T rekking Alone in Antarctica for My 60th BirthdayNovember 1997At 50 I was the first woman to travel solo to any of the world’s Poles when I soloed the magnetic North Pole. I walked and skied, pulling my own 160 pound sled without the help of a dog team or snowmobiles. I chose this Pole because it is the one with a large population of polar bears and my fascination with these dangerous but intelligent animals played a decisive part in my decision.But what should I do to celebrate my 60th? What else, but a trekking journey at the opposite end of the world, Antarctica. I began my almost 200 mile journey on November first 1997. I walked and skied alone, pulling my sled once more without the help of a dog team or snowmobile. I was entirely alone, trekking in a place white and lifeless with no other living creatures and an always circling sun that never dipped below the horizon. Just as was the case for my 50th, I was again about to embark on a journey of challenge and danger.On October 21 I flew to Punta Arenas, a small, wind swept city in southern Chile. It was there that I prepared my equipment and sled to be flown to the Antarctic aboard a Hercules aircraft.. On October 30, we received the good news that the winds and cloud cover were "OK" for a landing on the blue ice strip at the Patriot Hills base camp 21 miles from the edge of the Antarctic coast. After a noisy six and a half hour flight in this giant cargo aircraft we landed on the rock-hard, bumpy strip. It was exciting to at last be in the Antarctic. Patriot Hills base camp sits in the shadow of the glaciated Patriot Hills mountain range.I awoke on November 1st to a heavy cloud cover and 20 mph winds. However by early evening the skies cleared and the OK was given to fly me north to my starting point at Hercules Inlet on the edge of the Antarctic continent. My starting position was 80 degrees 00 minutes south and 80 degrees 9 minutes west. As the Twin Otter aircraft returned to base I was left alone to begin my journey. I looked around me. All I could see was snow and ice in all directions with low shark fin mountains ahead blocking my path to the icy plateau 15 miles away . I put my sled harness on then as I strapped my skis on I pulled the straps on my ski bindings tight. Suddenly one of the buckles split. It was late and cold so I decided to stay there the night and make repairs before continuing.The next day with repairs completed I began the steep, icy climb, pulling my 260 pound sled behind me. After two days of hard climbing I was at last on top where the slope wasn’t as steep. So far my route had taken me mostly west to avoid low mountains and deep crevasses but now with the hard coastal climbing behind me I could turn south with the aid of my compass and global positioning system (GPS). It w asn’t long before I discovered that my plan to follow a straight course to the South Pole was thwarted by an exceptionally windy winter which had formed high ridges of sastrugi which are rock hardmounds and ridges of slippery ice. I was forced to weave a path east and west through a forest of ridges which was at first frustrating until I realized that these conditions were going to continue indefinitely and patience was the order of the day.So far the wind had been a brisk 20 to 25 mph with bright sunshine 24 hours a day. But changes were just around the corner. On the third day I was struggling through 30 to 40 mph winds with the loose surface snow blasting any exposed skin like sand. During the next week the wind increased and I found myself tent bound for an entire day, then I would travel the next day or two only to be forced to seek the shelter of my tent once more. On my travel days I was making good progress considering the sastrugi and winds that were now 50 mph and increasing. I remained optimistic that the wind would calm down but the worst was yet to come. El Nino was at work even in the Antarctic.I had traveled only two hours one day when the winds increased so much that my 260 pound sled was blown sideways which in turn pulled me to the side with the result that I made impressive progress east but none south. Now I had to put my tent up before the wind became impossibly strong and could turn the tent into an uncontrollable sail. With the tiny tent finally anchored securely I scrambled inside. Within minutes the gale had increased to a howling, screaming wind storm that threatened to blow me and my tent into oblivion. I tied a rope around my waist, ran it out the tent door and tied it securely with an ice screw into the ice. If the tent ripped a way at least I wouldn’t be blown away with it. I ran another rope through my equipment until I had everything anchored. I sat with my back to the rear of the tent to brace the fabric from the inside against the jarring gusts that vibrated every thread of that tough little tent. It reminded me of the times on high altitude mountains and on my magnetic North Pole solo expedition when I faced similar situations of survival in powerful wind storms. The roaring scream of the wind engulfed me in sound so loud I felt as though I was inside a jet engine.I found out later that base camp experienced the same strong winds as they fought to save tents and equipment. They recorded wind speeds of 100 miles an hour which agreed with my wind meter. They told me later they wondered if I would survive the storm alone in my tent. The main storm lasted for 24 hours and as the winds subsided to a gentle breeze a total whiteout settled over the area like a suffocating white blanket. V isibility was reduced to two feet. I waited f or better visibility to make sure I didn’t walk into a crevassed area. But at least I was able to sleep in the welcome, relative quietness.On November 12 the day dawned clear with winds of "only" 20 mph, which after the wind storm, seemed almost calm.Today was my 60th birthday and I was determined to celebrate in the appropriate manner.I thawed a frozen cupcake over my stove, placed a candle on the top, lit it and sang "happy birthday to me" at the top of my voice. It was just the best tasting cupcake. With festivities over I set out once more, trying to make up for lost time.I increased my daily mileage in spite of the always present wind which I had learnt by now to accept as part of the journey. My spirits were high and my only concern were the extra miles I was forced to travel because of sastrugi and wide areas of deep crevasses. I had already taken two wide detours around crevasses, some of which were 20 feet wide. The edges were fragile and when I probed farther across with my ski pole to test the strength of the snow bridge they often fell away, exposing deep blue chasms.Now, with the coastal mountains far behind me, I was traveling through the vast, white, lifeless interior of the Antarctic. I couldn’t have been more alone if I had been on th e moon.One day I was climbing yet another low ridge. Before climbing I carefully scanned the slope for the heavy horizontal lines in the snow that signals crevasses. The slope looked safe so I took a straight-ahead course. Suddenly without warning my world dropped out from under my skis. With a heart-stopping jolt I dropped into a crevasse. My skis hit the wall and flipped me upside down with the lip of the crevasse about 8 feet above me. I was hanging from my sled by the pull ropes which were all that stopped me from dropping into the black chasm. My sled barely bridged the gap. At this point I made the mistake of looking down into the blackness far below me. Icy hands of fear gripped my very soul in that heart stopping moment as I looked down into the blackness. A piece of ice fell downward into the void and I never heard it land. The bottom was hundreds of feet below.I had practiced crevasse self rescue many times in the Cascade Mountains where I live and now I automatically began the process of getting myself out. I took two ice screws I wore on my waist harness and screwed them into the hard, smooth, blue ice of the crevasse wall. Using the ice screws as steps I carefully took each ski off and gingerly reached up and pushed them over the crevasse lip above my head. Then placing one screw at head level I hung a rock climbers ladder on it and carefully tested it to make sure it would hold my weight. I made slow, awkward progress as I inched my way up to the surface, keeping my body close to the wall so t hat I wouldn’t fall backward into the black void below. A deep cold caused by the sunless, icy tomb was penetrating my body to its very core. After what seemed to be an eternity I finally climbed to the top of the crevasse and with a final prayer I reached up and heaved my body over the top. I was out and safe for at least the moment. The meager warmth of the blazing sun felt good. After solidly anchoring my sled and carefully extracting it and its precious load I put my skis on and scanned the snowy slope ahead for more crevasses. I could see one faint line but it was at right angles to my direction of travel so I decided to go straight ahead. An hour later the ridge was behind me and without so much as a backward glance I pressed onward just glad to be alive and away from that deep, yawning chasm that at one point seemed determined to keep me in its grip. I was thankful for all the training I had gone through for such emergencies.I continued to increase my daily mileage. I was in good health and all of my equipment was working well. I was so optimistic that I decided that the next day, the 22nd day of the expedition, I would increase my work day to 12 hours.As I skied I often thought back to my magnetic North Pole solo expedition when I traveled alone on foot through a large population of polar bears and compared the journey to this one. I was impressed with the fact that there were no polar bears here to stalk me forcing me to live on the edge of emotional survival. Here the ice was stable, whereas in the Arctic I walked over fragile sea ice that could break up without warning. Overall, in spite of the strong winds and crevasses, the Antarctic journey was safer and to some degree easier than the magnetic North Pole expedition was. Although some have tried, no-one has successfully soloed the magnetic North Pole on foot since my 1988 journey. Perhaps this is an indication of the difficulty factor.Next morning I set out across a flat area swept by 20 mph winds. I was moving quickly until I reached an area of three to four foot high sastrugi. The wind picked up with stronger gusts reaching 30 mph as I carefully worked my way through trying to avoid the roughest areas. Just as I pulled my sled across a really rugged group of ridges a gust caught my sled turning it into a hurtling missile as it tumbled off the ridge, slamming into my left hip and leg. My leg collapsed in excruciating pain and I suffered a concussion as I was driven forward head first into another rock hard ridge of ice. I couldn’t stand on my left leg and my head was woozy from concussion but I knew that I had to get up. I wouldn’t last long laying on the ice. I finally struggled to my knees knowing that somehow I had to put my tent up for shelter. On hands and knees I got the tent up and dragged my sleeping bag into the tent and lay down out of the cold wind.Now it was time to reach a decision. Should I wait and hope my injuries would correct themselves or should I call for a plane and withdraw? I knew that if I continued I would be far less th an 100% and would seriously compromise my safety. It didn’t take me long to decide that the only responsible decision was to return to base camp. I didn’t want to become another Mount Everest where people push on through injury, storms and illness, sometimes with fatal results. I had to think of my family and friends who were depending on me to do the right thing. And I couldn’t let the educational program down. It was time to make the right choice. I did so without regret. I had achieved my first ambition to celebrate my 60th birthday trekking in the Antarctic. I had traveled for 22 days and almost 200 miles and had had an extraordinary experience. For 22 days I saw no other living thing, I never even saw an aircraft or heard the sound of another human voic e. I felt as though I was living on the moon. I had met the challenges of solo travel in an extreme climate. As luck would have it this year was an exceptionally windy one with all the problems of gale force winds and sastrugi. But I took these conditions as another challenge and another of life’s experiences. A solo journey on foot is a much differentexperience than that of even a small group. It is an experience I shall never forget and shall value for the rest of my life.After sending an emergency signal via my satellite beacon a Twin Otter aircraft soon arrived and whisked me back to base camp. A doctor attended to my injuries and the next day I was on the Hercules aircraft on my way back to a hospital in Chile.My injuries have healed and I am back running 10 miles a day in training with Bill preparing together for our next adventure.In March of 1998 we will trek with the Western Arctic caribou herd as they once more go through their centuries old tradition of migrating from their wintering grounds through The Gates of the Arctic National Park to their calving grounds north of the Brooks Range in the far north of Alaska. This is the largest caribou herd in the world numbering almost half a million animals. We will document the migration with field notes, 35mm and video photography which will be developed into an educational project for schools in the same manner as my solo trek on foot to the magnetic North Pole, our 600 mile trek across the Canadian Y ukon to live with and study wolves, the 1,500 mile Amazon kayak expedition, the 1,500 mile trek through the American and Mexican deserts and the 1,400 mile crossing on foot of the Sahara.Helen ThayerDecember 15, 1997。