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The South Pole, Volume 2

R >> Roald Amundsen >> The South Pole, Volume 2




We now knew the ground well enough to be able to go straight ahead
without any detours. The huge avalanches were more frequent than on
the outward journey. One mass of snow after another plunged down;
Don Pedro was getting rid of his winter coat. The going was precisely
the same -- loose, fairly deep snow. We went quite easily over it,
however, and it was all downhill. On the ridge where the descent to
the glacier began we halted to make our preparations. Brakes were
put under the sledges, and our two ski-sticks were fastened together
to make one strong one; we should have to be able to stop instantly
if surprised by a crevasse as we were going. We ski-runners went in
front. The going was ideal here on the steep slope, just enough loose
snow to give one good steering on ski. We went whizzing down, and it
was not many minutes before we were on the Heiberg Glacier. For the
drivers it was not quite such plain sailing: they followed our tracks,
but had to be extremely careful on the steep fall.

We camped that evening on the selfsame spot where we had had our tent
on November 18, at about 3,100 feet above the sea. From here one could
see the course of the Axel Heiberg Glacier right down to its junction
with the Barrier. It looked fine and even, and we decided to follow
it instead of climbing over the mountain, as we had done on the way
south. Perhaps the distance would be somewhat longer, but probably we
should make a considerable saving of time. We had now agreed upon a new
arrangement of our time; the long spells of rest were becoming almost
unbearable. Another very important side of the question was that,
by a reasonable arrangement, we should be able to save a lot of time,
and reach home several days sooner than we had reckoned. After a great
deal of talk on one side and on the other, we agreed to arrange matters
thus: we were to do our fifteen geographical miles, or twenty-eight
kilometres, and then have a sleep of six hours, turn out again and do
fifteen miles more, and so on. In this way we should accomplish a very
good average distance on our day's march. We kept to this arrangement
for the rest of the journey, and thus saved a good many days.

Our progress down the Heiberg Glacier did not encounter any
obstructions; only at the transition from the glacier to the Barrier
were there a few crevasses that had to be circumvented. At 7 a.m. on
January 6 we halted at the angle of land that forms the entrance to
the Heiberg Glacier, and thence extends northward. We had not yet
recognized any of the land we lay under, but that was quite natural,
as we now saw it from the opposite side. We knew, though, that we
were not far away from our main depot in 85° 5' S. On the afternoon
of the same day we were off again.

From a little ridge we crossed immediately after starting, Bjaaland
thought he could see the depot down on the Barrier, and it was not
very long before we came in sight of Mount Betty and our way up. And
now we could make sure with the glasses that it really was our depot
that we saw -- the same that Bjaaland thought he had seen before. We
therefore set our course straight for it, and in a few minutes we
were once more on the Barrier -- January 6, 11 p.m. -- after a stay
of fifty-one days on land. It was on November 17 that we had begun
the ascent.

We reached the depot, and found everything in order. The heat here
must have been very powerful; our lofty, solid depot was melted by
the sun into a rather low mound of snow. The pemmican rations that
had been exposed to the direct action of the sun's rays had assumed
the strangest forms, and, of course, they had become rancid. We
got the sledges ready at once, taking all the provisions out of the
depot and loading them. We left behind some of the old clothes we
had been wearing all the way from here to the Pole and back. When
we had completed all this repacking and had everything ready, two
of us went over to Mount Betty, and collected as many different
specimens of rock as we could lay our hands on. At the same time we
built a great cairn, and left there a can of 17 litres of paraffin,
two packets of matches -- containing twenty boxes -- and an account
of our expedition. Possibly someone may find a use for these things
in the future.

We had to kill Frithjof, one of Bjaaland's dogs, at this camp. He had
latterly been showing marked signs of shortness of breath, and finally
this became so painful to the animal that we decided to put an end
to him. Thus brave Frithjof ended his career. On cutting him open
it appeared that his lungs were quite shrivelled up; nevertheless,
the remains disappeared pretty quickly into his companions'
stomachs. What they had lost in quantity did not apparently affect
their quality. Nigger, one of Hassel's dogs, had been destroyed on
the way down from the plateau. We thus reached this point again with
twelve dogs, as we had reckoned on doing, and left it with eleven. I
see in my diary the following remark: "The dogs look just as well
as when we left Framheim." On leaving the place a few hours later
we had provisions for thirty-five days on the sledges. Besides this,
of course, we had a depot at every degree of latitude up to 80°.

It looked as though we had found our depot at the right moment, for
when we came out to continue our journey the whole Barrier was in a
blizzard. A gale was blowing from the south, with a sky completely
clouded over; falling snow and drift united in a delightful dance, and
made it difficult to see. The lucky thing was that now we had the wind
with us, and thus escaped getting it all in our eyes, as, we had been
accustomed to. The big crevasse, which, as we knew, lay right across
the line of our route, made us go very carefully. To avoid any risk,
Bjaaland and Hassel, who went in advance, fastened an alpine rope
between them. The snow was very deep and loose, and the going very
heavy. Fortunately, we were warned in time of our approach to the
expected cracks by the appearance of some bare ice ridges. These told
us clearly enough that disturbances had taken place here, and that even
greater ones might be expected, probably near at hand. At that moment
the thick curtain of cloud was torn asunder, and the sun pierced the
whirling mass of snow. Instantly Hanssen shouted: "Stop, Bjaaland!" He
was just on the edge of the yawning crevasse. Bjaaland himself has
splendid sight, but his excellent snow-goggles -- his own patent --
entirely prevented his seeing. Well, Bjaaland would not have been in
any serious danger if he had fallen into the crevasse, as he was roped
to Hassel, but it would have been confoundedly unpleasant all the same.

As I have said before, I assume that these great disturbances here
mark the boundary between the Barrier and the land. This time,
curiously enough, they seemed also to form a boundary between good
and bad weather, for on the far side of them -- to the north -- the
Barrier lay bathed in sunshine. On the south the blizzard raged worse
than ever. Mount Betty was the last to send us its farewell. South
Victoria Land had gone into hiding, and did not show itself again. As
soon as we came into the sunshine, we ran upon one of our beacons;
our course lay straight towards it. That was not bad steering in the
dark. At 9 p.m. we reached the depot in 85° S. Now we could begin to be
liberal with the dogs' food, too; they had double pemmican rations,
besides as many oatmeal biscuits as they would eat. We had such
masses of biscuits now that we could positively throw them about. Of
course, we might have left a large part of these provisions behind;
but there was a great satisfaction in being so well supplied with
food, and the dogs did not seem to mind the little extra weight in
the least. As long as things went so capitally as they were going --
that is, with men and dogs exactly keeping pace with one another --
we could ask for nothing better. But the weather that had cheered us
was not of long duration. "Same beastly weather," my diary says of
the next stage. The wind had shifted to the north-west, with overcast,
thick weather, and very troublesome drifting snow. In spite of these
unfavourable conditions, we passed beacon after beacon, and at the
end of our march had picked up all the beacons we had erected on
this distance of seventeen miles and three-eighths. But, as before,
we owed this to Hanssen's good eyes.

On our way southward we had taken a good deal of seal meat and had
divided it among the depots we built on the Barrier in such a way that
we were now able to eat fresh meat every day. This had not been done
without an object; if we should be visited with scurvy, this fresh meat
would be invaluable. As we were -- sound and healthy as we had never
been before -- the seal-beef was a pleasant distraction in our menu,
nothing more. The temperature had risen greatly since we came down
on to the Barrier, and kept steady at about + 14° F. We were so warm
in our sleeping-bags that we had to turn them with the hair out. That
was better; we breathed more freely and felt happier. "Just like going
into an ice-cellar," somebody remarked. The same feeling as when on
a really warm summer day one comes out of the hot sun into cool shade.

January 9. -- "Same beastly weather; snow, snow, snow, nothing but
snow. Is there no end to it? Thick too, so that we have not been able
to see ten yards ahead. Temperature + 17.6° F. Thawing everywhere
on the sledges. Everything getting wet. Have not found a single
beacon in this blind man's weather. The snow was very deep to begin
with and the going exceedingly heavy, but in spite of this the dogs
managed their sledges very well." That evening the weather improved,
fortunately, and became comparatively clear by the time we resumed our
journey at 10 p.m. Not long after we sighted one of our beacons. It
lay to the west, about 200 yards away. We were thus not far out of
our course; we turned aside and went up to it, as it was interesting
to see whether our reckoning was in order. The beacon was somewhat
damaged by sunshine and storms, but we found the paper left in it,
which told us that this beacon was erected on November 14, in 84° 26'
S. It also told us what course to steer by compass to reach the next
beacon, which lay five kilometres from this one.

As we were leaving this old friend and setting our course as it
advised, to our unspeakable astonishment two great birds -- skua gulls
-- suddenly came flying straight towards us. They circled round us
once or twice and then settled on the beacon. Can anyone who reads
these lines form an idea of the effect this had upon us? It is hardly
likely. They brought us a message from the living world into this realm
of death -- a message of all that was dear to us. I think the same
thoughts filled us all. They did not allow themselves a long rest,
these first messengers from another world; they sat still a while,
no doubt wondering who we were, then rose aloft and flew on to the
south. Mysterious creatures! they were now exactly half-way between
Framheim and the Pole, and yet they were going farther inland. Were
they going over to the other side?

Our march ended this time at one of our beacons, in 84° 15'. It
felt so good and safe to lie beside one of these; it always gave
us a sure starting-point for the following stage. We were up at
4 a.m. and left the place a few hours later, with the result that
the day's march brought us thirty-four miles nearer Framheim. With
our present arrangement, we had these long-day marches every other
day. Our dogs need no better testimonial than this -- one day
seventeen miles, the next day thirty-four, and fresh all the way
home. The two birds, agreeably as their first appearance had affected
me, led my thoughts after a while in another direction, which was
anything but agreeable. It occurred to me that these two might only
be representatives of a larger collection of these voracious birds,
and that the remainder might now be occupied in consuming all the fresh
meat we had so laboriously transported with us and spread all over the
plain in our depots. It is incredible what a flock of these birds of
prey can get rid of; it would not matter if the meat were frozen as
hard as iron, they would have managed it, even if it had been a good
deal harder than iron. Of the seals' carcasses we had lying in 80°,
I saw in my thoughts nothing but the bones. Of the various dogs we
had killed on our way south and laid on the tops of beacons I did not
see even so much as that. Well, it was possible that my thoughts had
begun to assume too dark a hue; perhaps the reality would be brighter.

Weather and going began by degrees to right themselves; it looked as if
things would improve in proportion to our distance from land. Finally,
both became perfect; the sun shone from a cloudless sky, and the
sledges ran on the fine, even surface with all the ease and speed
that could be desired. Bjaaland, who had occupied the position of
forerunner all the way from the Pole, performed his duties admirably;
but the old saying that nobody is perfect applied even to him. None
of us -- no matter who it may be -- can keep in a straight line, when
he has no marks to follow. All the more difficult is this when, as so
often happened with us, one has to go blindly. Most of us, I suppose,
would swerve now to one side, now to the other, and possibly end,
after all this groping, by keeping pretty well to the line. Not so
with Bjaaland; he was a right-hand man. I can see him now; Hanssen
has given him the direction by compass, and Bjaaland turns round,
points his ski in the line indicated and sets of with decision. His
movements clearly show that he has made up his mind, cost what it
may, to keep in the right direction. He sends his ski firmly along,
so that the snow spurts from them, and looks straight before him. But
the result is the same; if Hanssen had let Bjaaland go on without any
correction, in the course of an hour or so the latter would probably
have described a beautiful circle and brought himself back to the spot
from which he had started. Perhaps. after all, this was not a fault to
complain of, since we always knew with absolute certainty that, when
we had got out of the line of beacons, we were to the right of it and
had to search for the beacons to the west. This conclusion proved very
useful to us more than once, and we gradually became so familiar with
Bjaaland's right-handed tendencies that we actually counted on them.

On January 13, according to our reckoning, we ought to reach the depot
in 83° S. This was the last of our depots that was not marked at right
angles to the route, and therefore the last critical point. The day
was not altogether suited for finding the needle in the haystack. It
was calm with a thick fog, so thick that we could only see a few yards
in front of us. We did not see a single beacon on the whole march. At
4 p.m. we had completed the distance, according to the sledge-meters,
and reckoned that we ought to be in 83° S., by the depot; but there
was nothing to be seen. We decided, therefore, to set our tent and
wait till it cleared. While we were at work with this, there was a
rift in the thick mass of fog, and there, not many yards away -- to
the west, of course -- lay our depot. We quickly took the tent down
again, packed it on the sledge, and drove up to our food mound, which
proved to be quite in order. There was no sign of the birds having
paid it a visit. But what was that? Fresh, well-marked dog-tracks
in the newly-fallen snow. We soon saw that they must be the tracks
of the runaways that we had lost here on the way south. Judging by
appearances, they must have lain under the lee of the depot for
a considerable time; two deep hollows in the snow told us that
plainly. And evidently they must have had enough food, but where
on earth had they got it from? The depot was absolutely untouched,
in spite of the fact that the lumps of pemmican lay exposed to the
light of day and were very easy to get at; besides which, the snow on
the depot was not so hard as to prevent the dogs pulling it down and
eating up all the food. Meanwhile the dogs had left the place again,
as shown by the fresh trail, which pointed to the north. We examined
the tracks very closely, and agreed that they were not more than
two days old. They went northward, and we followed them from time to
time on our next stage. At the beacon in 82° 45', where we halted,
we saw them still going to the north. In 82° 24' the trail began to
be much confused, and ended by pointing due west. That was the last
we saw of the tracks; but we had not done with these dogs, or rather
with their deeds. We stopped at the beacon in 82° 20'. Else, who
had been laid on the top of it, had fallen down and lay by the side;
the sun had thawed away the lower part of the beacon. So the roving
dogs had not been here; so much was certain, for otherwise we should
not have found Else as we did. We camped at the end of that stage by
the beacon in 82° 15', and shared out Else's body. Although she had
been lying in the strong sunshine, the flesh was quite good, when we
had scraped away a little mouldiness. It smelt rather old, perhaps,
but our dogs were not fastidious when it was a question of meat.

On January 16 we arrived at the depot in 82° S. We could see
from a long way off that the order in which we had left it no
longer prevailed. When we came up to it, we saw at once what had
happened. The innumerable dog-tracks that had trampled the snow quite
hard round the depot declared plainly enough that the runaways had
spent a good deal of time here. Several of the cases belonging to
the depot had fallen down, presumably from the same cause as Else,
and the rascals had succeeded in breaking into one of them. Of the
biscuits and pemmican which it had contained, nothing, of course,
was left; but that made no difference to us now, as we had food in
abundance. The two dogs' carcasses that we had placed on the top of
the depot -- Uranus and Jaala -- were gone, not even the teeth were to
be seen. Yet they had left the teeth of Lucy, whom they had eaten in
82° 3'. Jaala's eight puppies were still lying on the top of a case;
curiously enough, they had not fallen down. In addition to all the
rest, the beasts had devoured some ski-bindings and things of that
sort. It was no loss to us, as it happened; but who could tell which
way these creatures had gone? If they had succeeded in finding the
depot in 80° S., they would probably by this time have finished our
supply of seal meat there. Of course it would be regrettable if this
had happened, although it would entail no danger either to ourselves
or our animals. If we got as far as 80°, we should come through all
right. For the time being, we had to console ourselves with the fact
that we could see no continuation of the trail northward.

We permitted ourselves a little feast here in 82°. The "chocolate
pudding" that Wisting served as dessert is still fresh in my memory;
we all agreed that it came nearer perfection than anything it had
hitherto fallen to our lot to taste. I may disclose the receipt:
biscuit-crumbs, dried milk and chocolate are put into a kettle of
boiling water. What happens afterwards, I don't know; for further
information apply to Wisting. Between 82° and 81° we came into our
old marks of the second depot journey; on that trip we had marked
this distance with splinters of packing-case at every geographical
mile. That was in March, 1911, and now we were following these
splinters in the second half of January, 1912. Apparently they stood
exactly as they had been put in. This marking stopped in 81° 33' S.,
with two pieces of case on a snow pedestal. The pedestal was still
intact and good.

I shall let my diary describe what we saw on January 18: "Unusually
fine weather to-day. Light south-south-west breeze, which in the
course of our march cleared the whole sky. In 81° 20' we came abreast
of our old big pressure ridges. We now saw far more of them than ever
before. They extended as far as the eye could see, running north-east
to south-west, in ridges and peaks. Great was our surprise when, a
short time after, we made out high, bare land in the same direction,
and not long after that two lofty, white summits to the south-east,
probably in about 82° S. It could be seen by the look of the sky
that the land extended from north-east to south-west. This must be
the same land that we saw lose itself in the horizon in about 84°S.,
when we stood at a height of about 4,000 feet and looked out over
the Barrier, during our ascent. We now have sufficient indications to
enable us without hesitation to draw this land as continuous -- Carmen
Land. The surface against the land is violently disturbed -- crevasses
and pressure ridges, waves and valleys, in all directions. We shall
no doubt feel the effect of it to-morrow." Although what we have seen
apparently justifies us in concluding that Carmen Land extends from
86° S. to this position -- about 81° 30' S. -- and possibly farther
to the north-east, I have not ventured to lay it down thus on the
map. I have contented myself with giving the name of Carmen Land to
the land between 86° and 84°, and have called the rest "Appearance
of Land." It will be a profitable task for an explorer to investigate
this district more closely.

As we had expected, on our next stage we were made to feel the effect
of the disturbances. Three times we had now gone over this stretch of
the Barrier without having really clear weather. This time we had it,
and were able to see what it actually looked like. The irregularities
began in 81° 12' S., and did not extend very far from north to
south-possibly about five kilometres (three and a quarter miles). How
far they extended from east to west it is difficult to say, but at any
rate as far as the eye could reach. Immense pieces of the surface had
fallen away and opened up the most horrible yawning gulfs, big enough
to swallow many caravans of the size of ours. From these open holes,
ugly wide cracks ran out in all directions; besides which, mounds and
haycocks were everywhere to be seen. Perhaps the most remarkable thing
of all was that we had passed over here unharmed. We went across as
light-footedly as possible, and at top speed. Hanssen went halfway
into a crevasse, but luckily got out of it again without difficulty.

The depot in 81° S. was in perfect order; no dog-tracks to be
seen there. Our hopes that the depot in 80° S. would be intact rose
considerably. In 80° 45' S. lay the first dog we had killed -- Bone. He
was particularly fat, and was immensely appreciated. The dogs no
longer cared very much for pemmican. On January 21 we passed our last
beacon, which stood in 80° 23' S. Glad as we were to leave it behind,
I cannot deny that it was with a certain feeling of melancholy that
we saw it vanish. We had grown so fond of our beacons, and whenever
we met them we greeted them as old friends. Many and great were the
services these silent watchers did us on our long and lonely way.

On the same day we reached our big depot in 80° S., and now we
considered that we were back. We could see at once that others had
been at the depot since we had left it, and we found a message from
Lieutenant Prestrud, the leader of the eastern party, saying that he,
with Stubberud and Johansen, had passed here on November 12, with two
sledges, sixteen dogs, and supplies for thirty days. Everything thus
appeared to be in the best of order. Immediately on arriving at the
depot we let the dogs loose, and they made a dash for the heap of
seal's flesh, which had been attacked neither by birds nor dogs in
our absence. It was not so much for the sake of eating that our dogs
made their way to the meat mound, as for the sake of fighting. Now
they really had something to fight about. They went round the seals'
carcasses a few times, looked askance at the food and at each other,
and then flung themselves into the wildest scrimmage. When this had
been duly brought to a conclusion, they went away and lay round their
sledges. The depot in 80° S. is still large, well supplied and well
marked, so it is not impossible that it may be found useful later.

The journey from 80° S. to Framheim has been so often described that
there is nothing new to say about it. On January 25, at 4 a.m., we
reached our good little house again, with two sledges and eleven dogs;
men and animals all hale and hearty. We stood and waited for each other
outside the door in the early morning; our appearance must be made all
together. It was so still and quiet -- they must be all asleep. We came
in. Stubberud started up in his bunk and glared at us; no doubt he took
us for ghosts. One after another they woke up -- not grasping what was
happening. Then there was a hearty welcome home on all sides "Where's
the Fram?" was of course our first question Our joy was great when we
heard all was well. "And what about the Pole? Have you been there?" --
"Yes, of course; otherwise you would hardly have seen us again." Then
the coffee kettle was put on, and the perfume of "hot cakes" rose as
in old days. We agreed that it was good outside, but still better at
home. Ninety-nine days the trip had taken. Distance about 1,860 miles.

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