Polar Quest

7 (#ulink_65aa0a67-fd84-5c82-89c4-1e37e4163a1e)

Yasha led the way toward one of the support buildings, followed by Kilkenny and Mati. When he grasped the lever handle and pulled, a brittle veneer of ice shattered as he opened the door.

‘Inside, please,’ Yasha said urgently.

The wind slammed the door behind them, knocking Yasha back. He flipped the switches by the door and a dozen fluorescent tubes flickered on. The building housed a large machine shop used to service the station’s equipment.

Yasha studied Kilkenny for a moment. ‘How much do you weigh? About eighty kilos?’

Kilkenny did the math in his head. ‘About that. Why?’

‘The masts and planks on our iceboats are designed to bend under our weight. You and Mati are about same weight and build. You should use his boat.’

‘It will bring you luck,’ Mati said. ‘It’s good Estonian boat. Everybody knows best iceboaters come from Estonia.’

Near a large overhead door, Kilkenny saw a pair of thirty-foot-long iceboats. The sleek, carbon-fiber hulls – fully enclosed with clear Plexiglas bubble canopies – looked more like F-18s than watercraft. From the stern of the iceboats, a broad plank sprang like an outrigger, ten feet to each side, at the ends of which were fixed runners. A third runner mounted on a pivot stood beneath the tapered nose of each iceboat, providing a means to steer the agile racers.

‘They are beautiful, no?’ Yasha said proudly as they approached the iceboats.

‘Very,’ Kilkenny replied. ‘I was expecting a DN boat.’

Yasha shook his head. ‘No, it’s too cold here for open cockpit. These are Skeeter Class.’

‘You know about iceboats?’ Mati asked with some surprise.

‘A little. I helped my grandfather build a few DN boats when I was a kid, but I sailed on water.’ Kilkenny ran his hand over the hull’s glossy white surface. ‘How fast?’

Mati grinned. ‘On smooth ice with a good wind, two-hundred-and-fifty kilometres per hour. Here, we sail on mix of rough ice and snow, so we have to use hybrid blade/ski runners. It’s not as fast as back home.’

‘Show me what I need to know.’

Mati slid the canopy forward along its tracks. Then he stripped off his parks and lay down on his back inside the cockpit of his dark blue iceboat. Mati’s body filled most of the long narrow cockpit, his shoulders almost touching the sides. ‘You steer with your feet to turn the front runner at the end of the springboard.’

‘Push left to go right?’ Kilkenny asked.

‘Yes.’ Mati grabbed the joystick mounted near his right hand. ‘Instead of lines, this operates electric winches for adjusting sail and stays. Push forward to let out sail and slow boat down; pull back to trim sail and increase speed. Pushing right will loosen the stays. This will allow mast and plank to bend more – good for acceleration. Pull joystick to left to tighten the stays – it will help point closer to wind. Doing this may also cause you to hike boat up on two runners, so be careful.’

‘Hiking boat is fun,’ Yasha added, ‘but you run risk of capsizing. Not good thing to do on ice.’

‘Joystick is spring-loaded,’ Mati continued, ‘so once you make adjustment, you can let go and the sail will stay where you set it. The art of iceboating is tuning mast and sail to match the conditions. Here, on left side, is small steering wheel. You use it to steer the boat when you run alongside, pushing boat to get it moving. You can also use wheel as a backup, if the foot-pedal steering fails.’

‘If it handles anything like my Windrunner, I should be fine.’

‘Our boats are equipped with small electric heater and GPS unit.’ Mati tapped a small, flat-display panel mounted beneath the front edge of the cockpit opening. ‘Yasha and I have made trip to LV several times over summer; route is programmed into the GPS.’

‘You will encounter cracks in the ice – don’t try to run parallel or you risk dropping runner into crack and wrecking boat,’ Yasha advised. ‘Just sail over them, perpendicular to the crack.’

‘How do I stop?’ Kilkenny asked.

‘Pull on this,’ Mati replied, pointing to a black T-shaped plastic handle mounted to the upper hull above his right leg. ‘Pull and hold. The brake drops from underside of boat and drags across the ice. When you let go, the brake will spring back up.’

Yasha crouched by the front runner. Near the tip of the combination blade/ski, Kilkenny saw a square metal hoop pin connected to the top of the runner. ‘Once you stop, point the boat into wind and set this brake in place.’ Yasha flipped the metal hope over the front of the runner. ‘It will keep boat from blowing away.’

Kilkenny and Yasha assisted Mati in preparing the ice-boat for a sail. Mati fine-tuned the seat to accommodate Kilkenny’s six-foot frame. Ten minutes later, they opened the overhead door on the leeward side of the building and carried Mati’s iceboat out into the Antarctic night. They then installed the thirty-foot fiberglass mast and unfurled the Dacron sails. When the boat was rigged, Yasha and Mati gave it a quick visual inspection.

‘You’re ready to go,’ Mati said.

‘Great. Mati, you’re my backup. Keep monitoring the radio for transmissions from LV. If you hear anything that sounds like a routine departure, that means I failed. Notify McMurdo immediately about what really happened.’

‘I understand. Good luck.’

‘Thanks for your help.’

Kilkenny climbed into the iceboat and pulled the bubble canopy over his head, then signaled that he was ready to go. Mati and Yasha began pushing the iceboat forward, the wind blowing a steady twenty knots from Kilkenny’s right. Beyond the protection of the building, Kilkenny’s sail fluttered as it filled with air. Once the sail caught hold of the wind, the Russians let go. Kilkenny quickly pulled away from Vostok Station, the bow aimed at the first way point.

As Kilkenny became more comfortable handling the iceboat, he trimmed the sail to pick up speed. The composite runners attacked the rough surface, alternating between gliding over and slicing through the granular particles of snow and ice. He was amazed at how quickly the sleek craft accelerated, and the zigzag pattern of his tacks kept him on course while using the wind to his advantage. Then, ahead, he caught sight of a small white cyclone forming on the ice.

‘Oh, shit!’ Kilkenny cursed.

The snow devil raced toward him, its turbulent winds snapping his sail wildly. The iceboat shuddered violently as the snow devil struck it broadside just behind the canopy. The collision broke the grip of the rear runners on the ice and threw the craft into a broach. Kilkenny’s shoulder slammed into the hull as the craft lurched into a spin. White rooster tails sprang from each of the runners as their honed edges scraped sideways across the ice.

Kilkenny’s shoulder ached and his breathing came in hungry gulps. He braced himself inside the cockpit and pushed hard on the foot pedals, trying to steer in the direction of the spin. The iceboat spun past 270 degrees before the snow devil released it and the runners finally caught hold of the ice again. Weakened by its encounter with the iceboat, the snow devil rapidly lost coherence and dissipated.

After regaining control, Kilkenny eased the sail, pointed the bow directly into the wind, and pulled on the brake. The iceboat quickly came to a stop. Kilkenny lay in the cockpit staring up at the blue sky for a moment, letting the adrenaline rush subside, then pulled himself out of the cockpit to check the boat for any sign of damage from the broach.

Kilkenny knelt down to check the long flat plank beneath the iceboat’s stern and, thankfully, found no cracks. He then cleared the coating of shaved ice that covered each of the runners and found them undamaged.

Kilkenny released the parking brake, grabbed hold of the left side of the cockpit, and pushed the iceboat forward. As it moved, he turned it back toward his destination. The sail fluttered, and Kilkenny continued pushing until he felt the wind take hold. He then leapt into the cockpit, braced his feet on the steering pedals, and pulled the canopy closed. After tightening the stays a little, Kilkenny steered into the next tack.

When he reached the outermost of the windward way-points, Kilkenny turned toward LV Station. The wind now blew in his direction of travel and he jibed the iceboat to take the best advantage of it.

The ice that covered Lake Vostok was remarkably flat and covered with rows of ice particles lined up like wind-driven ripples on a glassy lake. Tired and lulled by the drone of blades carving the ice and by the monotonous view, Kilkenny struggled to keep his eyes open.

As he fought to remain awake, one of ripples rose up sharply out of the ice forming a jagged ridge inside of the starboard runner. The brittle ice grated loudly against the carbon-fiber plank, threatening to tear into it like a chain saw. Kilkenny hiked the iceboat onto the port side, pulling it up forty degrees from level.

‘C’mon, baby,’ Kilkenny urged.

The mast leaned toward the horizon under the load, with the lines straining to keep the sail attached to the iceboat as Kilkenny carved a shallow arc away from the ridge: Ahead, the pressure ridge abruptly turned across Kilkenny’s path and he struck it squarely. The iceboat sailed ninety feet through the air, righting itself before slamming down on the ice. Kilkenny’s helmet smacked loudly against the canopy.

He blinked to clear the stars from his vision, then checked the GPS and corrected his course.

The drowsiness he’d felt a moment ago was gone.

8 (#ulink_c4993a28-5ea5-5143-bad4-32e4f56b89b4)

Kilkenny slowed the iceboat as he turned into the final leg of his journey. He sailed with the sun directly behind him, the white hull and blinding sunlight serving as camouflage. Ahead, LV Station stood out from the icy plain. Beyond what was considered the front of the station, Kilkenny saw two large planes with streams of exhaust trailing from their engines.

One hundred yards from the station, he eased back on the sail, turned into the wind, and pulled back on the brake cable. Beneath the hull, a quarter-circle wedge of stainless steel pivoted out like a pelvic fin and dug into the ice. The iceboat quickly scraped to a halt.