Published by Random House, 1998, 350 pages

I was intrigued by this book for two reasons: one, that it is a woman’s account of a trip to the Antarctic—a change from all the books written about the explorations of men like Scott and Shackleton—and second, that Sara Wheeler sees this vast landscape of ice and snow also as a “landscape of the mind”, where you come face to face with yourself and your demons. I can’t imagine living in the middle of all that ice, but I do get the attraction of a “blank canvas” type of place (one of the reasons I like deserts).

Wheeler decided to make this trip after going to the Antartida Chilena when she was in Chile (see book review below). In 1994 she went as the first foreigner on the US government’s National Science Foundation’s Antarctic Artists’ and Writers Program and spent seven months travelling the continent. Her book moves between the present and the past, blending them seamlessly together.

Unlike the Artic, there are no native people here. The continent is covered in ice, made of snow compacted over thousands of years.  There are mountains, but most of the continent is miles of flat ice. Wheeler’s record of the trip is fascinating, not least the people she meets—Antarctica’s temporary residents, who live in the camps and stations, many of whom look forward to going home but then return as soon as they can. They talk about “getting away to the Antartic”.

Wheeler arrives at the American base, McMurdo, and finds an office space allocated to her, labelled W002 (for writer), hence her nickname, Woo. There are women working at the various bases, but it is mainly men (Beards, or Frozen Beards), which means that sometimes Wheeler, as the only woman in a camp, has to put up with schoolboy humor. One of the bars has an Annoy-o-meter with an arrow moving from Vaguely Irritating through to Murderously Provocative. It is interesting to see how the different countries’ bases differ—for example, the Italian has a Nespresso machine (heaven!) and good food. However, there are no luxuries here, and Wheeler writes entertainingly about bathroom arrangements (buckets and funnels) and creative cooking, put together with whatever rations are available. (She includes her recipe for Antarctic bread and butter pudding at the end of the book.)

But the privations don’t seem that important when faced with the stunning beauty of the continent. Wheeler is lyrical about the landscape. She describes a frozen lake: “sheets of cracked and rippled frosted blue, and ribboned crystals imprisoned in the ice glimmered like glowworms. It was bathed in light pale as an unripe lemon.” She talks about the continent “being sufficient unto itself…a world in which everything made sense”.

It really is an extraordinary journey, in every sense of the word. By the end of the trip, Wheeler has not only faced down her demons and fears but has developed a strong bond with the continent, a place that gave her peace in a very fundamental sense.

This review first appeared on Women on the Road.