September 1 – 24 km

Happy September 1st.
Sunshine.

It felt almost absurd to write that after the past week. The sun has been a rare commodity lately, and when it finally appeared this morning it lifted the entire icecap with it. The day still began bitter cold, as the summit area tends to be, but once the sun climbed higher the cold loosened its grip and the skiing turned genuinely pleasant.

The snow was warmer than it has been in days, no longer the sandpaper-dry surface that stole speed and energy. We moved faster, more fluidly, covering distance with ease. There was almost no wind. Even with a 10 a.m. start, we clipped along and put down 24 kilometers without forcing it.

Morale rose with the light. Solar chargers were strapped to the top of sleds, and it felt like more than batteries were recharging. Spirits lifted. Shoulders relaxed. For the first time in a while, the horizon felt friendly.

I spent much of the day skiing alongside Eirik, one of the two Norwegian brothers. We talked at length about American politics and the differences between our two countries, the kind of wide-ranging conversation that only happens when movement becomes automatic and the environment allows your mind to wander. I really like Eirik. He’s thoughtful, empathetic, and quietly skilled, a steady presence among a group full of strong personalities, Elaine and I included.

We are officially over the top now, though if I hadn’t known it from the maps and instruments I never would have guessed. The icecap offers no obvious cues. The descent is subtle, almost theoretical at this point. Still, something has shifted. Gravity has begun, however faintly, to take our side.

Kathinka asked, kindly, if I could slow my pace a little. I did, happily. Elaine and I have a small advantage here in this summit environment, living above 8,000 feet back home in Colorado, and it’s something I need to remain conscious of. The group felt good today, and keeping it that way mattered more than speed.

The sky put on another show. High, textured clouds stretched across a deep blue backdrop, the kind of light that makes even a featureless landscape feel dimensional. It was a joy simply to be moving in it.

Camp that evening came together easily. Last night’s tent repair held, which made both Elaine and I happy. We took time for small luxuries: shaving, washing up, a good dinner, journaling. The kind of care that’s easy to skip when conditions are harsh, and easy to savor when they’re not.

Our weather man mentioned rain tomorrow. Heavy rain. I tried not to think too hard about what that might mean. Today was generous. Today asked nothing of us but to move and notice.

Tomorrow will be different.
For now, we slept well.