This morning as I set off, the landscape was unrecognizable.
I wandered lost in the blizzard as the familiar paths had disappeared.
Would I make it to the cafe for supplies? And if I did would it be open? If it was, would I be able to find my way home again? And why do friends say I am over dramatic? WHY!?
These thoughts flurried through my mind as Bernard and I set off...
That morning Bernard and I set off again to try and find the supply store. I harnessed Bernie and pulled the sleigh into place.
Sleigh dogs are a special breed, capable of enduring long journeys through the wilderness.
David Attenborough and the rest of the team who were filming the expedition, argued that what we were about to do was madness given the weather conditions and refused to go further with us.
I smiled but in my heart I knew he was right.
Bernard the sleigh dog and I had set off alone for the last three days to get supplies, but our efforts were thwarted by the poor visibility.
We could only see a few yards ahead with sunglasses on and perhaps a kilometer or two without them.
That morning we felt the ground move beneath us as we were swept slowly down into an icy tunnel. Had the glacier begun to move? Was it an avalanche? Would we make it out of there?
I had become delirious as I heard voices announcing that there were no delays on the Victoria line.
How the mind plays tricks on even the hardiest explorers in these conditions...
Without wishing to over dramatize the situation, but overnight the weather conditions had deteriorated. So much so that I decided that Bernard would not accompany me that day to try and reach the supply point.
Also Bernard kept sniffing and wanting to mark every bush along the way. This had slowed our progress down on previous attempts and why we had found ourselves going in circles.
As I set off alone, I contemplated the vast expanses of absolute isolation that lay before me. They say that 'no man is an island' but that day I felt like one... one called Iceland not Mauritius or perhaps Greenland even but not the Seychelles.
Alone... utterly alone surrounded by a sea of snow with snow signs...I mean no signs to show me the way, no paths to guide me. This was not the light snow covering in which children could play, this was serious stuff...Would I make it to the store before the Arctic sun sank below the horizon? Would I? ....
Not being one who is prone to any use of hyperbole or exaggeration, so suffice to say the journey felt as long as it had taken for the earth to form over 600 billion years ago. But finally I reached the Arctic Cafe.
Sure I may have been a bit delirious, perhaps even incomprehensible but that was no excuse for the shocking customer service I received. The shop assistant just stood there and ignored me.
Worse still they only had one carrot in the whole Arctic Cafe. There were none of the essentials we so desperately were in need of like kitkats, two litre cokes and cheese and onion crisps essential for the long journey back to base camp.
Over the long dark hours I held the shop assistant enthralled as I related our story to him.
By morning he was visibly moved by what Bernard and I had endured....
Not being one who likes to extend his metaphors, so suffice to say that on the journey back to base camp without any water for now on 6 days, my throat was as the sand of the Sahara desert blown dry by the Great Sirocco winds, as parched and crack'ed as the ancient dry river beds where no flow had flowed, no swan had swum, nor thirst been quenched for a billion arid years.
I really felt like a coke okay...
Just as I was about to give up and take the bus - I mean just lie down in the wilderness - my extensive training kicked in and my honed sixth sense reminded me to look to the Arctic birds and mammals as to how to survive.
It was then that I saw that Bernard the sleigh dog was licking the snow. I knew it was some kind of sign, but what was he trying to tell me? What instinct was he calling upon? And how could I emulate this to my advantage?
I stood up and extended my tongue in lapping movements into the wind. It didn't help, and now my throat felt still drier than the Great gravel plains of the Namib with desert scorpions scurrying in search of water that would never come, mocked by the lonely clouds that disappeared into the Atlantic fog.......
Not being the type of potential writer who would want to use a pat ending for the last chapter and basically use it as a promotion for his next book and then switch genres due to public demand, but suffice to say that we managed to get back to base and lived happily ever after.
However along the way home Bernard and I noticed that something had happened to the Snowmen during the night.
As amateur detectives we knew that it was our duty to investigate the matter.
What was it that had caused them to succumb? Was there some kind of Abominable snowman out there in the dark? Was it some form of alien life like the one that had attacked our neighbour Sigourney Weaver in the first and subsequent sequels?
These thoughts tumbled through our minds as I showed Bernard how to make paw prints on paper for his future book signings.