So, I am mostly trying not to panic.
When they send you to the Antarctic, they put you through survival training. Rigorous survival training. Until very recently, I thought such training was pointless and overkill.
It wasn't.
Now, I'm not sure they had when you walk into the southern lights in the wrong season and end up somewhere completely different as a possible scenario for needing survival skills, but, well, here I am.
Where is here? I still don't know the answer to that question.
"Uhh," I stammer, wandering in the general direction of the nearby glacier. I run my gloved hands down my body, checking for what I still have on my body - I am searching for my emergency satellite phone, not gonna lie, because if I can fix this predicament with a quick phone call you know I sure as hell am gonna take that option!
But my phone is gone. So is my watch. Great.
Strapped to the inside of my left boot is my epic hunting knife, and on my right is a smaller paring knife. Potentially useful. (Kinda wish I had gone full Jon Snow and brought along my legit Longclaw replica, alas, they wouldn't allow it on this expedition {I asked})
I breathe, and I just focus on that for a while, watching as the atmosphere turns my breath into foggy mist and drifts away. I try very hard not to get stuck on the cacophony of questions pounding through my head, all asking a variation of the same questions: What the fuck just happened; How the fuck did that just happen; Where the fuck am I; What the fuck is going on.
"Hello?!" I shout eventually, as I amble through the ankle-deep powder towards the glacier, hoping its icy surface will help amplify my voice to any nearby ears that are hopefully attached to friendly people and not predators.
When they send you to the Antarctic, they put you through survival training. Rigorous survival training. Until very recently, I thought such training was pointless and overkill.
It wasn't.
Now, I'm not sure they had when you walk into the southern lights in the wrong season and end up somewhere completely different as a possible scenario for needing survival skills, but, well, here I am.
Where is here? I still don't know the answer to that question.
"Uhh," I stammer, wandering in the general direction of the nearby glacier. I run my gloved hands down my body, checking for what I still have on my body - I am searching for my emergency satellite phone, not gonna lie, because if I can fix this predicament with a quick phone call you know I sure as hell am gonna take that option!
But my phone is gone. So is my watch. Great.
Strapped to the inside of my left boot is my epic hunting knife, and on my right is a smaller paring knife. Potentially useful. (Kinda wish I had gone full Jon Snow and brought along my legit Longclaw replica, alas, they wouldn't allow it on this expedition {I asked})
I breathe, and I just focus on that for a while, watching as the atmosphere turns my breath into foggy mist and drifts away. I try very hard not to get stuck on the cacophony of questions pounding through my head, all asking a variation of the same questions: What the fuck just happened; How the fuck did that just happen; Where the fuck am I; What the fuck is going on.
"Hello?!" I shout eventually, as I amble through the ankle-deep powder towards the glacier, hoping its icy surface will help amplify my voice to any nearby ears that are hopefully attached to friendly people and not predators.
Chulane
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