2-68（在线收听）

68.

A few weeks later I flew to the Antarctic, landed at a research station called Novolazarevskaya, atiny village of huts and Portakabins. The few hardy souls living there were fabulous hosts. Theyhoused me, fed me—their soups were amazing. I couldn’t get enough.

Maybe because it was thirty-five degrees below zero?

More piping-hot chicken noodle, Harry?

Yes, please.

The team and I spent a week or two carb-loading, gearing up. And, of course, quaffing vodka.

At last, one bleary morning…off we went. We climbed into a plane, flew up to the ice shelf,stopped to refuel. The plane landed on a field of solid, flat white, as in a dream. There was nothingto be seen in any direction but a handful of giant fuel barrels. We taxied over to them and I got outwhile the pilots filled up. The silence was holy—not a bird, not a car, not a tree—but it was onlyone part of the larger, all-encompassing nothingness. No smells, no wind, no sharp corners ordistinct features to distract from the endless and insanely beautiful vista. I walked off to be bymyself for a few moments. I’d never been anywhere half so peaceful. Overcome with joy, I did aheadstand. Months and months of anxiety passed away…for a few minutes.

We got back onto the plane, flew to the starting point of the trek. As we began walking, at last,I remembered: Oh, yeah, my toe’s broken.

Just recently, in fact. A boys’ weekend in Norfolk. We drank and smoked and partied tilldawn, and then, while trying to reassemble one of the rooms we’d rearranged, I dropped a heavychair with brass wheels onto my foot.

Silly injury. But debilitating. I could barely walk. No matter, I was determined not to let theteam down.

Somehow I kept pace with my fellow walkers, nine hours each day, pulling a sledge thatweighed about two hundred pounds. It was hard for everyone to gain traction on the snow, but forme the particular challenge was the slick, undulating patches carved out by the wind. Sastrugi, thatwas the Norwegian word for these patches. Trekking across sastrugi with a broken toe? Maybethis could be an event at the International Warrior Games, I thought. But any time I felt tempted tocomplain—about my toe, my fatigue, anything—I had only to glance at my fellow walkers. I wasdirectly behind a Scottish soldier named Duncan, who had no legs. Behind me, an Americansoldier named Ivan was blind. So not one whinge would be heard from me, I vowed.

Also, an experienced polar guide had advised me before I left Britain to use this trek to “cleanthe hard drive.” That was his phrase. Use the repetitive motion, he said, use the biting cold, usethat nothingness, that landscape’s unique blankness, to narrow your focus until your mind fallsinto a trance. It will become a meditation.

I followed his advice to the letter. I told myself to stay present. Be the snow, be the cold, beeach step, and it worked. I fell into the loveliest trance, and even when my thoughts were dark Iwas able to stare at them, watch them float away. Sometimes it would happen that I’d watch mythoughts connect to other thoughts and all at once the whole chain of thoughts would make somesense. For instance, I considered all of the previous challenging walks of my life—the North Pole,the Army exercises, following Mummy’s coffin to the grave—and while the memories werepainful, they also provided continuity, structure, a kind of narrative spine that I’d never suspected.

Life was one long walk. It made sense. It was wonderful. All was interdependent andinterconnected…

Then came the dizzies.

The South Pole, counterintuitively, is high above sea level, roughly three thousand meters, andso altitude sickness is a real danger. One walker had already been taken off our trek; now Iunderstood why. The feeling started slowly and I brushed it off. Then it knocked me flat. Headspins, followed by crushing migraine, pressure building in both lobes of my brain. I didn’t want tostop but it wasn’t up to me. My body said, Thanks, this is where we get off. The knees went. Theupper torso followed.

I hit the snow like a pile of rocks.

Medics pitched a tent, laid me flat, gave me some sort of anti- migraine injection. In mybuttocks, I think. Steroids, I heard them say. When I came to, I felt semi-revived. I caught up withthe group, searched for a way back into the trance.

Be the cold, be the snow…

As we neared the Pole we were all in sync, all elated. We could see it there, just over there,through our ice-crusted eyelashes. We began running to it.

Stop!

The guides told us it was time to make camp.

Camp? What the—? But the finish line’s just there.

You’re not allowed to camp at the Pole! So we’ll all have to camp here tonight, then strike outfor the Pole in the morning.

Camped in the shadow of the Pole, none of us could sleep, we were too excited. And thus wehad a party. There was some drinking, horseplay. The underside of the world rang with ourgiggles.

Finally, at first light, December 13, 2013, we took off, stormed the Pole. On or near the exactspot was a huge circle of flags representing the twelve signatories of the Antarctic treaty. We stoodbefore the flags, exhausted, relieved, disoriented. Why’s there a Union Jack on the coffin? Thenwe hugged. Some press accounts say one of the soldiers took off his leg and we used it as atankard to guzzle champagne, which sounds right, but I can’t remember. I’ve drunk booze out ofmultiple prosthetic legs in my life and I can’t swear that was one of the times.

Beyond the flags stood a huge building, one of the ugliest I’d ever seen. A windowless box,built by the Americans as a research center. The architect who designed this monstrosity, Ithought, must’ve been filled with hate for his fellow humans, for the planet, for the Pole. It brokemy heart to see a thing so unsightly dominate a land so otherwise pristine. Nevertheless, alongwith everyone else, I hurried inside the ugly building to warm up, have a pee, drink some cocoa.

There was a huge café and we were all starving. Sorry, we were told, café’s closed. Would youlike a glass of water?

Water? Oh. OK.

Each of us was handed a glass.

Then a souvenir. A test tube.

With a tiny cork in the top.

On the side was a printed label: Cleanest Air in the World.