Ski journey to the pole

BY RHONDA MARKBY

Kylie Wakelin calls it `the classic adventure of the world'. She talks to staff reporter Rhonda Markby about the 900km 38-day ski trip to the South Pole she has just completed.

After coping with their tents being shredded days after arriving in Antarctica, Kylie Wakelin was quietly confident the unusual expedition could survive anything.

And that came as a bit of a relief, when, sitting in the sun at her Twizel home, she recalls meeting some of the members of the eight-woman team.

To celebrate the 60th anniversary of the British Commonwealth, the women came together from different countries to ski 900 kilometres to the South Pole.

She talks about the "little girls", the team members who were so slightly built and came from countries where they didn't even have snow.

Kylie now jokes about wondering what craziness she had let herself in for when one woman arrived with "her Louis Vuitton suitcases and bangles right up her arms".

With only a month's notice to prepare for the trip after the original New Zealander pulled out, Kylie was thankful she had just finished three months' ski touring and mountaineering.

Yet in spite of her initial trepidation of some of the team's ability to cope, they did, arriving at the pole 38 days after they started the trek, and in much better shape than some on the other expeditions heading to the pole about the same time.

Any doubts she had about the team's ability to cope with the journey vanished when they were still at the Antarctic Logistics and Expeditions (ALE) company's Patriot Hills base camp. The winds were so severe that even with a person propped up in each corner, the poles collapsed inwards and her tent ripped down two sides.

It took her two days of stitching, patching and gluing to complete the repairs, but Kylie was confident it was then even stronger than originally. Three skis that vanished in the storm were eventually found. The whole experience left her believing that they could cope with anything the Antarctic threw at them.

For 38 days, the seven women pulled their pulks (covered sleds) over kilometre after kilometre of whiteness.

The eighth woman never got to the start line, because she suffered frostbitten fingers while on the practice expedition.

The routine was the same every day: walk for 90 minutes, stop for seven minutes to eat, drink and go to the toilet, then do it all again for up to 10 hours a day.

The original plan was to take a rest day when a storm struck, but it never did.

After what they experienced at Patriot Hills, she jokes how she and team leader Felicity Aston kept waiting, kept expecting a "humungous" storm.

Only once did they take a rest day. It was day 17 and she was so in need of it.

"I just hobbled in to camp. I had a blister. I was just physically knackered."

Within days of starting the trek, Kylie was experiencing a foot strain and she worried what it could lead to. By process of elimination she realised she had a "devil" ski. It was slightly out of alignment, twisting her foot. Padding helped and she found ways to reduce the strain.

While the huge storm never came, the conditions were still very challenging.

There were the days she could feel the sun on her back, yet was so chilled on the front of her body that she had to stuff extra gloves down her sleeves or chest to protect a cold spot.

A piece of fleece fabric was gradually cut up and sewn into her clothing at those critical places where she feared the cold could lead to injury.

Kylie got to hate her ski mask with a vengeance. Even in the warmth of her Twizel home this week, she glared at the mask she wore as soon as she got up each day. As well as being close fitting over her head, it had a flap that covered her nose and mouth.

Her warm breath would make the fabric damp and icicles would form. Then her goggles would fog up.

"We were just like blind people," she said of the limited vision they often endured hour after hour.

If they had stopped every time someone had wanted to clear their mask, they would still be walking.

"Every time we stopped, I would find myself obsessing about something for the first 10 or 15 minutes when we started again," Kylie said of her ongoing worries about getting frostbite, her goggles fogging up or the position of her foot in her ski.

In spite of all her precautions and constant checks for any sign of frostbite, the cold did find its way in, leaving her with a single chilblain on her face.

Another woman ended up with chilblains on her hip when a zip on her trousers was left open, even though she had a layer of merino wool underneath.

Yet perhaps surprisingly, in spite of temperatures of minus 20 degrees Celsius to minus 30C, Kylie didn't wear many layers, only a layer of merino next to her skin, a fleece or a smock. Yet the moment they stopped, the down jackets came out, because the chill factor was so intense.

A pair of possum merino gloves she took with her turned out to be an excellent choice. It was tough on the gloves. They now sport a dozen fleece patches carefully sewn over holes, during the journey.

Coping with the extremes of temperature was an ongoing challenge. As she lay in her tent each night, her head would be sweating as the all-day sun hit the tent, yet the air around the bottom of her sleeping bag could be minus 30C.

Such temperatures were a challenge for personal hygiene. For the first couple of weeks, it was hard going, she said, because they had only a baby wipe to wash with each day. Then it just became part of life.

Kylie did manage a couple of "snow baths" – a quick strip-off and a rub-down all over with snow, before the down jacket went on and she raced back into the tent. Feeling so refreshed after the bath made the coolness worthwhile.

The women went 54 days without a shower – three days longer than they needed to. Kylie recalls how those they met at the South Pole didn't come close to them for too long. They had been back at the base camp for three days waiting to fly out, before someone asked if they realised they could have a shower.

Snow had to be melted and heated and the hot water then pumped into the shower.

"It was the best shower I have ever had," Kylie said.

Their best friend that day was the pilot who gave the women his own soap, shampoo and conditioner to use.

Kylie laughs at the memory.

"People must have thought we liked being dirty," she said, explaining it was a genuine misunderstanding, which meant they spent three very smelly days in camp before taking that memorable shower.

With 900km to cover, some of the team became obsessed with the distances they covered each day. "If we only did 13 (nautical) miles, they would get a bit bummed out."

Initially, they had planned a second rest day on Christmas Day, but the "little girls" who had started to slow down and struggle wanted to keep going.

Christmas Day was very much like any other, with two exceptions. Each team member was allowed a phone call home, and there was a piece of Kylie's fudge to add to the daily menu of dehydrated food.

A supply drop had been arranged for the women halfway through the journey. An ALE plane returning from the South Pole dropped in unexpectedly, bringing them some home baking, and Kylie's belated birthday present from her sister – several squares of fudge. One was consumed that night, and another hidden away as a treat for Christmas Day.

The days continued, with the women inching closer to the pole.

The sameness of the environment everyday, with no wildlife and no sign of anyone else, took some getting used to.

"I would find myself looking around, subconsciously looking for something."

A mountain range coming into sight was greeted with enthusiasm, giving them a reference point by which to measure their progress.

So how did she fill in those hours every day?

Each women had an iPod, but Kylie chose to keep hers as a "treat", using it only every few days, until she lost it.

"I took out my poo, but left my iPod," she quipped of the incident in which her silver iPod must have dropped out of her jacket pocket while she was packing her pulk one morning. It was several hours before she realised it was missing. There was no going back.

As to what she thought about for all that time, there were no moments of blinding inspiration.

"For the first 4 1/2 weeks, I just wandered around in my own head."

With a week to go, she decided to put the time to good use, and the commercial pilot started to go through all her flying drills.

Ask about the low points of the trip and there is little hesitation in her answer: a tent-mate who only stopped talking to start snoring, and the weeks they trekked in a straight line with not even a navigation point and a change of course to look forward to. The high points had to be the amazing light 24 hours a day, and the beauty of the Antarctic environment.

Then came that high point they had been waiting for – a tiny black line on the horizon and the white bump of the dome.

As they got closer, Kylie feared the base was on fire. What she thought was smoke turned out to be steam from a hot-water drilling project.

A skidoo appeared. Its American driver gave them strict instructions on the route they were to follow through the base to their campsite.

Then two staff from the hot-water drilling project arrived, suggesting they had plenty of hot water the women could make use of. That wasn't an option, considering their instructions.

The next to greet them was a face from home, Shaun Norman. The Twizel man is ALE's man at the base, looking after its clients and arranging their flights back to Patriot Hills.

As they walked through the base, people started to appear from everywhere, cheering them on.

The Commonwealth team was so different from the usual guided expedition, or outdoor adventurers trekking and skiing to the pole, and those at the base were keen to recognise what they had achieved.

Also there to meet them were representatives of the expedition's major sponsor, Kaspersky Lab.

Photo time over, there was time for celebration at Shaun's tent. Kylie says the beef stew he cooked for dinner that night was the best she had ever tasted. The wine was pretty good too.

They were invited to tour the base the following day – a tour which ended in the souvenir shop.

The Monteiths and Tui beer on sale looked like a good option for New Year's Eve the next day. The Americans thought differently. It was only for their staff to buy.

But the women didn't go thirsty. Some "helpful" Americans later turned up with the beer.

Because of the different time zones, they celebrated New Year's Eve twice – New Zealand New Year's Eve with a few beers at the South Pole, and then again while flying back to base camp.

"There was vodka, chocolate brownies, fruit and pringles (potato chips)," she said of luxuries they hadn't seen for months.

It might have been 4am when they flew in to base camp, but the 30 staff were all waiting with bubbly and a roast dinner.

More luxury was in store for the women when they left Antarctica.

Sponsor Eugene Kaspersky made it clear they could have whatever they wanted when they arrived in Chile.

Kylie's request wasn't hard to satisfy – eggs for breakfast.

Having a five-star hotel room to herself, a huge bed and a shower with five nozzles all seemed amazing after what she had become accustomed to on the trek.

Her senses went into overdrive. Her sense of smell was so much sharper than before.

It's now three weeks since the women reached the pole, and Kylie says her body is already starting to bounce back, as she puts on some of the estimated 6 kilograms she lost on the journey.

Yet when she went for a run this week, she could feel the soles of her feet, testimony to what they had been through. For her, the trip was more about endurance than technical difficulty.

For the woman who has worked in the outdoors for the last 18 years, running the Glacier Explorers company she co-founded at Mt Cook in the early 1990s, and climbing and guiding around the world, a career change is in store. She is about to start working for Milford Air as a pilot and in administration role.

The snag is that taking time off for great outdoor adventures might not be so easy in the near future.
While ``the classic adventure of the world'' might be over, work permitting, there are more adventures in the wind.

The North Pole is calling.

- © Fairfax NZ News