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The South Pole, Volume 1

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




On February 27, at 10.30 a.m., we reached the depot in 80° S. The
depot was standing as we had left it, and no snow-drifts had formed
about it, from which we concluded that the weather conditions had been
quiet. The snow, which we had found very loose when we were there
before, was now hardened by the cold. We were lucky with the sun,
and got the position of the depot accurately determined.

On our way across these endless plains, where no landmarks of
any kind are to be found, we had repeatedly thought of a means of
marking our depots so that we might be perfectly sure of finding
them again. Our fight for the Pole was entirely dependent on this
autumn work, in laying down large supplies of provisions as far to
the south as possible in such a way that we could be certain of
finding them again. If we missed them, the battle would probably
be lost. As I have said, we had discussed the question thoroughly,
and come to the conclusion that we should have to try to mark our
depots at right angles to the route, in an east and west direction,
instead of in a line with the route, north and south. These marks
along the line of the route may easily be missed in fog, if they
are not close enough together; and if one thus gets out of the line,
there is a danger of not picking it up again. According to this new
arrangement we therefore marked this depot in 80° S. with high bamboo
poles carrying black flags. We used twenty of these -- ten on each side
of the depot. Between each two flags there was a distance of 984 yards
(900 metres), so that the distance marked on each side of the depot
was five and a half miles (nine kilometres). Each bamboo was marked
with a number, so that we should always be able to tell from this
number on which side the depot lay, and how far off. This method
was entirely new and untried, but proved afterwards to work with
absolute certainty. Our compasses and sledge-meters had, of course,
been carefully adjusted at the station, and we knew that we could
rely on them.

Having put this in order, we continued our journey on the following
day. The temperature fell steadily as we went inland; if it continued
in this way it would be cold before one got to the Pole. The surface
remained as before -- flat and even. We ourselves had a feeling
that we were ascending, but, as the future will show, this was only
imagination. We had had no trouble with fissures, and it almost looked
as if we should avoid them altogether, since, of course, it might
be supposed that the part of the Barrier nearest the edge would be
the most fissured, and we had already left that behind us. South of
80° we found the going easier, but the dogs were now beginning to
be stiff and sore-footed, and it was hard work to get them started
in the morning. The sore feet I am speaking of here are not nearly
so bad as those the dogs are liable to on the sea-ice of the Arctic
regions. What caused sore feet on this journey was the stretches of
snow-crust we had to cross; it was not strong enough to bear the dogs,
and they broke through and cut their paws. Sore feet were also caused
by the snow caking and sticking between the toes. But the dog that has
to travel on sea-ice in spring and summer is exposed to worse things --
the sharp ice cuts the paws and the salt gets in. To prevent this kind
of sore feet one is almost obliged to put socks on the dogs. With the
kind of foot-trouble our dogs experienced it is not necessary to take
any such precautions. As a result of the long sea voyage their feet
had become unusually tender and could not stand much. On our spring
journey we noticed no sore-footedness, in spite of the conditions
being worse rather than better; probably their feet had got into
condition in the course of the winter.

On March 3 we reached 81° S. The temperature was then -45.4° F.,
and it did not feel pleasant. The change had come too rapidly; this
could be seen both in men and in dogs. We pitched our camp at three
in the afternoon, and went straight into the tents. The following
day was employed in building and marking the depot. That night was
the coldest we observed on the trip, as the temperature was -49°
F. when we turned out in the morning. If one compares the conditions
of temperature in the Arctic and Antarctic regions, it will be seen
that this temperature is an exceptionally low one. The beginning of
March corresponds, of course, to the beginning of September in the
northern hemisphere -- a time of year when summer still prevails. We
were astonished to find this low temperature while summer ought still
to have lasted, especially when I remembered the moderate temperatures
Shackleton had observed on his southern sledge journey. The idea at
once occurred to me of the existence of a local pole of maximum cold
extending over the central portion of the Ross Barrier. A comparison
with the observations recorded at Captain Scott's station in McMurdo
Sound might to some extent explain this. In order to establish it
completely one would require to have information about the conditions
in King Edward Land as well. The observations Dr. Mawson is now engaged
upon in Adélie Land and on the Barrier farther west will contribute
much to the elucidation of this question.

In 81° S. we laid down a depot consisting of fourteen cases of dogs'
pemmican -- 1,234 pounds. For marking this depot we had no bamboo
poles, so there was nothing to be done but to break up some cases
and use the pieces as marks; this was, at any rate, better than
nothing. Personally, I considered these pieces of wood, 2 feet high,
good enough, considering the amount of precipitation I had remarked
since our arrival in these regions. The precipitation we had observed
was very slight, considering the time of year -- spring and summer. If,
then, the snowfall was so inconsiderable at this time of the year
and along the edge of the Barrier, what might it not be in autumn
and winter in the interior? As I have said, something was better than
nothing, and Bjaaland, Hassel, and Stubberud, who were to return to
Lindström's flesh-pots on the following day, were given the task of
setting up these marks. As with the former depot, this one was marked
for nine kilometres on each side from east to west. So that we might
know where the depot was, in case we should come upon one of these
marks in a fog, all those on the east were marked with a little cut
of an axe. I must confess they looked insignificant, these little
bits of wood that were soon lost to sight on the boundless plain,
and the idea that they held the key of the castle where the fair one
slept made me smile. They looked altogether too inconsiderable for
such an honour. Meanwhile, we others, who were to go on to the south,
took it easy. The rest was good for the dogs especially, though the
cold prevented their enjoying it as they should have done.

At eight o'clock next morning we parted company with the three who
went north. I had to send home one of my dogs, Odin, who had got an
ugly raw place -- I was using Greenland harness on him -- and I went
on with five dogs. These were very thin, and apparently worn out;
but in any case we had to reach 82° S. before we gave up. I had had
some hope that we might have got to 83°, but it began to look as if
we had a poor chance of that. After 81° S. the Barrier began to take
on a slightly different appearance instead of the absolutely flat
surface, we saw on the first day a good many small formations of
the shape of haycocks. At that time we did not pay much attention
to these apparently insignificant irregularities, but later on we
learned to keep our eyes open and our feet active when passing in
their vicinity. On this first day southward from 81° S. we noticed
nothing; the going was excellent, the temperature not so bad as it
had been, -27.4° F., and the distance covered very creditable. The
next day we got our first idea of the meaning of these little mounds,
as the surface was cut up by crevasse after crevasse. These fissures
were not particularly wide, but were bottomless, as far as we could
see. About noon Hanssen's three leading dogs, Helge, Mylius, and Ring,
fell into one of them, and remained hanging by their harness; and it
was lucky the traces held, as the loss of these three would have been
severely felt. When the rest of the team saw these three disappear,
they stopped short. Fortunately, they had a pronounced fear of these
fissures, and always stopped when anything happened. We understood
now that the haycock formations were the result of pressure, and that
crevasses were always found in their neighbourhood.

That day was for the most part thick and hazy, with a northerly wind,
and snow-showers from time to time. Between the showers we caught
sight of lofty -- very lofty -- pressure ridges, three or four of them,
to the eastward. We estimated their distance at about six miles. Next
day, March 7, we had the same experience that Shackleton mentions on
several occasions. The morning began clear and fine, with a temperature
of -40° F. In the course of the forenoon a breeze sprang up from
the south-east, and increased to a gale during the afternoon. The
temperature rose rapidly, and when we pitched our camp at three in
the afternoon it was only -0.4° F. At our camping-place that morning
we left a case of dogs' pemmican, for use on the homeward journey,
and marked the way to the south with splinters of board at every
kilometre. Our distance that day was only twelve and a half miles. Our
dogs, especially mine, looked miserable -- terribly emaciated. It
was clear that they could only reach 82° S. at the farthest. Even
then the homeward journey would be a near thing.

We decided that evening to be satisfied with reaching 82°, and then
return. During this latter part of the trip we put up our two tents
front to front, so that the openings joined; in this way we were able
to send the food direct from one tent to the other without going
outside, and that was a great advantage. This circumstance led to
a radical alteration in our camping system, and gave us the idea
of the best five-man tent that has probably yet been seen in the
Polar regions. As we lay dozing that evening in our sleeping-bags,
thinking of everything and nothing, the idea suddenly occurred to
us that if the tents were sewed together as they now stood -- after
the fronts had been cut away -- we should get one tent that would
give us far more room for five than the two separate tents as they
were. The idea was followed up, and the fruit of it was the tent we
used on the journey to the Pole -- an ideal tent in every way. Yes,
circumstances work wonders; for I suppose one need not make Providence
responsible for these trifles?

On March 8 we reached 82° S., and it was the utmost my five dogs could
manage. Indeed, as will shortly be seen, it was already too much. They
were completely worn out, poor beasts. This is the only dark memory of
my stay in the South -- the over-taxing of these fine animals -- I had
asked more of them than they were capable of doing. My consolation is
that I did not spare myself either. To set this sledge, weighing nearly
half a ton, in motion with tired-out dogs was no child's play. And
setting it in motion was not always the whole of it: sometimes one
had to push it forward until one forced the dogs to move. The whip had
long ago lost its terrors. When I tried to use it, they only crowded
together, and got their heads as much out of the way as they could;
the body did not matter so much. Many a time, too, I failed altogether
to get them to go, and had to have help. Then two of us shoved the
sledge forward, while the third used the whip, shouting at the same
time for all he was worth. How hard and unfeeling one gets under such
conditions; how one's whole nature may be changed! I am naturally fond
of all animals, and try to avoid hurting them. There is none of the
"sportsman's" instinct in me; it would never occur to me to kill an
animal -- rats and flies excepted -- unless it was to support life. I
think I can say that in normal circumstances I loved my dogs, and the
feeling was undoubtedly mutual. But the circumstances we were now in
were not normal -- or was it, perhaps, myself who was not normal? I
have often thought since that such was really the case. The daily hard
work and the object I would not give up had made me brutal, for brutal
I was when I forced those five skeletons to haul that excessive load. I
feel it yet when I think of Thor -- a big, fine, smooth-haired dog --
uttering his plaintive howls on the march, a thing one never hears
a dog do while working. I did not understand what it meant -- would
not understand, perhaps. On he had to go -- on till he dropped. When
we cut him open we found that his whole chest was one large abscess.

The altitude at noon gave us 81° 54' 30'',
and we therefore went the other six miles to the south, and pitched
our camp at 3.30 p.m. in 82° S. We had latterly had a constant
impression that the Barrier was rising, and in the opinion of all
of us we ought now to have been at a height of about 1,500 feet and
a good way up the slope leading to the Pole. Personally I thought
the ground continued to rise to the south. It was all imagination,
as our later measurements showed.

We had now reached our highest latitude that autumn, and had reason
to be well satisfied. We laid down 1,370 pounds here, chiefly dogs'
pemmican. We did nothing that afternoon, only rested a little. The
weather was brisk, clear and calm, -13° F. The distance this last
day was thirteen and a half miles.

Next day we stayed where we were, built our depot, and marked it. The
marking was done in the same way as in 81° S., with this difference,
that here the pieces of packing-case had small, dark blue strips
of cloth fastened to the top, which made them easier to see. We
made this depot very secure, so that we could be certain it would
stand bad weather in the course of the winter. I also left my sledge
behind, as I saw the impossibility of getting it home with my team;
besides which, an extra sledge at this point might possibly be useful
later. This depot -- 12 feet high -- was marked with a bamboo and a
flag on the top, so that it could be seen a great way off.

On March 10 we took the road for home. I had divided my dogs between
Wisting and Hanssen, but they got no assistance from these bags of
bones, only trouble. The other three teams had held out well. There
was hardly anything wrong to be seen with Hanssen's. Wisting's team
was looked upon as the strongest, but his dogs had got very thin;
however, they did their work well. Wisting's sledge had also been
overloaded; it was even heavier than mine. Johansen's animals had
originally been regarded as the weakest, but they proved themselves
very tough in the long-run. They were no racers, but always managed
to scramble along somehow. Their motto was: "If we don't get there
to-day, we'll get there to-morrow." They all came home.

Our original idea was that the homeward journey should be a sort of
pleasure trip, that we should sit on the sledges and take it easy;
but in the circumstances this was not to be thought of. The dogs had
quite enough to do with the empty sledges. The same day we reached the
place where we had left a case of dogs' pemmican, and camped there,
having done twenty-nine and three-quarter miles. The weather was cold
and raw; temperature, -25.6° F. This weather took the last remnant of
strength out of my dogs; instead of resting at night, they lay huddled
together and freezing. It was pitiful to see them. In the morning they
had to be lifted up and put on their feet; they had not strength enough
to raise themselves. When they had staggered on a little way and got
some warmth into their bodies, they seemed to be rather better --
at any rate, they could keep up with us. The following day we did
twenty-four and three-quarter miles; temperature, -32.8° F.

On the 12th we passed the depot in 81° S. The big pressure ridges
to the east were easily visible, and we got a good bearing, which
would possibly come in useful later for fixing the position of
the depot. That day we did twenty-four and three-quarter miles;
temperature, -39° F. March 13 began calm and fine, but by half-past
ten in the morning a strong wind had sprung up from the east-south-east
with thick driving snow. So as not to lose the tracks we had followed
so far, we pitched our camp, to wait till the storm was over. The wind
howled and took hold of the tents, but could not move them. The next
day it blew just as hard from the same quarter, and we decided to
wait. The temperature was as usual, with the wind in this quarter;
-11.2° F. The wind did not moderate till 10.30 a.m. on the 15th,
when we were able to make a start.

What a sight there was outside! How were we going to begin to bring
order out of this chaos? The sledges were completely snowed up;
whips, ski-bindings, and harness largely eaten up. It was a nice
predicament. Fortunately we were well supplied with Alpine rope,
and that did for the harness; spare straps came in for ski-bindings,
but the whips were not so easy to make good. Hanssen, who drove first,
was bound to have a fairly serviceable whip; the others did not matter
so much, though it was rather awkward for them. In some way or other
he provided himself with a whip that answered his purpose. I saw one
of the others armed with a tent-pole, and he used it till we reached
Framheim. At first the dogs were much afraid of this monster of a whip,
but they soon found out that it was no easy matter to reach them with
the pole, and then they did not care a scrap for it.

At last everything seemed to be in order, and then we only had to get
the dogs up and in their places. Several of them were so indifferent
that they had allowed themselves to be completely snowed under,
but one by one we got them out and put them on their feet. Thor,
however, refused absolutely. It was impossible to get him to stand
up; he simply lay and whined. There was nothing to be done but to put
an end to him, and as we had no firearms, it had to be done with an
axe. It was quite successful; less would have killed him. Wisting took
the carcass on his sledge to take it to the next camp, and there cut it
up. The day was bitterly cold -- fog and snow with a southerly breeze;
temperature, -14.8° F. We were lucky enough to pick up our old tracks
of the southern journey, and could follow them. Lurven, Wisting's
best dog, fell down on the march, and died on the spot. He was one
of those dogs who had to work their hardest the whole time; he never
thought of shirking for a moment; he pulled and pulled until he died.

All sentimental feeling had vanished long ago; nobody thought of giving
Lurven the burial he deserved. What was left of him, skin and bones,
was cut up and divided among his companions.

On March 16 we advanced seventeen miles; temperature, -29.2° F. Jens,
one of my gallant "Three Musketeers," had been given a ride all day
on Wisting's sledge; he was too weak to walk any longer. Thor was to
have been divided among his companions that evening, but, on account
of the abscess in his chest, we changed our minds. He was put into an
empty case and buried. During the night we were wakened by a fearful
noise. The dogs were engaged in a fierce fight, and it was easy to
guess from their howls that it was all about food. Wisting, who always
showed himself quickest in getting out of the bag, was instantly on
the spot, and then it was seen that they had dug up Thor, and were
now feasting on him. It could not be said that they were hard to
please in the way of food. Associations of ideas are curious things;
"sauce hollandaise" suddenly occurred to my mind. Wisting buried the
carcass again, and we had peace for the rest of the night.

On the 17th it felt bitterly cold, with -41.8° F., and a sharp
snowstorm from the south-east. Lassesen, one of my dogs, who had
been following the sledges loose, was left behind this morning at
the camping-place; we did not miss him till late in the day. Rasmus,
one of the "Three Musketeers," fell to-day. Like Lurven, he pulled
till he died. Jens was very ill, could not touch food, and was taken
on Wisting's sledge. We reached our depot in 80° S. that evening,
and were able to give the dogs a double ration. The distance covered
was twenty-one and three-quarter miles. The surface about here had
changed in our absence; great, high snow-waves were now to be seen
in all directions. On one of the cases in the depot Bjaaland had
written a short message, besides which we found the signal arranged
with Hassel -- a block of snow on the top of the depot to show
that they had gone by, and that all was well. The cold continued
persistently. The following day we had -41.8° F. Ola and Jens, the
two survivors of the "Three Musketeers," had to be put an end to that
day; it was a shame to keep them alive any longer. And with them the
"Three Musketeers" disappear from this history. They were inseparable
friends, these three; all of them almost entirely black. At Flekkerö,
near Christiansand, where we kept our dogs for several weeks before
taking them on board, Rasmus had got loose, and was impossible to
catch. He always came and slept with his two friends, unless he was
being hunted. We did not succeed in catching him until a few days
before we took them on board, and then he was practically wild. They
were all three tied up on the bridge on board, where I was to have
my team, and from that day my closer acquaintance with the trio is
dated. They were not very civilly disposed for the first month. I
had to make my advances with a long stick -- scratch them on the
back. In this way I insinuated myself into their confidence, and we
became very good friends. But they were a terrible power on board;
wherever these three villains showed themselves, there was always a
row. They loved fighting. They were our fastest dogs. In our races
with empty sledges, when we were driving around Framheim, none of the
others could beat these three. I was always sure of leaving the rest
behind when I had them in my team.

I had quite given up Lassesen, who had been left behind that morning,
and I was very sorry for it, as he was my strongest and most willing
beast. I was glad, therefore, when he suddenly appeared again,
apparently fit and well. We presumed that he had dug up Thor again,
and finished him. It must have been food that had revived him. From
80° S. home he did remarkably good work in Wisting's team.

That day we had a curious experience, which was useful for the
future. The compass on Hanssen's sledge, which had always been
reliability itself, suddenly began to go wrong; at any rate, it did
not agree with the observations of the sun, which we fortunately had
that day. We altered our course in accordance with our bearings. In
the evening, when we took our things into the tent, the housewife,
with scissors, pins, needles, etc., had lain close against the
compass. No wonder it turned rebellious.

On March 19 we had a breeze from the south-east and -45.4° F. "Rather
fresh," I find noted in my diary. Not long after we had started that
morning, Hanssen caught sight of our old tracks. He had splendid
eyesight -- saw everything long before anyone else. Bjaaland also had
good sight, but he did not come up to Hanssen. The way home was now
straightforward, and we could see the end of our journey. Meanwhile
a gale sprang up from the south-east, which stopped us for a day;
temperature, -29.2° F. Next day the temperature had risen, as usual,
with a south-east wind; we woke up to find it +15.8° F. on the
morning of the 21st. That was a difference that could be felt, and
not an unpleasant one; we had had more than enough of -40°. It was
curious weather that night: violent gusts of wind from the east and
south-east, with intervals of dead calm -- just as if they came off
high land. On our way northward that day we passed our flag No. 6,
and then knew that we were fifty-three miles from Framheim. Pitched
our camp that evening at thirty-seven miles from the station. We
had intended to take this stretch of the way in two days, seeing
how tired the dogs were; but it turned out otherwise, for we lost
our old tracks during the forenoon, and in going on we came too far
to the east, and high up on the ridge mentioned before. Suddenly
Hanssen sang out that he saw something funny in front -- what it
was he did not know. When that was the case, we had to apply to the
one who saw even better than Hanssen, and that was my glass. Up with
the glass, then -- the good old glass that has served me for so many
years. Yes, there was certainly something curious. It must be the
Bay of Whales that we were looking down into, but what were those
black things moving up and down? They are our fellows hunting seals,
someone suggested, and we all agreed. Yes, of course, it was so clear
that there was no mistaking it. "I can see a sledge -- and there's
another -- and there's a third." We nearly had tears in our eyes to
see how industrious they were. "Now they're gone. No; there they are
again. Strange how they bob up and down, those fellows!" It proved to
be a mirage; what we saw was Framheim with all its tents. Our lads,
we were sure, were just taking a comfortable midday nap, and the
tears we were nearly shedding were withdrawn. Now we could survey
the situation calmly. There lay Framheim, there was Cape Man's Head,
and there West Cape, so that we had come too far to the east. "Hurrah
for Framheim! half-past seven this evening," shouted one. "Yes, that's
all we can do," cried another; and away we went. We set our course
straight for the middle of the bay. We must have got pretty high up,
as we went down at a terrific pace. This was more than the forerunner
could manage; he flung himself on a sledge as it went by. I had a
glimpse of Hanssen, who was busy making a whip-handle, as I passed;
the soles of his feet were then very prominent. I myself was lying
on Hanssen's sledge, shaking with laughter; the situation was too
comical. Hanssen picked himself up again just as the last sledge was
passing and jumped on. We all collected in a mass below the ridge --
sledges and dogs mixed up together.

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