I have a perennial blue line across my lips. I am cold.
This place looks like heaven. It feels like hell.
In a place like this, Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is at its lowest- food, shelter and survival. As you go up in the ladder, self-expression, self-esteem and other things in between start to sort of matter. But here, none of it does. You are one with nature, battering your right of survival, and trusting that you don’t get wiped out.
I was glad at having survived the arctic blast so far, and in a moment of victory and self-expression, made little voice notes for friends and family as I hiked back. The day had started early, and after a quick breakfast of cold oats, we were heading back towards civilization.
Every day on this trip has been testing my limits. Stretching the band to see how far it goes before it snaps. Jet Lag. Hypothermia. Ice. Nausea.
The Musk Ox Camp was closest to me snapping with its twin confronts of exhaustion and cold. I was glad we were heading back. A little part of me wanted to stay back, but a bigger part was combating a bad stomach. The novelty of a shower was inviting.
The last few kilometers were walking agony. Walking alone for a long stretch. Getting abandoned.
At times, without the familiarity of my herd, I was a little calf, lost, walking in a circle, going over on knoll and emerging back at what looked like the same spot. The team was spread out, and we kept losing sight of each other.
The sun beat us down. The wind did not aid our movement. The holes en route swallowed us up to our waists.
The descent off the plateau was a different experience all together. My pack was relatively lighter; the slope made walking easier but at times tougher with higher chances of me rolling off; but there was no promise of an undiscovered pristine landscape and that made walking back extremely uninspiring, boring and dull.
