Beyond the horizon - reflections from Karen

First day back in Scotland, adjusting from a month of white horizon, to the feast of summer colours here, reading over the blog (for the first time!) and reflecting on the last month of the ‘icecap experience’.

Just read an article that was in the Guardian just after we left for the ice, and it reminded me how I was feeling before we left – my perceptions then of the challenges that lay ahead. Link to Guardian article.

Sometimes we can let our fears stop us from doing things. I almost did with this, but with the right planning and a dose of determination, then I see now that just about anything is possible. (What’s that saying about 'Prior preparation prevents poor performance?'….I'm sure I’ve missed a P out of there somewhere).

So what was it like from my perspective, not being able to walk?!

I’ve had some emails and phonecalls from friends, saying “hope it wasn’t too bad – sounds like it was a bit traumatic, and extremely hard work”.

I reply “It was amazing. The toughest physical and mental challenge I’ve ever voluntarily undertaken, with its highs and lows, but mostly I remember the freedom of skiing across the ice”.

My friends know me, and my attachment to independence and my need to be an active member of a team (and how much I detest ‘being dragged along’) and they had perhaps misunderstood how it was for me. My shoulders have never worked so hard – propelling me forwards, balancing through the difficult terrain – most days I felt a fire burning in their muscles and tendons.

I skied approximately 300km of the 560km trip totally on my own – enjoying the freedom of the giant white playground, reading the snow to choose the best route and avoid sastrugi (that lumpy wind-blown ice) that would topple me and punch me into the hard ice. I smiled inside and out with the sensation of whizzing along, towards the infinite white horizon. I felt lucky to be there, very alive and free.

There were tougher times, skiing uphill or down through the icefall at the end. Despite putting in 100 per cent of my shoulder power, it wasn’t always enough to keep us moving at a speed that kept us on schedule.

When it was below minus 20 degrees C, the snow was sticky like glue and my ski didn’t glide well. When the sastrugi was so large that my ski didn’t have speed to cut through it, then it would unbalance me without some extra momentum and directional steering that I gained from being attached to the back of a pulk with a rope. Only on the last day, through the outrageously large lumps of ice in the last 4km, did I feel helpless.

There is no way I could have skied on my own through that terrain, and it needed the others to walk along side with crampons, steering and pushing me through it.

Was it worth it? YES!!!

An enormous amount of effort went into getting our expedition off the ground, by all the team members and others too. For me personally, it was a huge challenge. I could never have done it without the year of prior training – my shoulders just wouldn’t have gone the distance.

There were moments (like the last day) when I was 99.9 per cent dependent on the rest of the team, but there were more times when I was free – free of any ropes, harnesses, need to be towed, to ski alone and enjoy the special-ness of the experience and the place.

Of course, for me to glide along in the Arctic wilderness wouldn’t have been possible without a team of very special people. Friends willing to do something a bit different from normal, to perhaps go slower than they might have done, to leave me to zip along like an excited child when I could, and to pick me up and help me when things were tougher.

The memories of the Arctic sun sinking low, the ice glittering rainbow colours, the cold air biting and cleansing my lungs, the freedom, will stay with me forever.

I’m looking forward to following up with the young people at the schools in the next few weeks, and to exchanging the realities of our challenges, projects, goals and experiences.

(Karen Darke, 9 June 2006)