to visit, still hold it very close to their souls. Its very existence seems to make people feel better, to give some kind of comfort. Itâs as if we think the world canât be all that bad if somewhere like Antarctica exists. Antarctica itself became the projectâs very first patron, allowing the expedition to benefit from its reflected glow. Simon offered to create a website completely free of charge.
Preparing the content for the web pages was the first time that the plans for the expedition, in its entirety, moved from within my head onto paper. I started thinking about the application form that would appear on the website. What questions did I want to ask? I was clear in my mind about the sort of person I wanted on my team. I was determined to make the expedition open to as many women as possible. It would have been easier to seek applications from experienced travellers, adventurers, athletes and skiers, people that already had some of the skills and experience needed for polar travel but I felt taking that approach would have been missing a huge opportunity. I wanted to create a team of ordinary women so that anyone who read about the expedition would be able to identify with at least one of those involved and to know that, if they wanted to, they could just as easily do something as ambitious and outrageous as skiing to the South Pole.
I saw the expedition as an opportunity to test this belief but I also had to be realistic. There were practical considerations as well. Firstly, everyone needed to speak English because it was hard enough to communicate with a team above the roar of an Antarctic blizzard and the muffle of three layers of face-covering without adding a foreign language to the mix. This wasnât as prohibitive a restriction as it sounded. Most Commonwealth countries still use English as an official language, so for many applicants it would be their first language, or at least a language that they used on a regular basis. Secondly, everyone needed good access to the Internet because, in the months leading up to the expedition, constant communication was going to be vital and this couldnât be done realistically, and cost-effectively, without the Internet. I needed women with motivations strong enough to see them through all the inevitable setbacks and I felt confident that I would know as soon as I read the sentiments of someone I wanted on my team. Eventually, I settled on a format for the application form. It would demand just five answers:
Explain why you want to be involved in the expedition.
Outline your outdoor sport or adventurous activity experience, if any.
What additional skills will you bring to the team?
How would you describe yourself?
Is there anything that you would like to add to your application?
Consciously, there was no requirement for information on a personâs age or appearance on the form and I had kept the questions deliberately open to give applicants the freedom and opportunity to write whatever they felt they wanted to say. Simon sent me a test application through the website as a trial run. Bizarrely, this would turn out not to be the only application I would receive from a man.
On 30 June 2008, the website was ready to be launched. All that was left to do was the very first blog entry, which would set the tone of the whole endeavour by introducing me, the expedition and the ideals behind the project. I knew what I wanted to convey, all I needed were the words. I sat for hours in front of a blinking cursor, occasionally typing frantically for a few minutes, before deleting the lot. Finally, I had something I was happy with, but I was still unsure.
There is only one person I go to for reassurance about problems like this: Paul Deegan. Paul is a three-time Everest mountaineer, expedition leader and award-winning travel writer. The first time I ever called him, I was a 26-year-old wannabe author who had just quit her job in order to prepare for a race