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IN THE back of my mind, I’d always classified Antarctic explorers in
much the same category as American footballers. Swamped by layers of protective
clothing, they all looked the same. And, I assumed, they were always men.

And then I met Monica Kristensen.

Hailed in her native Norway as the ‘Snow Queen’, this striking blonde
expert on icebergs defies all stereotypes of the frostbitten polar tough
guy. Sporting the bright embroidered woollen dress of national costume,
she came to London this month to accept an award which places her alongside
such legendary heroes of exploration as Stanley and Livingstone of Africa,
Hunt and Hilary of Everest, and the polar pioneer Sir Robert Falcon Scott.
She received the Gold Medal of the Royal Geographical Society, for her ‘outstanding
contribution to scientific discovery in the Antarctic’. The last woman honoured
with the Gold Medal was Dame Freya Stark, way back in 1942.

At 38, Kristensen is already a veteran of 15 scientific missions to
the Arctic and Antarctic. Most recently she led the British-backed expedition,
’90Degree South’, with three men and a team of huskies. They retraced the
steps of Amundsen, the first man (and also a Norwegian) to reach the South
Pole more than 70 years ago. In fact, the team was forced back by bad weather
just short of the pole itself, but then get ting there was not half as important
to Kristensen as what they achieved en route.

Admitting – with a twinkle in her eyes – that she is ‘totally uncompetitive’,
Kristensen says that she isn’t looking for glory or masochism in the Antarctic.
She apologises if it sounds boring, but it is mainly the scientific challenge
and rewards in this frozen laboratory that spur her on.

She wanted to be a scientist ever since she was a child. ‘When I was
young, no body told me which books were boring. So I used to borrow things
from the library, on topics such as Einstein’s theory of special relativity,
and books on the expanding Universe. I thought they were fascinating.’ Such
uninhibited bedtime reading as a child obviously paid off. Most of her work
now is linked to the relationship between the greenhouse effect and changes
in the ice cap at the South Pole – namely, the fact that it is melting.

Few women leave their boot prints in the vast white desert of Antarctica.
It was only two years ago that the British Antarctic Survey started allowing
women to be based at their research stations, and although Norway’s sex
discrimination laws opened up the poles to women scientists in 1976, Kristensen
says that it is still ‘very unusual’ to see them involved.

In the claustrophobic communities of the wintering stations and expedition
tents, Kristensen admits it is tough to be in a minority of one, adding:
‘But it’s tough for everybody. Anything which sets you apart as an individual
will make it difficult for you and perhaps for the others. The fact that
I am a woman may not necessarily mean that I am going to have the most difficult
³Ù¾±³¾±ð.’

Her diaries, which stretch back to her first winter in the Arctic station
in Svalbard, are testimony to the sort of character it takes to stick it
out against the weather and the colleagues she calls ‘the boys’.

Reading back over them amuses Kristensen. ‘I marvel at how resilient
I must have been, and also how extremely stubborn. Although I had views
which often clashed with the others’, I always stuck to them.’

On the subject of hunting, for example, she says: ‘I’m not against hunting,
but I think it should be a profession for hunters. I dislike intensely that
we should come up as complete (hunting) amateurs and because you are in
the polar region, you are supposed to kill something – even though you don’t
need the food and you don’t need the fur – because it will boost your macho
image, even if you are a woman.’

She has strong views, too, about huskies and trained her own team for
the 90 Degree South expedition, believing them to be far safer and more
reliable than the motorised sledges widely used in polar research today.

Kristensen’s relationship with Antarctica is complicated, to say the
least. ‘Antarctica is such a huge, vast place and you really get to feel
that. The environment certainly affects people’s psychology, and I don’t
think you could imagine anything more desolate or frightening.

‘But having said such nasty things about the place, I must confess that
being there actually makes me feel really happy. It’s like walking a tightrope.
It’s the pleasure of working together with people who are so professional.
With the dogs and our equipment, I feel part of a team which really knows
what it is doing, and doing it so well in such a very hostile environment.’

It took five years to select the right combination of people for 90
Degree South. ‘The initial choosing of people is extremely important,’ says
Kristensen. ‘It’s not necessary to know everyone extremely well beforehand,
so long as everyone is on the same level of experience and that they are
‘polar people’, that they have that mentality and attitude.’

Polar people can cope with deprivation. When the stock of books ran
out on 90 Degree South, Kristensen read and reread the back of a cornflake
packet.

‘It would be a disaster if you had people who for some reason developed
instabilities – people who suddenly wanted to do something extremely dangerous
or wanted to become heroes. It’s important to go on preparatory tests –
to go out and see how everyone behaves when the weather gets really bad
and miserable. It doesn’t take long before any adverse traits show up –
perhaps a week.’

Fear, which her male colleagues either encounter less often or admit
to less willingly, is not unfamiliar to her. ‘The worst kind of fear is
not one you experience immediately. Yes, I have fallen down crevasses a
few times – not very deep ones, but ones where I am hanging from the edge
by my arms. But at these times everything happens too quickly.

‘But there have been times when we have been in danger for long periods.
It’s like having danger walking there with you. You don’t feel panic, almost
nothing at all. It’s just this frightening feeling staying with you, eating
away at you and that is a strain.’

Debbie Macklin is a freelance journalist.