details, letting her know when and how the team would be told. As the phone call came to an end she said simply, ‘Please, Felicity. Don't do this.'

She sounded wretched and as I rang off the sound of her voice wrung all my resolve. This was not the reason I had started this project and this was not where I had ever expected to be. Despite my guilt, I didn't regret the decision. I knew that it had been the right thing to do.

Hello everyone,

I'm afraid I have some unhappy news.

I have just spoken to Charmaine and asked her to leave the expedition team.

This may come as a shock to some of you but there have been several issues, particularly since New Zealand, that I have been unable to resolve and so, after much consideration and careful thought, this was my decision.

We are travelling to a place that is dangerous. In the event of a crisis I need to have confidence and trust in the people around me and that is the reason that I have taken this action.

I am available over the next few days to speak directly to anyone who would like to talk this through – but my decision is final.

The intention is to find a new team member from New Zealand.

I know that this will hit some of you hard but the important thing now is to focus on what is ahead and to pull together as a team.

I have faith in you all.

Felicity

I needn't have been worried about the team reaction. They had sympathy for Charmaine but were strangely quiet. Perhaps they wrote to each other privately, or maybe there was simply too much going on at the time for them to share their thoughts on the matter.

My own thoughts turned to finding a new team member. I had received some 200 applications from women in New Zealand to join the expedition and the vast majority of them had been experienced skiers or mountaineers, many of whom had already spent a season or two in Antarctica. I needed someone who not only already had the training and experience to take on the expedition with minimal training, and who was available immediately, but also someone who would fit into our team quickly and effortlessly. I looked through my shortlist of New Zealand candidates that I had prepared almost exactly a year previously; one name stood out. I had met Kylie Wakelin in 2001 when she had spent a summer working at the same Antarctic research base I had been posted to. As two women in a very male environment we had become friends and had stayed vaguely in touch ever since, even though we hadn't met again since Kylie had left Antarctica.

During the original selection the fact that I knew Kylie personally had counted against her as I worried that the objectivity of the interview process would be questioned. Now, that same concern had turned into a positive bonus. With very little time available to get to know a complete stranger and very aware of the risk of inviting someone who could turn out to be unsuitable, I could ask Kylie to join the team safe in the knowledge that she was reliable, fun and used to fitting in. As an avid climber and skier, she was experienced in the outdoors and, having been to Antarctica, she at least knew what to expect. For ten years Kylie had run her own company in the Mount Cook National Park, offering tourist boat tours around the glacial, ice-filled lakes but had recently sold the company to start a career as a pilot. She had just gained a Commercial Pilot License and was due to start her first job when my email arrived.

We spoke on the phone and I talked about the team she would be joining and what we were up against. She was keen to accept right away but I urged her to think about it and to send me an email when she had made her decision. I received her reply the very next morning. ‘I feel like I am waiting for the camera crew and presenter to walk through the door and say, “Ha ha, only kidding, had you going!” I am writing to let you know that I am still as keen as mustard.'

As I ran through the details with Kylie, sending her paperwork and schedules and flight information, my thoughts turned to Helen. As the team reserve, she still held onto the hope that she would be asked to join the expedition as a team member and yet I had denied her an opportunity by replacing Charmaine with another New Zealander. However, I didn't want to use up my reserve because there was still another unresolved situation developing within the team. Barbara hadn't made it to the training in New Zealand, leaving me with the challenge of finding a way to get her some additional training before Antarctica. I had lots of ideas but had been stumped by complete silence from Barbara since we'd returned. No one had heard anything from her for a fortnight despite a barrage of emails and messages from increasingly concerned teammates. I had tried her mobile phone a few times but there was no connection. When an email finally arrived from Barbara, it wasn't good news. She had spent the last three weeks in bed battling malaria. ‘I can't say for sure whether I'll be fit enough to prepare for, let alone participate in, the upcoming expedition.' She wrote. ‘I'm sorry for disappointing you and the team, but I will be praying for you and watching every step you ladies take to and from the South Pole.' She signed off, ‘Thank you for everything. I love you all and God bless you.'

I was devastated but surprisingly calm. This wasn't a situation that I could do anything about. This time it wasn't a matter of making frantic phone calls and pulling off a miracle. There was nothing Barbara, or anyone else, could do. Malaria is an incredibly debilitating illness and, even though she would eventually make a full recovery, it would take her weeks to recover full fitness. Even if she did manage to get fit in time to travel to Antarctica, driving her body to the edge by skiing to the South Pole might provoke a dangerous slide into exhaustion. I was sorry for Barbara and sorry that the expedition wouldn't now have an African representative but unlike New Zealand, I didn't feel finding an alternative Ghanaian at this late stage would be possible.

I wrote to Helen to ask if she would take up Barbara's place on the team. Having given up hope of being asked to join the expedition she had accepted a place on a month-long expedition to walk along a stretch of the skeleton coast in Namibia. She would finish the trek over a week before the expedition was due to depart but wouldn't be able to return to the UK until just the day before. I had been worried when she had told me her plans a few months previously, but without a place to offer her on the team at the time I didn't feel that I had any right to advise her against it. Now, as I wrote Helen an email, I trusted her own judgement and experience to tell me whether she felt fit and able to come to Antarctica so soon after returning from Namibia. The response was emphatic, she accepted without hesitation.

Although I was crushed that Barbara couldn't come with us, I was pleased that Helen would be on the team. Knowing that Helen would now be in the second tent gave me some extra reassurance; I hoped that she would be able to keep an eye on things when I wasn't there.