By David Mercy
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Extra info for Berserk in the Antarctic
A poster taped above the starboard bunk, a map ripped from the pages of an old National Geographic, showed a history of explorers, the years of their voyages, and their routes across the Seven Seas. Above the port bunk, along with pictures of Jarle’s beloved family, was an animated drawing of a Berserker – a legendary Norse warrior renowned for his intemperate disposition and fierce fighting prowess. I knew right then and there that this kid was the real deal; even Manuel later confided to me that Jarle quite possibly was the modern-day embodiment of that lineage.
When we got there, I told him to wait. The hippy owner and Boris were standing there on the front porch when we arrived. ‘I won’t be staying tonight – we need to settle up,’ I told him hurriedly. ’ the owner asked, a look of consternation on his face. ’ He shook his head in horror. ‘Ai yai yai,’ he mumbled loudly, looking over at Boris. ’ Yeah, whatever. I ran back to the tent and unlocked it, quickly rolling up my sleeping bag and grabbing my pack. I found a piece of scrap paper amongst my things and quickly scribbled a note to my Swiss benefactor.
Jarle told us he had wet suits we could borrow, and some extra old sweaters. Wool – pure wool – is the only thing that keeps you warm when it gets wet. ’ But no stores were open, and there was no time to look around. What I had with me would be making the trip, nothing more. That’s just the way it was. Sure, it would have been nice to have more time to prepare, could’ve used another day, a normal working day, not New Year’s Day, to buy some supplies, some gloves, a sweater, boots, whatever. But that wasn’t going to happen.
Berserk in the Antarctic by David Mercy