Year of the Cock Expedition - Queen Maud Land, Antarctica

When I awoke 15 hours later I felt a new energy about me.   I took the day to digest the experience and consider my options. I was still in Antarctica alone. I had put every bit of my energy and know-how on the line to get here.  My addiction/obsession for solo climbing is energy not to be ignored, as it pulls me like metal to a magnet.

I got on my skis and went to look at a beautiful spire nearby that led to a small café-table-sized summit. Having been defeated on the first route I attempted, I yearned to stand on the top of this spire.

Battling wind and storms, I found mostly solid stone underfoot and made the summit 16 days later. Standing on top was glorious, but most of the enjoyment while getting there was consumed by my thoughts of rotten rock. I tiptoed with each move and even wore free-climbing shoes the entire time for added precision, despite the obvious frostbite I would have to endure.

I could barely sleep while thinking of the next day’s work in the steeps every night. I was shadowed by fear from the rock fall experience the entire time. Nonetheless, I finally stood on top of the needle-like Windmill Spire.

After rappelling the route and arriving safely back at my camp, I enjoyed the sunset sprawled across the horizon.

Though I would be leaving soon, I still wanted to stand on top of the amazing ship’s prow. Three days before the Russians picked me up, I skied to the back of the it and went for a push on its long dragon-back ridge. Several hours later, above one of the most beautiful ridgelines I have climbed, I found myself atop the summit of the ship's prow that attempted to destroy me. I thought of my daughter once again, but this time I laughed instead of cried.