By Joanna Lumley, Felicity Aston
Author note: Joanna Lumley (Foreword)
In the whirling noise of our advancing technological age, we're doubtless by no means on my own, by no means out-of-touch with the barrage of digital facts and information.
Felicity Aston, physicist and meteorologist, took months off from all human touch as she grew to become the 1st girl -- and basically the 3rd individual in heritage – to ski around the complete continent of Antarctica on my own. She did it, too, with the easy gear of cross-country, with no the aids utilized by her prededecessors – Norwegian males – each 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 dangers of unseen cracks buried within the snow so huge they may engulf her and hypothermia as a result of brutalizing climate. She needed to deal, too, along with her emotional vulnerability in face of the consistent bombardment of hallucinations as a result of the enormous sea of whiteness, the inability 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 struggle through worry and loneliness as she truthfully confronts either the actual demanding situations of her event, 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
I was taut with impatience even though I knew from my maps that the gap in the mountains used by the Leverett was some twenty kilometres further along and would be beyond my view for at least another day. It was futile to try and predict its place in the pleats of rock. It would appear in its own time. I diverted my mind to other matters, carefully avoiding all thoughts of home, the journey ahead or anything else that 62 LOO-JW might damage my fragile sense of well-being. Focusing on my surroundings, I noticed how the snow drifting past my feet, propelled by the wind, looked like running water.
I readied my camera to film the plane leaving but as it lifted into the air and banked back towards me to fly past, I forgot about taking pictures and bounced up and down on the spot waving my arms in great arcs above my head as if the exertion of energy could exorcise the growing feeling of terror in my chest. Then I stood, motionless, fixing my gaze on the vanishing black smudge in the sky. I could sense the mountains to my left but I barely dared to look at them, as if glancing at my surroundings would make it real and I wasn’t ready to face the reality of the moment – not yet.
I could feel myself rushing, pushing forward, eager for the next display. I couldn’t help my gaze flicking forward, searching the crags for any sign of the narrow corridor that would allow me through the mountains to the plateau beyond. Several times I was sure I could detect a gap, a slight cleft that looked as if it could lead to a route southward, but each time I came upon the head of the suspected corridor it would turn out to be something else. I was taut with impatience even though I knew from my maps that the gap in the mountains used by the Leverett was some twenty kilometres further along and would be beyond my view for at least another day.