Dropping off the Plateau

Thursday, 31 July 2008

Noel dropped off the top of the plateau and I heard the swoosh of his skis gathering pace. In a split second his pulk (sledge) followed and then it was me. The tips of my skis hung over the edge and soon I too was on the move. Within seconds I was travelling at speed and with that, my control disappeared…

The snow-plough that had provided so much control on my first downhill skiing attempt back in Chamonix was not working. That time I was wearing downhill boots and bindings which held my heels firmly in position allowing me to carve through the snow and slow myself down. This time I was on cross-country skis and the only connection with my skis was one strap holding my toe in position. As I tried to point my toes in, and more importantly, push my heels out to catch an edge and plough through the snow, the only thing that happened was my heels slid off the skis and over the slippery surface. My heels ploughed the snow but the skis kept pointing straight down!

With my speed increasing, my control gone and my confidence left somewhere back at the top of the hill, I hit a mound of snow and in a flash I was down. My less than graceful skiing produced a full blown face plant. My own momentum was propelling me forward; I was also attached by solid poles to Noel’s pulk and I was now being dragged down the hill on my face. Later that night in our tent, we watched the footage of the day– Noel and Simon told me that just as I hit the snow with my face I appeared centre shot. So, the result of our first live test of the new guidance system – it didn’t work!

Developing an effective guidance system is one of the big blind-specific issues for our team – not least because we will be protecting our heads and faces from the sub-zero temperatures and verbal communication will be difficult whilst moving, if not impossible.  As a result I have been designing the South Pole guidance systems in my head since entering the race months ago and the design I had come up with seemed to make sense - in my mind at least.

My prototype design - modelled only in my head - was a modified version of the system that had worked so successfully on the rough terrain and narrow cliff top pathways during the Everest Marathon in 2007. John O’Regan and I developed the Everest system based on how I receive direction messages from my guide dog, Larry’s harness.  For this we used one trekking pole from my left wrist forward to John’s left wrist and one from my right wrist to his right wrist. This system not only allowed me to use my own trekking poles as normal to feel the ground immediately at my feet but I could feel John moving left, right, up and down with very little verbal instruction. I figured I could design a similar system for the South Pole.

However, in Everest we weren’t wearing skis and we weren’t pulling pulks. In Antarctica we will have a much bigger space between the lead man and me - the Everest system will not work in the same way. But, the principle of solid poles over ropes was still good and what I had envisaged as the key to a non-verbal method of communication.

In line with my design, Simon and Noel rigged up the prototype for testing. We would ski in a line – Noel first, me second and Simon bringing up the rear. Solid poles running from the back of Noel’s pulk which was in front of me – back left to my left hip, back right to my right hip. We set off; on the flat and on the uphill the system was working well. The information about the terrain and the direction we were going in was travelling up the solid poles to my hips and registering through my climbing harness almost immediately. In fact it was perhaps a little too solid and I struggled to react to the variations in pace – either I was holding Noel back when he wanted to move faster or I was tipping into his pulk as he slowed. On the flat and uphill these were minor issues and I knew that with some bungees on the end of each pole there would be enough slack built into the system to get around these problems. However, the downhill was different.

We moved out from camp in formation - Noel and pulk, me and my pulk and then Simon behind. At the summit of the mountain we spent time working on our crevasse rescue techniques, but for those couple of hours I was really worried about how we would get back down. The narrow track we would have to follow fell away to the left and ended in a pile of rocks. Judging by my lack of control on the skis over the last few days I was really worried about injuring myself and pulling the other guys over with me. Experience has taught me to share these types of concerns with team-mates. There is no glory in getting injured or injuring others in the interests of bravado. Noel picked up on my concerns and suggested that we change our order for the return journey to camp.  Noel is a hugely experienced skier and he suggested switching with Simon so he could act as a break at the back whilst Simon led. It was the last piece of skiing of the trip and the result was brilliant – no face plants!

We skied the entire way back to camp in complete control. Simon driving on in front, me behind and Noel acting like a dog sled musher at the back. As we travelled over the snow my confidence grew by the second, as Noel held us back where appropriate and shouted at me to stop slowing the team down every now and then when I started to get nervous. As we slid into camp I was on a high and Simon was too.

It looks like we’ve cracked the system. And so, I’m back to the prototyping…bungees, poles, karabiners, pulks, skis, boots, the order the team travel in and we’ll be off to the sand dunes at our local beach to test and re-test it. We must get this absolutely right before going south.