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The South Pole, Volume 1

R >> Roald Amundsen >> The South Pole, Volume 1




Christmas Eve arrived with finer weather and a smoother sea than we had
seen for weeks. The ship was perfectly steady, and there was nothing to
prevent our making every preparation for the festivity. As the day wore
on Christmas was in full swing. The fore-cabin was washed and cleaned
up till the Ripolin paint and the brass shone with equal brilliance;
Rönne decorated the workroom with signal flags, and the good old
"Happy Christmas" greeted us in a transparency over the door of the
saloon. Inside Nilsen was busily engaged, showing great talents as a
decorator. The gramophone was rigged up in my cabin on a board hung
from the ceiling. A proposed concert of piano, violin, and mandolin
had to be abandoned, as the piano was altogether out of tune.

The various members of our little community appeared one after
another, dressed and tidied up so that many of them were scarcely
recognizable. The stubbly chins were all smooth, and that makes a
great difference. At five o'clock the engine was stopped, and all
hands assembled in the fore-cabin, leaving only the man at the wheel
on deck. Our cosy cabins had a fairy-like appearance in the subdued
light of the many-coloured lamps, and we were all in the Christmas
humour at once. The decorations did honour to him who had carried
them out and to those who had given us the greater part of them --
Mrs. Schroer, and the proprietor of the Oyster Cellar at Christiania,
Mr. Ditlev-Hansen.

Then we took our seats round the table, which groaned beneath
Lindström's masterpieces in the culinary art. I slipped behind
the curtain of my cabin for an instant, and set the gramophone
going. Herold sang us "Glade Jul."

The song did not fail of its effect; it was difficult to see in the
subdued light, but I fancy that among the band of hardy men that
sat round the table there was scarcely one who had not a tear in
the corner of his eye. The thoughts of all took the same direction,
I am certain -- they flew homeward to the old country in the North,
and we could wish nothing better than that those we had left behind
should be as well off as ourselves. The melancholy feeling soon
gave way to gaiety and laughter; in the course of the dinner the
first mate fired off a topical song written by himself, which had
an immense success. In each verse the little weaknesses of someone
present were exhibited in more or less strong relief, and in between
there were marginal remarks in prose. Both in text and performance
the author fully attained the object of his work -- that of thoroughly
exercising our risible muscles.

In the after-cabin a well-furnished coffee-table was set out, on
which there was a large assortment of Lindström's Christmas baking,
with a mighty kransekake from Hansen's towering in the midst. While
we were doing all possible honour to these luxuries, Lindström was
busily engaged forward, and when we went back after our coffee we
found there a beautiful Christmas-tree in all its glory. The tree was
an artificial one, but so perfectly imitated that it might have come
straight from the forest. This was also a present from Mrs. Schroer.

Then came the distribution of Christmas presents. Among the many
kind friends who had thought of us I must mention the Ladies'
Committees in Horten and Fredrikstad, and the telephone employées
of Christiania. They all have a claim to our warmest gratitude for
the share they had in making our Christmas what it was -- a bright
memory of the long voyage.

By ten o'clock in the evening the candles of the Christmas-tree were
burnt out, and the festivity was at an end. It had been successful
from first to last, and we all had something to live on in our thoughts
when our everyday duties again claimed us.

In that part of the voyage which we now had before us -- the region
between the Australian continent and the Antarctic belt of pack-ice --
we were prepared for all sorts of trials in the way of unfavourable
weather conditions. We had read and heard so much of what others had
had to face in these waters that we involuntarily connected them with
all the horrors that may befall a sailor. Not that we had a moment's
fear for the ship; we knew her well enough to be sure that it would
take some very extraordinary weather to do her any harm. If we were
afraid of anything, it was of delay.

But we were spared either delay or any other trouble; by noon on
Christmas Day we had just what was wanted to keep our spirits at
festival pitch; a fresh north-westerly wind, just strong enough to
push us along handsomely toward our destination. It afterwards hauled
a little more to the west, and lasted the greater part of Christmas
week, until on December 30 we were in long. 170° E. and lat. 60°
S. With that we had at last come far enough to the east, and could now
begin to steer a southerly course; hardly had we put the helm over
before the wind changed to a stiff northerly breeze Nothing could
possibly be better; in this way it would not take us long to dispose
of the remaining degrees of latitude. Our faithful companions of the
westerly belt -- the albatrosses -- had now disappeared, and we could
soon begin to look out for the first representatives of the winged
inhabitants of Antarctica.

After a careful consideration of the experiences of our predecessors,
it was decided to lay our course so that we should cross the 65th
parallel in long. 175° E. What we had to do was to get as quickly
as possible through the belt of pack-ice that blocked the way to
Ross Sea to the south of it, which is always open in summer. Some
ships had been detained as much as six weeks in this belt of ice;
others had gone through in a few hours. We unhesitatingly preferred
to follow the latter example, and therefore took the course that the
luckier ones had indicated.

Of course, the width of the ice-belt may be subject to somewhat
fortuitous changes, but it seems, nevertheless, that as a rule the
region between the 175th and the 180th degrees of longitude offers the
best chance of getting through rapidly; in any case, one ought not to
enter the ice farther to the west. At noon on New Year's Eve we were
in lat. 62° 15' S. We had reached the end of the old year, and really
it had gone incredibly quickly. Like all its predecessors, the year
had brought its share of success and failure; but the main thing was
that at its close we found ourselves pretty nearly where we ought to
be to make good our calculations -- and all safe and well. Conscious of
this, we said good-bye to 1910 in all friendliness over a good glass of
toddy in the evening, and wished each other all possible luck in 1911.

At three in the morning of New Year's Day the officer of the watch
called me with news that the first iceberg was in sight. I had to go up
and see it. Yes, there it lay, far to windward, shining like a castle
in the rays of the morning sun. It was a big, flat-topped berg of the
typical Antarctic form. It will perhaps seem paradoxical when I say
that we all greeted this first sight of the ice with satisfaction and
joy; an iceberg is usually the last thing to gladden sailors' hearts,
but we were not looking at the risk just then. The meeting with the
imposing colossus had another significance that had a stronger claim
on our interest -- the pack-ice could not be far off. We were all
longing as one man to be in it; it would be a grand variation in the
monotonous life we had led for so long, and which we were beginning
to be a little tired of. Merely to be able to run a few yards on an
ice-floe appeared to us an event of importance, and we rejoiced no
less at the prospect of giving our dogs a good meal of seal's flesh,
while we ourselves would have no objection to a little change of diet.

The number of icebergs increased during the afternoon and night,
and with such neighbours it suited us very well to have daylight all
through the twenty-four hours, as we now had. The weather could not
have been better -- fine and clear, with a light but still favourable
wind. At 8 p.m. on January 2 the Antarctic Circle was crossed,
and an hour or two later the crow's-nest was able to report the
ice-belt ahead. For the time being it did not look like obstructing
us to any great extent; the floes were collected in long lines, with
broad channels of open water between them. We steered right in. Our
position was then long. 176° E. and lat. 66° 30' S. The ice immediately
stopped all swell, the vessel's deck again became a stable platform,
and after two months' incessant exercise of our sea-legs we could
once more move about freely. That was a treat in itself.

At nine in the morning of the next day we had our first opportunity of
seal-hunting; a big Weddell seal was observed on a floe right ahead. It
took our approach with the utmost calmness, not thinking it worth while
to budge an inch until a couple of rifle-bullets had convinced it of
the seriousness of the situation. It then made an attempt to reach
the water, but it was too late. Two men were already on the floe,
and the valuable spoil was secured. In the course of a quarter of an
hour the beast lay on our deck, flayed and cut up by practised hands;
this gave us at one stroke at least four hundredweight of dog food,
as well as a good many rations for men. We made the same coup three
times more in the course of the day, and thus had over a ton of fresh
meat and blubber.

It need scarcely be said that there was a great feast on board that
day. The dogs did their utmost to avail themselves of the opportunity;
they simply ate till their legs would no longer carry them, and we
could grant them this gratification with a good conscience. As to
ourselves, it may doubtless be taken for granted that we observed some
degree of moderation, but dinner was polished off very quickly. Seal
steak had many ardent adherents already, and it very soon gained
more. Seal soup, in which our excellent vegetables showed to advantage,
was perhaps even more favourably received.

For the first twenty-four hours after we entered the ice it was so
loose that we were able to hold our course and keep up our speed for
practically the whole time. On the two following days things did
not go quite so smoothly; at times the lines of floes were fairly
close, and occasionally we had to go round. We did not meet with any
considerable obstruction, however; there were always openings enough
to enable us to keep going. In the course of January 6 a change took
place, the floes became narrower and the leads broader. By 6 p.m. there
was open sea on every side as far as the eye could reach. The day's
observations gave our position as lat. 70° S., long. 180° E.

Our passage through the pack had been a four days' pleasure trip,
and I have a suspicion that several among us looked back with secret
regret to the cruise in smooth water through the ice-floes when the
swell of the open Ross Sea gave the Fram another chance of showing
her rolling capabilities.

But this last part of the voyage was also to be favoured by
fortune. These comparatively little-known waters had no terrors to
oppose to us. The weather continued surprisingly fine; it could not
have been better on a summer trip in the North Sea. Of icebergs there
was practically none; a few quite small floebergs were all we met
with in the four days we took to cross Ross Sea.

About midday on January 11 a marked brightening of the southern sky
announced that it was not far to the goal we had been struggling to
reach for five months. At 2.30 p.m. we came in sight of the Great
Ice Barrier. Slowly it rose up out of the sea until we were face
to face with it in all its imposing majesty. It is difficult with
the help of the pen to give any idea of the impression this mighty
wall of ice makes on the observer who is confronted with it for the
first time. It is altogether a thing which can hardly be described;
but one can understand very well that this wall of 100 feet in height
was regarded for a generation as an insuperable obstacle to further
southward progress.

We knew that the theory of the Barrier's impregnability had long ago
been overthrown; there was an opening to the unknown realm beyond
it. This opening -- the Bay of Whales -- ought to lie, according
to the descriptions before us, about a hundred miles to the east of
the position in which we were. Our course was altered to true east,
and during a cruise of twenty-four hours along the Barrier we had
every opportunity of marvelling at this gigantic work of Nature. It
was not without a certain feeling of suspense that we looked forward
to our arrival at the harbour we were seeking What state should we
find it in? Would it prove impossible to land at all conveniently?

One point after another was passed, but still our anxious eyes were
met by nothing but the perpendicular wall. At last, on the afternoon
of January 12, the wall opened. This agreed with our expectations;
we were now in long. 164°, the selfsame point where our predecessors
had previously found access.

We had before us a great bay, so deep that it was impossible to see
the end of it from the crow's-nest; but for the moment there was no
chance of getting in. The bay was full of great floes -- sea-ice --
recently broken up. We therefore went on a little farther to the
eastward to await developments. Next morning we returned, and after
the lapse of a few hours the floes within the bay began to move. One
after another they came sailing out: the passage was soon free.

As we steered up the bay, we soon saw clearly that here we had every
chance of effecting a landing. All we had to do was to choose the
best place.



CHAPTER V

On the Barrier

We had thus arrived on January 14 -- a day earlier than we had reckoned
-- at this vast, mysterious, natural phenomenon -- the Barrier. One
of the most difficult problems of the expedition was solved -- that
of conveying our draught animals in sound condition to the field
of operations. We had taken 97 dogs on board at Christiansand; the
number had now increased to 116, and practically all of these would
be fit to serve in the final march to the South.

The next great problem that confronted us was to find a suitable place
on the Barrier for our station. My idea had been to get everything --
equipment and provisions -- conveyed far enough into the Barrier to
secure us against the unpleasant possibility of drifting out into
the Pacific in case the Barrier should be inclined to calve. I had
therefore fixed upon ten miles as a suitable distance from the edge
of the Barrier. But even our first impression of the conditions
seemed to show that we should be spared a great part of this long
and troublesome transport. Along its outer edge the Barrier shows an
even, flat surface; but here, inside the bay, the conditions were
entirely different. Even from the deck of the Fram we were able to
observe great disturbances of the surface in every direction; huge
ridges with hollows between them extended on all sides. The greatest
elevation lay to the south in the form of a lofty, arched ridge, which
we took to be about 500 feet high on the horizon. But it might be
assumed that this ridge continued to rise beyond the range of vision.

Our original hypothesis that this bay was due to underlying land
seemed, therefore, to be immediately confirmed. It did not take long
to moor the vessel to the fixed ice-foot, which here extended for
about a mile and a quarter beyond the edge of the Barrier. Everything
had been got ready long before. Bjaaland had put our ski in order,
and every man had had his right pairs fitted. Ski-boots had long ago
been tried on, time after time, sometimes with one, sometimes with two
pairs of stockings. Of course it turned out that the ski-boots were on
the small side. To get a bootmaker to make roomy boots is, I believe,
an absolute impossibility. However, with two pairs of stockings we
could always get along in the neighbourhood of the ship. For longer
journeys we had canvas boots, as already mentioned.

Of the remainder of our outfit I need only mention the Alpine ropes,
which had also been ready for some time. They were about 30 yards long,
and were made of very fine rope, soft as silk, specially suited for
use in low temperatures.

After a hurried dinner four of us set out. This first excursion
was quite a solemn affair; so much depended on it. The weather was
of the very best, calm with brilliant sunshine, and a few light,
feathery clouds in the beautiful, pale blue sky. There was warmth in
the air which could be felt, even on this immense ice-field. Seals
were lying along the ice-foot as far as the eye could reach -- great,
fat mountains of flesh; food enough to last us and the dogs for years.

The going was ideal; our ski glided easily and pleasantly through the
newly fallen loose snow. But none of us was exactly in training after
the long five months' sea voyage, so that the pace was not great. After
half an hour's march we were already at the first important point --
the connection between the sea-ice and the Barrier. This connection had
always haunted our brains. What would it be like? A high, perpendicular
face of ice, up which we should have to haul our things laboriously
with the help of tackles? Or a great and dangerous fissure, which
we should not be able to cross without going a long way round? We
naturally expected something of the sort. This mighty and terrible
monster would, of course, offer resistance in some form or other.

The mystic Barrier! All accounts without exception, from the days
of Ross to the present time, had spoken of this remarkable natural
formation with apprehensive awe. It was as though one could always
read between the lines the same sentence: "Hush, be quiet! the mystic
Barrier !"

One, two, three, and a little jump, and the Barrier was surmounted!

We looked at each other and smiled; probably the same thought was in
the minds of all of us. The monster had begun to lose something of
its mystery, the terror something of its force; the incomprehensible
was becoming quite easy to understand.

Without striking a blow we had entered into our kingdom. The Barrier
was at this spot about 20 feet high, and the junction between it
and the sea-ice was completely filled up with driven snow, so that
the ascent took the form of a little, gentle slope. This spot would
certainly offer us no resistance.

Hitherto we had made our advance without a rope. The sea-ice, we knew,
would offer no hidden difficulties; but what would be the condition
of things beyond the Barrier was another question. And as we all
thought it would be better to have the rope on before we fell into
a crevasse than afterwards, our further advance was made with a rope
between the first two.

We proceeded in an easterly direction up through a little valley formed
by "Mount Nelson" on one side, and "Mount Rönniken" on the other. The
reader must not, however, imagine from these imposing names that we
were walking between any formidable mountain-ranges. Mounts Nelson
and Rönniken were nothing but two old pressure ridges that had been
formed in those far-off days when the mighty mass of ice had pushed
on with awful force without meeting hindrance or resistance, until
at this spot it met a superior power that clove and splintered it,
and set a bound to its further advance. It must have been a frightful
collision, like the end of a world. But now it was over: peace -- an
air of infinite peace lay over it all. Nelson and Rönniken were only
two pensioned veterans. Regarded as pressure ridges they were huge,
raising their highest summits over 100 feet in the air. Here in the
valley the surface round Nelson was quite filled up, while Rönniken
still showed a deep scar -- a fissure or hollow. We approached it
cautiously. It was not easy to see how deep it was, and whether it
had an invisible connection with Nelson on the other side of the
valley. But this was not the case. On a closer examination this deep
cleft proved to have a solid, filled-up bottom. Between the ridges
the surface was perfectly flat, and offered an excellent site for
a dog-camp.

Captain Nilsen and I had worked out a kind of programme of the work to
be done, and in this it was decided that the dogs should be brought
on to the Barrier as quickly as possible, and there looked after
by two men. We chose this place for the purpose. The old pressure
ridges told the history of the spot plainly enough; we had no need
to fear any kind of disturbance here. The site had the additional
advantage that we could see the ship from it, and would always be in
communication with those on board.

From here the valley turned slightly to the south. After having
marked the spot where our first tent was to be set up, we continued
our investigations. The valley sloped gradually upwards, and reached
the ridge at a height of 100 feet. From this elevation we had an
excellent view over the valley we had been following, and all the other
surroundings. On the north the Barrier extended, level and straight,
apparently without interruption, and ended on the west in the steep
descent of Cape Man's Head, which formed the eastern limit of the inner
part of the Bay of Whales, and afforded a snug little corner, where we
had found room for our ship. There lay the whole of the inner part of
the bay, bounded on all sides by ice, ice and nothing but ice-Barrier
as far as we could see, white and blue. This spot would no doubt show
a surprising play of colour later on; it promised well in this way.

The ridge we were standing on was not broad -- about two hundred yards,
I think -- and in many places it was swept quite bare by the wind,
showing the blue ice itself. We passed over it and made for the pass
of Thermopylae, which extended in a southerly direction from the
ridge and after a very slight descent was merged in a great plain,
surrounded by elevations on all sides -- a basin, in fact. The bare
ridge we passed over to descend into the basin was a good deal broken
up; but the fissures were narrow, and almost entirely filled up again
with drift, so that they were not dangerous. The basin gave us the
impression of being sheltered and cosy, and, above all, it looked
safe and secure. This stretch of ice was -- with the exception of a
few quite small hummocks of the shape of haycocks -- perfectly flat
and free from crevasses.

We crossed it, and went up on the ridge that rose very gently on the
south. From the top of this all was flat and even as far as we could
see; but that was not saying much. For a little while we continued
along the ridge in an easterly direction without finding any place
that was specially suited for our purpose. Our thoughts returned to
the basin as the best sheltered place we had seen.

From the height we were now on, we could look down into the
south-eastern part of the Bay of Whales. In contrast to that part
of the ice-foot to which we had made fast, the inner bay seemed to
consist of ice that had been forced up by pressure. But we had to leave
a closer examination of this part till later. We all liked the basin,
and agreed to choose it as our future abode, And so we turned and went
back again. It did not take long to reach the plain in our own tracks.

On making a thorough examination of the surface and discussing the
various possibilities, we came to the conclusion that a site for the
hut was to be looked for on the little elevation that rose to the
east. It seemed that we should be more snug there than anywhere else,
and we were not mistaken. We soon made up our minds that we had chosen
the best place the Barrier had to offer. On the spot where the hut
was to stand we set up another ski-pole, and then went home.

The good news that we had already found a favourable place for the
hut naturally caused great satisfaction on all sides. Everyone had
been silently dreading the long and troublesome transport over the
Ice Barrier.

There was teeming life on the ice. Wherever we turned we saw great
herds of seals -- Weddells and crab-eaters. The great sea-leopard,
which we had seen occasionally on the floes, was not to be found
here. During our whole stay in the Bay of Whales we did not see a
single specimen of it. Nor did we ever see the Ross seal. Penguins had
not shown themselves particularly often, only a few here and there;
but we appreciated them all the more. The few we saw were almost all
Adélie penguins. While we were at work making the ship fast, a flock of
them suddenly shot up out of the water and on to the ice. They looked
about them in surprise for a moment: men and ships do not come their
way every day. But it seemed as if their astonishment soon gave way to
a desire to see what was happening. They positively sat and studied
all our movements. Only now and then they grunted a little and took
a turn over the ice. What specially interested them was evidently
our work at digging holes in the snow for the grapnels. They flocked
about the men who were engaged in this, laid their heads on one side,
and looked as if they found it immensely interesting. They did not
appear to be the least afraid of us, and for the most part we left
them in peace. But some of them had to lose their lives; we wanted
them for our collection.

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