BBC Wildlife Filmmaker Will Lawson talks about his expedition to Antarctica, and how running while travelling has provided him with a new perspective.
For 11 months Will Lawson and fellow film maker Lindsay McCray would call Antarctica home. As wildlife specialists they had been sent by the BBC to document a colony of Emperor Penguins. The challenge of filming would be nothing compared to the challenge of learning to live here.
Trail running and running tourism is growing in popularity. Groups travel to far flung and epic landscapes to travel on foot and immerse themselves in nature, but on this trip Will took it to another level, setting himself the challenge of a solo marathon, completely self-navigated and unsupported. The precious moments running alone on the ice arguably became a life-line for him, but this small and simple freedom became a huge physical and mental battle. The 24hr Tourist caught up with Will to find out what its really like running at the end of the Earth.
Let’s start with the basics. What’s it like to arrive in Antarctica, knowing this is going to be home for the next 11 months?
When we arrived in late December, it was 24-hour daylight and – for Antarctic – quite mild; hovering just below zero. The summer ‘warmth’ gave the top of the ice shelf an unusual structure; almost like an enormous layer of loose diamonds - you could scoop up a handful and feel quite rich! But for running, it was the icy equivalent of a very loose shingle beach: pretty horrific! So, for the first 4-6 weeks I was restricted to exploring by skidoo. Eventually in late January, when the Sun started to set each day, temperatures dropped, and the surface began to solidify. After a while, I plucked up the courage and unpacked my running gear.
So you’d packed some gear. What do you need to run in Antarctica?
In truth, I had no idea what it would be like to run down there before I arrived. But, after a fair amount of research I brought down the following running stash:
Specialist ice running trainers (equipped with tiny titanium studs – Inov8 Arctic Claw 300’s), cold weather leggings (Ronhill) and top similar to those used by cross country skiers, wind proof but breathable trousers and top (with minimal zips as these would freeze and stick to your skin - Páramo), running gloves, running hat, various socks and a trail running rucksack (OMM). The water bladder in the rucksack was lined with neoprene in an attempt to stop the water inside freezing… this mostly failed! All in all though, the research paid off and running outside in temperatures down to -35C was entirely possible.
And so you hit the…. horizon and vast open wilderness, I guess. A lot of people who travel and run do it to see the sights. What did Antarctica have on offer?
There were many unusual facets when running in Antarctica, but one above all stood out. While in certain parts of Antarctica there are rocky outcrops, seasonal vegetation and other bits of interesting topography, around Atka Bay (where we were stationed for nearly 11 months) it’s completely flat, and just ice as far as the eye can see.
By March the diamond-like snow was gone, replaced by a much more compact layer of snow, that squeaked a lot when you ran over it. The wind did however carve an uneven surface in this that looked like tiny, sharp edged sand dunes; these are officially called sastrugi and can be tricky; On cloudy days (when there are no shadows) the sastrugi can be almost invisible. It was very easy to turn an ankle on or come down hard on you stride (like missing a step on a staircase). But, when I wasn’t concentrating on breathing through my semi-frozen balaclava, or watching my next footstep to avoid injury, the experience of running over the ice shelf was without doubt one of the most special experiences I had.
Antarctica for most is a place of mystery and out of reach for many travellers, so what is it like to live there?
Well I don’t want to ruin the magic, but it’s actually surprisingly un-mysterious. There is just one building, and you eat, sleep and work, day-in-day-out. It can get a bit claustrophobic at times. The research station was essentially a big tin can, so over 11-months keeping physically and mentally healthy – to stay on the right side of sanity – was important.
We were there to document the penguins, so we did spend a lot of time away from the base. Time spent down at the emperor penguin colony was nothing short of amazing, but it was also a near-constant cacophony of sound. Certainly not peace-and-quiet.
I decided for me regular exercise was going to be essential, and running has always granted me escapism and time to myself; two aspects that were in surprisingly short supply in Antarctica! I found just a few hundred meters from the base the subtle hum of generators vanished and the penguin colony (being 10km away) was far too distant to be heard, so running became my escape.
So like many people, running for you is more than just exercise…
When I was out running the only sounds were from my squeaky footsteps on the snow, my clothing rubbing together and my rhythmical breathing (it was too cold for most electronics – so music was out). It was almost hypnotic. When I reached my furthest point I would allow myself a few minutes to stand still before turning back – I had to make sure my body temperature didn’t drop – but, these moments were so special; the silence, a complete and utter silence. To be able to see 10’s of km’s in every direction and not hear anything was remarkable. No cars, no birds, no grass or leaves blowing in the breeze, no hum of insects… nothing.
For nearly five months it was just the penguin colony and us, and when I was out running I knew that in a 10km radius from my position I was the only living thing. How crazy is that?! An incredibly humbling and, to my knowledge, unique running environment.
You mention the cold and your body temperature. How did you manage running in such a hostile environment?
When there was no wind, I could run with my balaclava pulled down. The air was sharp and fresh on my face and exhaling humid breath you quickly looked like an athletic Father Christmas. But that was on a good day, without the balaclava your breath would freeze in moments.
I do like to challenge myself and I’d decided this was a unique opportunity and planned to run a marathon over the Antarctic ice shelf – but because of the cold it turned out to be a bigger challenge than I initially thought.
So you managed to get out enough to train for a marathon?
Well, no. The poor weather meant 80% of my training was on the running machine (we had a shipping container converted into a rudimentary gym); tedious when you’re training runs reach 30 odd kilometres, but the main problem was injury - I was pulling and tearing muscles all the time. I started to realise that living in such a confined space, skidoo-ing to the penguin colony, and standing still and quiet for filming means you are not exactly mobile. Physiotherapy was going to be key – and a new skill I could learn to keep me entertained.
However, as time passed filming became more intense and time for exercise started to fall away. Before we even had time to take it all in, 11-months had nearly passed and it was time to head home. I was fit but I hadn’t managed to do my marathon.
The crew started home, but I was staying to pack the gear, following on the next plane a week later. In an unexpected turn of luck the weather came in and the plane couldn’t land – I guess at this point some might think bad luck, but it was the opportunity I’d be looking for. It was going to be another week until another plane so I thought maybe I could attempt this marathon after all… I only needed 6 hours or so. If there was a break in the weather I could at least try.
So, go on… did you do it?
Three days before I was due to leave, our meteorologist told us the weather was improving. The window would be tight, but possible. With help from some of the guys I mapped it out, prepared thermos flasks with homemade energy drinks, and placed snacks around the route. It was 8.5 kms to the penguin colony and back, 4km to our emergency base and back, then to the colony and back again - with some added extras it worked out as the 42.195 kilometres needed!
The base team leader Tim agreed to be on standby in case I came into any difficulties, and I packed all gear I needed for polar running, including radio, GPS and extra clothing. Despite not being able to train for three weeks I was going to go for it.
I woke up excited but apprehensive. I looked outside expecting to see calmness… instead, there was a 50kmph snowstorm! The forecast must have been wrong – bugger. But, the weather in Antarctica can change suddenly, so I got dressed anyway and carefully warmed up. Right before lunch, just like that, the wind stopped and the sun came out. I couldn’t believe it – it was on!
As I started to run through the fresh snow I would sink about 10 cm with each step: not ideal. But, after the first 5km the ground hardened and my cheering crowd of supporters came into view - the penguin colony! I’d only run this far from the base once before: 8.5km done.
Setting off back to the station the snow increased again, and Tim radioed saying the route to the emergency base might be blocked by snow drifts. My heart sank. The emergency base would mark the halfway point and that was mentally so important to me, I had to at least try.
Very quickly I realised I was sinking into the snow far too much. After what seemed an eternity of hopping over drifts, I accepted the risk of injury was too great. There was nothing for it, I had to turn back.
As I started to make my way back to the penguin colony my GPS watch confirmed I was going to be 2 km off the mark, not a great feeling 25km in. I headed through the shallower snow with the knowledge it would improve soon, but my muscles were deteriorating rapidly – the recent lack of training, long filming days and general fatigue of 11 months in Antarctica was starting to take its toll. I had cramp in my left thigh and my right hip was not happy.
"I started to break the distance down into 3km segments.
I’d stop, stretch, refuel and continue."
Long-distance running solo can be lonely, but it’s somewhat amplified when your run is over a white plain, void of colour or change to the landscape and (for the most part) any sign of life.
I checked my watch. I’d been going for over four hours. As I passed my adoring crowd – the penguins – I made the snap decision that I would make up the lost distance by running to the edge of the ice shelf. The edge of my world for the last 11 months.
In the time we’d lived on this icy continent so much had happened on this 1 km stetch, trying to recall it all seemed impossible. As I passed over the ice each step jogged my memory; lowering onto the sea ice for the first time, realising I had early-stage frostbite on my left hand, finding that our birds had been caught in a gully during a storm, and finally, the spot we had stood when the penguins had first arrived. Line after line of thousands of emperor penguins marching in single file on their own marathon to their breeding ground. As I stood there, I watched the penguins once more, knowing I would likely not come back here again.
- A lump formed in my throat but I knew I had to start back -
As I ran back I hit the dreaded ‘wall’. I could see the base out ahead of me but no matter how much time passed it didn’t feel any closer. I pulled my visor over my eyes so I could only see 10 meters ahead. Everything was hurting. I feared the cramp in my thigh may be terminal and accepted a hip replacement was unavoidable.
The urge to look up or look at my watch was so strong that I had to start singing out-loud to take my mind off it. I never run with music, so the last 37km had been in silence. I would have done anything for some music right now… With almost telepathic speed my radio crackled into life! “Will! We can see you! You’re nearly there! Here’s a little something to help you with the final stretch!” The radio crackled and the unmistakable guitar riff of Eye of the Tiger sizzled out the speaker! A diabolically cheesy moment! But one that gave me such a lift, that I began to punch the air like Rocky himself. I realised, I was going to finish this Antarctic marathon!
This was awesome and I granted myself permission to check my GPS watch: 41.5km. I was going to be 600 meters short – there was no way I was going to come this far and not do the official distance. I had to run right past the 9 crew (who were actually closer to ‘family’ now) cheering me in and shout “back in a minute!” – 300m in one direction and 300 meters back would seal the deal.
As I came in one of the team pulled a medal over my neck – the Atka Bay Marathon. She’d crafted it out of putty. What a memento.
Four days later, on the 18th November, under clear skies and after some emotional goodbyes, my plane left the ice runway with just me and a lot of filming kit. My time in Antarctica was over. I returned home proudly with my medal, my head full of stories and memories of life in a penguin colony, 11-months in a frozen wilderness, and running a marathon at the ends of the earth.
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