Now I could prepare everything for the night. First, all my gear came into the tent to try to prevent ice-up. I had a carpet underlay and thick mattress underneath my winter bag. Tucked under it at the base were my boots so they wouldn’t freeze up overnight. Gaiters too. Under my shoulder was a bottle of water for when I needed running liquid. In the vestibule, in case it tipped, but as close to my body as I dared, was another mug of water. My pack was under the top half of my body. To bed, I wore two pairs of thick wollen socks, possum gloves, a lined hood, thermal longs, lined overpants, two icebreakers, a fleece, an O-top and bottom, and a thick Arcteryx jacket. Over my bag, I spread two Goretex jackets, with a spare down jacket draped over the middle.
Unfortunately, I was not warm enough. Ice crystals already hung from my ‘ceiling’, moving down on me. I was ‘sleeping’ in a fridge. Help! It was now 6pm, and I began my exercise regime designed to keep my metabolism high enough to sustain life. I only did exercises that did not draw air into my bag. I did bicycles, worms, crunches, sit-ups and a series of nameless exercises taught to me one year in preparation for a World Championship, where we had to, in series, contract and relax every muscle group of the body. Our coach’s emphasis had been on relaxation, but I adapted the procedure to making sure every muscle group worked. Repeat ad infinitum.
A watched watch never progresses. I refrained from peeping until 10pm. I was pleased. Five down, nine to go. Over a third complete. At midnight, it was better – seven each way. Half way. Yippee. At 1am, I grew anxious. The exercises weren’t working in that I was getting colder, and with dismay I realised that the coldest hour of any night is one hour before dawn. That was five hours away. Could I keep this up? I wasn’t fatigued yet, but could imagine being so – a bad sign. My hood had iced to the roof of the tent. I snapped the crystals to free it. I tested my boots: frozen solid despite the protection of my bag! How was my mug of water, just 20 centimetres away? A solid block of ice. Ominous, although I comforted myself that in the change of state from water to ice, it would have released a tiny jot of heat for me. Hm. Perhaps I could try and beat up my metabolic rate with more food. Not feeling one scrap hungry, I indulged in a feast of chocolate, nuts and mango slices, before returning to my exercise programme…
…read the full account in Wild issue 145.