The Ice Plains of Nanoork Burr
Setting off once again, I decided to seek out the stark and graceful beauty of the polar ice caps, where great ice statues are carved by the hands of time and the sea. So, equipping myself with all manner of protective cold gear, I ventured forth into the great white ice plains of Nanoork Burr. For hundreds of years, explorers were unable to reach the innermost reaches of this untamed wild refuge of elemental extremes. However, only around a hundred years ago, it's impassable frozen walls were breached by the great explorer Sir Davibo Stewlart. Onward, like him, I pressed into the blinding expanse with my trusty sled and dog-like pulling animals who kept me warm and gave me company on the long journey ahead. Fortunately for me, I was able to stop by several igloo villages along the way for fresh supplies.
Oh, but the cold! How it tore into everything I possessed, not least of all my body which I tried to keep warm in every possible way. And at night, how the wind howled over this unprotected land. Three times I was caught in a blizzard without warning and had to dig in for a few days at a time as I waited for it to pass me by. The dogs would huddle in my tent for warmth and I would spend the days talking to them and touching up my diaries.
Then, at last, I reached the pole. The pole! The furthest extremity on this planet which I was visiting, where no one lived around. The grand beauty of different kinds of ice plains reflected light in many colors so brightly that I was pressed to wear my sun goggles for most of the time, or I would go snow-blind. The Pole! My compass was useless. Only the sun was my guide to my location and would have to point the way out from this labyrinth of crevasses and ravines so steep that entire cities could have been buried there, far out of my sight. And yet, even here, I found life. Yes, life.
All around me, at various points, were gorgeous and friendly creatures, like flightless waterfowl. The natives call them "Kaakaak" for the cawing sound they make. Yet, in this place of months of sun under blinding conditions, and then months of darkness without light in any form, they were very hard of sight. As you may see from my picture, these creatures have developed a finely tuned system of sonar that swivels on the top of their heads, like an appendage, to help guide them on land and under the water when seeking their meals. And how colorful they are! Like beautiful tropical birds whom had lost their way. The cold-cracked terrain seemed like a desert of ice and broken rock, glaciers floating in the various inlets of water, lazily sunning themselves in subzero temperatures. In fact, this place was mostly devoid of water and is considered the driest land on the face of this planet - hard to imagine with all the snow and ice around me. But such is the case. Most of the rock were broken and twisted formations, cracked by the cold and warped by passing glaciers that slowly stretched out their pathways over time. The sound of the ice cracking around me was primordial, as if I was listening to a symphonic majesty of the geological creation of the world. And a tree! My friends, a tree that lives in these cold places, soaking up the sun with it's beautiful golden leaves, the roots digging deeply down beneath the rock. Yes, even here there is life.
What a wonder to see. I spent several days cataloguing this wonderful place, and the fowl were very friendly, intrigued by my presence. At one point, I was surrounded by many curious faces and beaks, pressing at me to inspect me. They even took to the pack dogs, playing with them in the snow and frolicking the way that friendly animals do. I believe that I was made their friend and was dearly saddened when it came time to leave. But I had to move on. One cannot stay in a place like this for too long and so, after a week's time, I departed, giving my thanks to the birds in the form of some sweetened treats before I said my farewell, and then traveled back to seek the warmer pastures to which my kind is better suited.