Rivers of ice
Outside, the wind was a noisy, malevolent presence, violently buffeting the tent as it raged about at speeds in excess of 140km/h. But it wasn’t the wind that we were worried about – it was the snow. It was falling so heavily that every eight hours, the ground level was rising by almost a metre, completely burying the tent.
So, every eight hours, my companion, Tarka L’Herpiniere, and I had to dig our way out and start clearing the guy ropes and anchors. Then, struggling to stand in the maelstrom, we moved the tent to a new location.
For two days, we repeated this process. And then it happened. The weight of the snow became too much for the poles to bear, and as we dragged the tent to the latest location, one of them snapped. Seconds later, another one went. With its support compromised, the tent became little more than a canvas rag, flapping about in the wind, and the sharp ends of the shattered poles quickly tore through the fabric.
And there we were, kneeling in the snow at the mouth of the Fella Reichert icefall in the middle of the worst storm I’ve ever experienced, our only shelter in tatters.
Fast and light
We set out on 24 August, ascending the Jorge Montt Glacier, the Southern Patagonian Ice Field’s most northerly point, with the goal of becoming the first to complete a full-length unsupported crossing of the world’s third-largest ice mass, without the aid of sail kites. Our aim was to finish at its most southerly point, the Balmaceda Glacier, about 390 kilometres away.
During the first 25 days, we made relatively quick progress, thanks to our ‘fast and light’ approach. Unlike previous expeditions, which have used large polar sledges or even kayaks to manhaul their equipment, we opted for backpacks with one-kilogram micro sledges strapped to them. Although this meant that we could only take half the supplies previous expeditions had taken, the total weight of only 50 kilograms enabled us to move twice as quickly.
As we made our initial ascent, climbing from sea level to a height of more than 1,300 metres, we traversed laboriously first through dense vegetation, then up and over steep scree slopes, before dropping onto the glacier. We then had to meticulously pick a route through the vast crevasse and serac fields in near-zero visibility.
Carrying the pack was excruciating at the best of times, but having to tread cautiously around seracs as well was a nightmare. I couldn’t have carried another gram, my knees buckling with every step. However, it was still considerably quicker and easier than hauling and shuttling the 120-kilogram sledges of equipment used by our predecessors.
Once up and onto the plateau, we started towing our backpacks on the micro sledges – only resorting to carrying them again when we encountered crevasse fields or mountain passes – and our speed increased significantly.
The ice cap has some of the most ferocious weather in the world. Wind gusts would regularly knock us off our feet; blizzards and zero visibility were everyday occurrences. In our 35 days on the ice, we saw blue sky and our surroundings only three times. For the rest of the time, all we could see was each other and the tips of our skis. It felt strange navigating around the base of mountains and over cols but never even catching a glimpse of them.
In addition to the problematic weather, we were also regularly forced to navigate across mammoth crevasse fields. Towards the latter stages of the expedition, we would regularly fall down several crevasses a day. Occasionally, we simply skied over the edge due to poor visibility, but more regularly, we would hear the thunderous crash as a snow bridge gave way beneath us. As Tarka was in the lead, he took the vast majority of the falls. Some were innocuous; with others I had to quickly drop to the ground and become a human anchor as he swung from the end of the ropes.
We also suffered from more routine injuries. For example, my feet began blistering on day one. The blisters quickly became infected in the warm, moist environment of my boots. Eventually, there was almost no good skin left, and despite heavy bandaging, walking was excruciating.
Poison peril
Day 22 brought the first serious incident, when I collapsed with acute carbon monoxide poisoning. I suffered a seizure and then lost consciousness. We spend up to half of every year living in a tent, cooking in the porch, and we had become complacent. There was a storm outside, and we must have closed the vents too much, allowing the build-up of gas from the stove. All I remember is coming to with Tarka screaming my name. Once I had regained consciousness, we had extensive discussions with the expedition doctor over the satellite phone, and after a 12-hour observation period, it looked as though I had recovered enough to continue.
On 19 September, we reached by far the most technically demanding and dangerous section of the expedition: the Fella Reichert icefall and the mountain of Cerro Mayo. Within the space of a few kilometres, the ice cap bottlenecks, leaving only one route: 1,000 metres down a steep jumbled icefall populated by unstable blocks of ice the size of houses. Once through that, there’s a steep climb from near sea level up to 2,363 metres and the summit of Cerro Mayo, before a 400-metre rappel off the vertical ice wall on the other side.
We were halted by poor visibility among the crevasses at the mouth of the Fella Reichert. The weather then rapidly deteriorated, forcing us to set up camp in a precarious position among a series of crevasses – so precarious that while Tarka was shovelling snow blocks to build a protective wall, the snow gave way just three metres from the tent and he suddenly disappeared. Luckily, his fall was broken by an hourglass-shaped crevasse, and he was able to climb out with the aid of the shovel before the middle bridge section collapsed.
The storm then really set in, and we found ourselves tent-bound. Painfully aware of the time constraints imposed on us by our fast-and-light approach, we reduced our food intake to half rations, while outside, the wind howled and the snow began to pile up…
Surviving the storm
With the tent in ribbons, we had to act quickly. The winds were so strong that there was little chance of fixing the poles. (Regardless, we had already used up the repair tapes from the tool kit on my feet after I had exhausted the medical supplies.) The snow was falling too quickly to build a snow hole – it would have literally buried us alive.
So, we set about rebuilding the camp by creating a makeshift pyramid shelter from the remaining tent fabric and our skis and ski poles. Once inside, we huddled in the tiny space and devoured several days’ rations. It was imperative that we ate well in order to increase our body temperature, enabling us to think clearly enough to make the correct decisions. Despite our precautions, Tarka developed frostnip in two of his toes.
We spent the remainder of the night taking turns to clear the snow from the shelter every hour, and the rest of the time formalising a procedure to get ourselves off the ice cap and to safety. The expedition goal of a full crossing was over – now we were focused on just staying alive.
By first light, the storm had subsided slightly, and visibility was a fraction better. Knowing that enough snow had fallen to bridge many of the surrounding crevasses, we set off for the closest glacier, the Spegazzini. We knew that descending the glacier was going to be difficult, but it offered the best chance of survival because it was relatively close and had a rapid descent profile.
Unfortunately, when the tent collapsed, my goggles were damaged, so my only eye protection was a pair of sunglasses. The storm whipped sharp ice crystals into my eyes and my vision quickly deteriorated. Soon, I was effectively blind and had to rely on Tarka to guide me, step by step.
In total, we spent five nights in makeshift shelters as we made our way down off the ice cap in storm conditions. Tarka led the way, using his ski poles to test the snow thickness while I followed about ten metres behind on the end of a rope. In all, Tarka fell down eight sizable crevasses during the descent.
By the evening of the fifth day, we had reached the end of the glacier. To our profound disappointment, we discovered a sheer face that was particularly unstable. We had hoped to leave the ice cap as we had arrived, by boat, but the glacier mouth appeared to be too unstable, so the Argentinean Gendarmerie sent a helicopter to pick us up. As we waited for it to arrive, sheltering from the wind in a crevasse, Tarka proposed to me. The sheer exhaustion from the past few days overwhelmed me and, unable to muster the words, I simply showed my acceptance with tears.
We’re still adamant that the fast-and-light approach is the best way to complete the first-ever unsupported crossing of the ice cap, and despite our ordeal, we’ll be returning next year to make another attempt – with a different tent.
For more about the expedition, visit www.rivers-of-ice.com and www.primaljourney.com
May 2010
So, every eight hours, my companion, Tarka L’Herpiniere, and I had to dig our way out and start clearing the guy ropes and anchors. Then, struggling to stand in the maelstrom, we moved the tent to a new location.
For two days, we repeated this process. And then it happened. The weight of the snow became too much for the poles to bear, and as we dragged the tent to the latest location, one of them snapped. Seconds later, another one went. With its support compromised, the tent became little more than a canvas rag, flapping about in the wind, and the sharp ends of the shattered poles quickly tore through the fabric.
And there we were, kneeling in the snow at the mouth of the Fella Reichert icefall in the middle of the worst storm I’ve ever experienced, our only shelter in tatters.
Fast and light
We set out on 24 August, ascending the Jorge Montt Glacier, the Southern Patagonian Ice Field’s most northerly point, with the goal of becoming the first to complete a full-length unsupported crossing of the world’s third-largest ice mass, without the aid of sail kites. Our aim was to finish at its most southerly point, the Balmaceda Glacier, about 390 kilometres away.
During the first 25 days, we made relatively quick progress, thanks to our ‘fast and light’ approach. Unlike previous expeditions, which have used large polar sledges or even kayaks to manhaul their equipment, we opted for backpacks with one-kilogram micro sledges strapped to them. Although this meant that we could only take half the supplies previous expeditions had taken, the total weight of only 50 kilograms enabled us to move twice as quickly.
As we made our initial ascent, climbing from sea level to a height of more than 1,300 metres, we traversed laboriously first through dense vegetation, then up and over steep scree slopes, before dropping onto the glacier. We then had to meticulously pick a route through the vast crevasse and serac fields in near-zero visibility.
Carrying the pack was excruciating at the best of times, but having to tread cautiously around seracs as well was a nightmare. I couldn’t have carried another gram, my knees buckling with every step. However, it was still considerably quicker and easier than hauling and shuttling the 120-kilogram sledges of equipment used by our predecessors.
Once up and onto the plateau, we started towing our backpacks on the micro sledges – only resorting to carrying them again when we encountered crevasse fields or mountain passes – and our speed increased significantly.
The ice cap has some of the most ferocious weather in the world. Wind gusts would regularly knock us off our feet; blizzards and zero visibility were everyday occurrences. In our 35 days on the ice, we saw blue sky and our surroundings only three times. For the rest of the time, all we could see was each other and the tips of our skis. It felt strange navigating around the base of mountains and over cols but never even catching a glimpse of them.
In addition to the problematic weather, we were also regularly forced to navigate across mammoth crevasse fields. Towards the latter stages of the expedition, we would regularly fall down several crevasses a day. Occasionally, we simply skied over the edge due to poor visibility, but more regularly, we would hear the thunderous crash as a snow bridge gave way beneath us. As Tarka was in the lead, he took the vast majority of the falls. Some were innocuous; with others I had to quickly drop to the ground and become a human anchor as he swung from the end of the ropes.
We also suffered from more routine injuries. For example, my feet began blistering on day one. The blisters quickly became infected in the warm, moist environment of my boots. Eventually, there was almost no good skin left, and despite heavy bandaging, walking was excruciating.
Poison peril
Day 22 brought the first serious incident, when I collapsed with acute carbon monoxide poisoning. I suffered a seizure and then lost consciousness. We spend up to half of every year living in a tent, cooking in the porch, and we had become complacent. There was a storm outside, and we must have closed the vents too much, allowing the build-up of gas from the stove. All I remember is coming to with Tarka screaming my name. Once I had regained consciousness, we had extensive discussions with the expedition doctor over the satellite phone, and after a 12-hour observation period, it looked as though I had recovered enough to continue.
On 19 September, we reached by far the most technically demanding and dangerous section of the expedition: the Fella Reichert icefall and the mountain of Cerro Mayo. Within the space of a few kilometres, the ice cap bottlenecks, leaving only one route: 1,000 metres down a steep jumbled icefall populated by unstable blocks of ice the size of houses. Once through that, there’s a steep climb from near sea level up to 2,363 metres and the summit of Cerro Mayo, before a 400-metre rappel off the vertical ice wall on the other side.
We were halted by poor visibility among the crevasses at the mouth of the Fella Reichert. The weather then rapidly deteriorated, forcing us to set up camp in a precarious position among a series of crevasses – so precarious that while Tarka was shovelling snow blocks to build a protective wall, the snow gave way just three metres from the tent and he suddenly disappeared. Luckily, his fall was broken by an hourglass-shaped crevasse, and he was able to climb out with the aid of the shovel before the middle bridge section collapsed.
The storm then really set in, and we found ourselves tent-bound. Painfully aware of the time constraints imposed on us by our fast-and-light approach, we reduced our food intake to half rations, while outside, the wind howled and the snow began to pile up…
Surviving the storm
With the tent in ribbons, we had to act quickly. The winds were so strong that there was little chance of fixing the poles. (Regardless, we had already used up the repair tapes from the tool kit on my feet after I had exhausted the medical supplies.) The snow was falling too quickly to build a snow hole – it would have literally buried us alive.
So, we set about rebuilding the camp by creating a makeshift pyramid shelter from the remaining tent fabric and our skis and ski poles. Once inside, we huddled in the tiny space and devoured several days’ rations. It was imperative that we ate well in order to increase our body temperature, enabling us to think clearly enough to make the correct decisions. Despite our precautions, Tarka developed frostnip in two of his toes.
We spent the remainder of the night taking turns to clear the snow from the shelter every hour, and the rest of the time formalising a procedure to get ourselves off the ice cap and to safety. The expedition goal of a full crossing was over – now we were focused on just staying alive.
By first light, the storm had subsided slightly, and visibility was a fraction better. Knowing that enough snow had fallen to bridge many of the surrounding crevasses, we set off for the closest glacier, the Spegazzini. We knew that descending the glacier was going to be difficult, but it offered the best chance of survival because it was relatively close and had a rapid descent profile.
Unfortunately, when the tent collapsed, my goggles were damaged, so my only eye protection was a pair of sunglasses. The storm whipped sharp ice crystals into my eyes and my vision quickly deteriorated. Soon, I was effectively blind and had to rely on Tarka to guide me, step by step.
In total, we spent five nights in makeshift shelters as we made our way down off the ice cap in storm conditions. Tarka led the way, using his ski poles to test the snow thickness while I followed about ten metres behind on the end of a rope. In all, Tarka fell down eight sizable crevasses during the descent.
By the evening of the fifth day, we had reached the end of the glacier. To our profound disappointment, we discovered a sheer face that was particularly unstable. We had hoped to leave the ice cap as we had arrived, by boat, but the glacier mouth appeared to be too unstable, so the Argentinean Gendarmerie sent a helicopter to pick us up. As we waited for it to arrive, sheltering from the wind in a crevasse, Tarka proposed to me. The sheer exhaustion from the past few days overwhelmed me and, unable to muster the words, I simply showed my acceptance with tears.
We’re still adamant that the fast-and-light approach is the best way to complete the first-ever unsupported crossing of the ice cap, and despite our ordeal, we’ll be returning next year to make another attempt – with a different tent.
For more about the expedition, visit www.rivers-of-ice.com and www.primaljourney.com
May 2010
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