Antarctic Awakening—Ken's Personal Narrative Example

     This wasn’t what was supposed to happen: unsuccessful with our climb, pinned down in our tent with this wild storm raging outside, radio not working, the ice shelf beneath us cracking and moaning, food and fuel running low, and the temperature a brutal 40 degrees below zero. Nope. By now we were supposed to be safely back at the station with no one but ourselves knowing that we had just climbed Mt. Erebus, Antarctica’s most famous mountain.

No one was supposed to know because climbing a mountain wasn’t why we were in Antarctica. As members of the first ever winter-over construction crew, we were there to work. Our job was to rebuild a dormitory and a couple of other structures, work that wasn’t possible during the busy summer months. But wintering in the Antarctic is an adventure in itself: a long eight months isolated from the rest of the world, with no mail, no fresh food, and no way out if something went wrong.

And things had gone terribly wrong. As three members of the station search and rescue (SAR) team, we had been given permission to do some winter training over the weekend. We said we would camp for one night, near the station. But our real goal was Erebus, an active volcano looming in the distance some 50 kilometers away. Over a series of weeks, we planned our climb in secret, meeting late at night and preparing our gear. With the help of a couple of snowmobiles, we felt we could get to the base of Erebus, then use skis to climb to the lower reaches of the mountain, and up high use ice climbing gear to reach the summit. If all went well we would be back to the station in time for work on Monday, with no one knowing we had done the climb.

Just shy of the summit, however, a huge storm came rolling down from the polar plateau, obscuring our vision and very nearly preventing us from getting back to our tent halfway down the mountain. There we hunkered down for the night, exhausted and cold, hoping the storm would clear by morning. When it hadn’t, we knew we had to try and get off the mountain anyway. With one person out in front trying to find our tracks from the day before, we slowly crept down the mountain. Eventually we met the frozen sea and set up camp. But it was a restless night as the sea ice below us scraped against the rocky shore. When the storm hadn’t cleared the next morning we moved again, this time away from shore out on to the frozen sea where the ice was more stable.

Now we started to worry whether we would get through the storm alive. The cold had sapped our strength and we were each suffering from frostbite: on our faces, fingers, toes, most of one of my feet. Inside our tent, each exhaled breath condensed and froze on the inside walls, and each time we moved it came crashing down, soon enveloping us in frost. We had food and fuel for one more day, but if the storm lasted longer than that, our survival was in doubt.

But the next day the storm cleared and we began our trek back to the station. We soon met other members of the SAR team who had been out looking for us over the last three days. Back at the station there was a general sigh of relief that we were safe, but there was anger as well: from the administrators for breaking the rules and causing a major search effort to find us, and from our friends for making them worry that we might have perished in the storm.

As foolish as we had been, or perhaps because of our foolishness, there was much that I learned from this venture. One thing I learned was to not be so selfish in my desires. I learned that I have responsibility to others, and that I cannot selfishly choose to climb a mountain because it is what I want to do. To my family, to my friends, and to my employer, I have obligations, and these obligations must override my personal desires. Another thing I learned is that I can get through the most challenging situations. The three of us worked together and well to keep ourselves alive. Even when it seemed we might die, we never lost faith in ourselves. When I have faced tough situations since then—in outdoor situations, or with my work, or in relationships—I know I have the strength to survive.