December 26, 2018
Going Home
It's been a crazy week in Antarctica and I apologize for not writing more but I have been caught in a cloud of both terrible weather and despair. Of course, neither is really that bad as I am both healthy and safe, but the conditions have taken a toll on my psyche over the past few days.
After aborting my Last South Expedition over a week ago, I skied an additional 60 miles north (away from the pole) to a remote ski way and rendezvous point with an Antarctic Logistics and Expeditions Twin Otter. I ended up flying to the pole, where I was stranded by more bad weather for three days. It was hard to sit in relative comfort after such an intense effort and mulling over the previous three weeks did little to improve my mood. Worse, we were stranded at the pole by yet another blizzard.
The weather finally cleared briefly and I was able to fly back to Union Glacier. Once there, it was yet another waiting game as this season's Antarctic weather is the worst and most unusual in the past decade. Flights into normally stable Union Glacier had been backed up for over a week due to the snow and warm air pushing in from the Weddell Sea. Groups climbing Vinson Masif, Antarctica's tallest mountain, had been stuck at base camp for eight or nine days with the potential of two or three more by the time I left at midnight last night. Snow at the South Pole like a Colorado blizzard, deep snows along the Hercules route, snow and white out for a week at Union Glacier. This year's Antarctic weather has been challenging for more than just my solo expedition. On the logistics side of things, there were groups in Union Glacier who had been waiting to fly out since December 8th or so. Crazy.
I don't like to make excuses and I'm even less fond of complaining, but the weird weather feels vindicating in some regards. I've always felt that I partake in polar expeditions regardless of the weather but this past May's crossing of the Greenland ice cap pretty much tossed that one out the window. Then, these past few weeks, the crazy snow and warm weather. I still keep going over my rate of travel in my head trying to find a way in which I could have gone faster. It wasn't possible.
Had I been doing a longer crossing where daily mileage would have needed to be 12-15 nautical miles, it wouldn't have been an issue, but there simply wasn't enough time in the day to make that amount of daily distance at the rate in which I was traveling.
So now, I'm ok with that. As cheesy as it sounds it's part of the process. Still, falling short is a funny thing. It can be so intense and over whelming while seemingly career-ending. But as I turn over my failure over the past few days, it has become a much more positive experience than anything. Seriously. For nearly two decades, I have focused on these big objectives with very small margins of success. Any given snapshot of any of those adventures would yield more pitfalls and failures than anything else - even when I've reached my final goal or objective.
There is a bigger stress as well. Being successful at the 'business' of being a professional adventurer in the US is tenuous at best. While talking about failure and overcoming obstacles is (in my opinion) a fundamental tenet of an honest blog post, creating a viable income based on unrealized goals is more challenging than any world record expedition. The stress of making so many difficult decisions on my own with so much at stake feels like an unbearable weight on most days. So when I received a heartfelt letter of support from the team at Citizen, I broke down (again) and cried. It takes a strength and integrity to stand behind someone in their lowest moments.
The delay at Union Glacier was heartbreaking especially since it meant missing Christmas with my family. But today, having squeaked out a last minute Ilyushin flight and then a Latam flight to Chile, I feel lucky to be en route home. All these experiences success, failure, loneliness, whiteouts, the idea and importance of home and my family... these are not new thoughts or concerns, but with little other stimuli in extreme environments like Antarctica they become my entire reality. On the ice, I focus on one step at a time. In flights from the southern tip of Chile to Denver, I keep that same focus. Life is an expedition.
Mine is a long journey and Antarctica is one of many cold places that I have long loved and advocated for. I am excited to get back to Colorado. I have spent five months of 2019 on different expeditions, almost half the year. Equally important to me, however, is to continue my efforts to give these unique environments a voice and help to tell their story. There is no question in my mind that the unusual weather in Antarctica this year is due to a warming climate where the resulting chain of events brought a nearly unending series of warm, wet air masses barreling across Antarctica, the coldest and driest place on the planet.
Image: Skiing at Union Glacier, Antarctica
After aborting my Last South Expedition over a week ago, I skied an additional 60 miles north (away from the pole) to a remote ski way and rendezvous point with an Antarctic Logistics and Expeditions Twin Otter. I ended up flying to the pole, where I was stranded by more bad weather for three days. It was hard to sit in relative comfort after such an intense effort and mulling over the previous three weeks did little to improve my mood. Worse, we were stranded at the pole by yet another blizzard.
The weather finally cleared briefly and I was able to fly back to Union Glacier. Once there, it was yet another waiting game as this season's Antarctic weather is the worst and most unusual in the past decade. Flights into normally stable Union Glacier had been backed up for over a week due to the snow and warm air pushing in from the Weddell Sea. Groups climbing Vinson Masif, Antarctica's tallest mountain, had been stuck at base camp for eight or nine days with the potential of two or three more by the time I left at midnight last night. Snow at the South Pole like a Colorado blizzard, deep snows along the Hercules route, snow and white out for a week at Union Glacier. This year's Antarctic weather has been challenging for more than just my solo expedition. On the logistics side of things, there were groups in Union Glacier who had been waiting to fly out since December 8th or so. Crazy.
I don't like to make excuses and I'm even less fond of complaining, but the weird weather feels vindicating in some regards. I've always felt that I partake in polar expeditions regardless of the weather but this past May's crossing of the Greenland ice cap pretty much tossed that one out the window. Then, these past few weeks, the crazy snow and warm weather. I still keep going over my rate of travel in my head trying to find a way in which I could have gone faster. It wasn't possible.
Had I been doing a longer crossing where daily mileage would have needed to be 12-15 nautical miles, it wouldn't have been an issue, but there simply wasn't enough time in the day to make that amount of daily distance at the rate in which I was traveling.
So now, I'm ok with that. As cheesy as it sounds it's part of the process. Still, falling short is a funny thing. It can be so intense and over whelming while seemingly career-ending. But as I turn over my failure over the past few days, it has become a much more positive experience than anything. Seriously. For nearly two decades, I have focused on these big objectives with very small margins of success. Any given snapshot of any of those adventures would yield more pitfalls and failures than anything else - even when I've reached my final goal or objective.
There is a bigger stress as well. Being successful at the 'business' of being a professional adventurer in the US is tenuous at best. While talking about failure and overcoming obstacles is (in my opinion) a fundamental tenet of an honest blog post, creating a viable income based on unrealized goals is more challenging than any world record expedition. The stress of making so many difficult decisions on my own with so much at stake feels like an unbearable weight on most days. So when I received a heartfelt letter of support from the team at Citizen, I broke down (again) and cried. It takes a strength and integrity to stand behind someone in their lowest moments.
The delay at Union Glacier was heartbreaking especially since it meant missing Christmas with my family. But today, having squeaked out a last minute Ilyushin flight and then a Latam flight to Chile, I feel lucky to be en route home. All these experiences success, failure, loneliness, whiteouts, the idea and importance of home and my family... these are not new thoughts or concerns, but with little other stimuli in extreme environments like Antarctica they become my entire reality. On the ice, I focus on one step at a time. In flights from the southern tip of Chile to Denver, I keep that same focus. Life is an expedition.
Mine is a long journey and Antarctica is one of many cold places that I have long loved and advocated for. I am excited to get back to Colorado. I have spent five months of 2019 on different expeditions, almost half the year. Equally important to me, however, is to continue my efforts to give these unique environments a voice and help to tell their story. There is no question in my mind that the unusual weather in Antarctica this year is due to a warming climate where the resulting chain of events brought a nearly unending series of warm, wet air masses barreling across Antarctica, the coldest and driest place on the planet.
Image: Skiing at Union Glacier, Antarctica