By Joanna Lumley, Felicity Aston
Author note: Joanna Lumley (Foreword)
In the whirling noise of our advancing technological age, we're possible by no means on my own, by no means out-of-touch with the barrage of digital info and information.
Felicity Aston, physicist and meteorologist, took months off from all human touch as she turned the 1st girl -- and purely the 3rd individual in heritage – to ski around the whole continent of Antarctica on my own. She did it, too, with the straightforward gear of cross-country, with out the aids utilized by her prededecessors – Norwegian males – every one of whom hired both parasails or kites.
Aston’s trip around the ice on the backside of the area requested of her the extremes by way of psychological and actual bravery, as she confronted the hazards of unseen cracks buried within the snow so huge they may engulf her and hypothermia because of brutalizing climate. She needed to deal, too, along with her emotional vulnerability in face of the consistent bombardment of hallucinations attributable to the big sea of whiteness, the shortcoming of stimulation to her senses as she confronted what's tantamount to a kind of solitary confinement.
Like Cheryl Strayed’s Wild, Felicity Aston’s Alone in Antarctica turns into an inspirational saga of 1 woman’s wade through worry and loneliness as she in truth confronts either the actual demanding situations of her experience, in addition to her personal human vulnerabilities.
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Additional resources for Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman To Ski Solo Across The Southern Ice
For the 37 ALONE IN ANTARCTICA past ten days I had woken up in a comfortably worn hostel in South America expecting to fly to Antarctica only to be told each morning that a tenacious weather system sat stubbornly over the Ellsworth Mountains preventing all flights. Now that, finally, I had made it to the ice, the bad weather had moved to the Ross Ice Shelf making it impossible to fly to the start point of my expedition. The delays were more than simply frustrating; they had a serious potential consequence for the success of my expedition.
Talking to myself, I noticed, was a completely instinctive response to being alone. When it was time to pitch the tent I found myself giving a running commentary to the space around me, ‘Front pegs first,’ I instructed as I pinned out the tent in the snow. ‘Make them nice and sturdy. ’ ‘Keep everything tidy. You don’t want to lose anything,’ I cautioned. Then when I stood back to survey my work I congratulated myself in satisfaction, ‘Tent looks good. ’ As it had the previous day, my good mood disappeared as soon as I crawled into the tent and I was revisited by the now recognisable pall of loneliness.
It made an immediate impression on me and once I had pitched the tent I stood for a while letting my gaze rise upwards over its rutted surface. Pulling the map from my sledge I marked the position of my camp and tried to match the topography on paper to the view in front of me. The magnificent craggy mountain had to be the knot of concentric contours named on the map as Mount Beazley. If so, I realised with mounting excitement, the slope to its left was the narrow stretch of the Leverett Glacier that I had seen from the air, the corridor to the plateau.