Mountaineering: Surviving amid the raging winds of Antarctica:

Mountaineering: Surviving amid the raging winds of Antarctica:

Attracted by the walls and the imposing granite peaks Wohlthat Mountains in Antarctica, the climber Mike Libecki and his team spent a week to identify potential peaks. Before embarking on the first two climbs and endure the wind, the cold and the mountain.

The rumble outside my tent looks more like an earthquake that wind. Instinctively, I curl up in my sleeping bag more. I have already had to deal with terrible winds: the nocturnal roar of jet stream in the Himalayas or the scary howl of a storm in Patagonia. There is worse.

The ground shakes when the next storm bearing down on me. My tent is attached between two rocks in a wild and desolate corner of Wohlthat Mountains. My three teammates are holed up nearby.

80 km south is the limit of the Antarctic plateau, high icy lands that dominate the interior. Here, geography and gravity combine to unleash powerful katabatic winds, waves of cold air flowing down the mountain passes towards the sea like avalanches.

The burst strikes. The pegs of my tent twist inward, causing the collapse canvas on me. For a while, I hear the sound of machine gun of a seam in the process of tearing. Then, suddenly, I start to spin in the air and in all directions.

Still inside my tent, I was raised by the wind, thrown against a stone wall I had crudely built for protection, then swung over. Books, dirty socks and camera equipment are scattered indiscriminately. Feathers escape from my sleeping bag.

I feel tingling in my neck and shoulders. I crawl up a hole in the canvas and expanded further. Sand and snow burn my eyes when I go head to scream "for help" into turmoil.

Go to Antarctica, was the idea of ​​Mike Libecki. At 40, half Californian surfer, half extreme adventurer, Libecki has made dozens of first ascents worldwide.

Great, soft-spoken, blond hair sprinkled with gray, it returns an eminently positive energy. From the land of Queen Maud, that only scientists travel in general, he said, "I have been here. I have the keys of the kingdom. "

Queen Maud Land

Libecki recruited two experienced climbers photographers to accompany us: Keith Ladzinski, a resident of Colorado with bushy eyebrows, and Cory Richards, a

Utah native to the Machiavellian grin. Our plan was to locate the highest concentration of virgin peaks of the region and to make as many first ascents as possible.

We start our journey early November, landing on a blue ice runway near a Russian research station called Novolazarevskaya.

"Last time I was here, I peeled potatoes in the kitchen to pay my stay," says Libecki about his visit there eight years. Despite the industrial style of the resort, a beautiful solidarity seems to unite all those who work there.

"Here, there is no violence, no car crashes, no bullet wounds," explains Benjamin Novikov drinking a cup of tea in the refectory. This surgeon retired St. Petersburg college as camp physician.

"We live in autarky and on good terms, confronting us with the elements. We tell our families that we are here for the money, but in reality, it is for the escape. "

A storm raging outside the camp, we take our troubles patiently for five days. In the sixth, we load our gear aboard a converted DC-3. Once in the air, we press the four of us in the front to look out the cockpit glass.

The dark rock stretches to the horizon. Viewed more closely, what appeared to be a monolithic wall proves to be a series of mountain ranges. Huge cliffs and pointed towers appear. On our left, a rocky tooth seems familiar: Libecki photographed her years before. We arrived at destination.