I found a couple of notes in my sketch book from last year today - I think they came from Apsley Cherry-Garrard's diary of Scott's tragic voyage to the South Pole:
...the weather was horrid, overcast, gloomy...
...the weather was about as poisonous as one could wish...
Poisonous - what a great word to describe weather!
I've been thinking about turn of last century exploration lately because of all the mountaineer news in the media - what makes people go to such extremes? There's something really fascinating about existing right on the margins of possible existence
There's also another note in my diary at the bottom of a page of scribbly drawings of men pulling sleds:
one and half hours to put on your socks
It reminds me of this other quote that keeps popping back into my head:
...how much exploratory or pioneering activity is performed on the basis of distant displacement of internal objects, seeking legendary wealth?
Lawrence Cawte - Last of the Lunatics
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