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The South Pole, Volume 2

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




Thus it was with every imaginable thing -- from barrels of paraffin
and new-born pups to writing materials and charts.

As the story of this voyage has already been told, it may be rapidly
passed over here. After much delay through headwinds in the Channel,
we picked up the north-east trade in about the latitude of Gibraltar,
and arrived at Madeira on September 6.

At 9 p.m. on September 9 we weighed anchor for the last time, and left
Madeira. As soon as we were clear of the land we got the north-east
trade again, and it held more or less fresh till about lat. 11° N.

After our departure from Madeira I took over the morning watch,
from 4 to 8 a.m.; Prestrud and Gjertsen divided the remainder of the
twenty-four hours.

In order if possible to get a little more way on the ship, a
studding-sail and a skysail were rigged up with two awnings; it did
not increase our speed very much, but no doubt it helped a little.

The highest temperature we observed was 84° F. In the trade winds we
constantly saw flying-fish, but as far as I know not one was ever
found on deck; those that came on board were of course instantly
snapped up by the dogs.

In about lat. 11° N. we lost the north-east trade, and thus came into
the "belt of calms," a belt that extends on each side of the Equator,
between the north-east and south-east trades. Here, as a rule, one
encounters violent rain-squalls; to sailing ships in general and
ourselves in particular this heavy rain is welcome, as water-tanks
can be filled up. Only on one day were we lucky enough to have rain,
but as it was accompanied by a strong squall of wind, we did not catch
all the water we wanted. All hands were on deck carrying water, some in
oilskins, some in Adam's costume; the Chief in a white tropical suit,
and, as far as I remember, clogs. As the latter were rather slippery,
and the Fram suddenly gave an unexpected lurch, he was carried off his
legs, and left sitting on the deck, while his bucket of water poured
all over him. But "it was all in his country's cause," so he did not
mind. We caught about 3 tons of water, and then had our tanks full,
or about 30 tons, when the shower passed off; later in the voyage we
filled a bucket now and again, but it never amounted to much, and if
we had not been as careful as we were, our water-supply would hardly
have lasted out.

On October 4 we crossed the Equator. The south-east trade was not
so fresh as we had expected, and the engine had to be kept going the
whole time.

At the beginning of November we came down into the west wind belt,
or the "Roaring Forties," as they are called, and from that time we
ran down our easting at a great rate. We were very lucky there, and had
strong fair winds for nearly seven weeks at a stretch. In the heavy sea
we found out what it was to sail in the Fram; she rolls incessantly,
and there is never a moment's rest. The dogs were thrown backwards
and forwards over the deck, and when one of them rolled into another,
it was taken as a personal insult, and a fight followed at once. But
for all that the Fram is a first-rate sea boat, and hardly ever ships
any water. If this had been otherwise, the dogs would have been far
worse off than they were.

The weather in the "Foggy Fifties " varied between gales, calms,
fogs, snowstorms, and other delights. As a rule, the engine was now
kept constantly ready, in case of our being so unlucky as to come
too near an iceberg. Fortunately, however, we did not meet any of
these until early on the morning of January 1, 1911, when we saw
some typical Antarctic bergs; that is to say, entirely tabular. Our
latitude was then a little over 60° S., and we were not far off the
pack. On the 1st and 2nd we sailed southward without seeing anything
but scattered bergs and a constantly increasing number of lumps of
ice, which showed us we were getting near. By 10 p.m. on the 2nd we
came into slack drift-ice; the weather was foggy, and we therefore
kept going as near as might be on the course to the Bay of Whales,
which was destined to be our base.

A good many seals were lying on the ice-floes, and as we went forward
we shot some. As soon as the first seal was brought on board, all
our dogs had their first meat meal since Madeira; they were given as
much as they wanted, and ate as much as they could. We, too, had our
share of the seal, and from this time forward we had fresh seal-steak
for breakfast at least every day; it tasted excellent to us, who for
nearly half a year had been living on nothing but tinned meat. With
the steak whortleberries were always served, which of course helped
to make it appreciated. The biggest seal we got in the pack-ice was
about 12 feet long, and weighed nearly half a ton. A few penguins were
also shot, mostly Adélie penguins; these are extraordinarily amusing,
and as inquisitive as an animal can be. When any of them saw us, they
at once came nearer to get a better view of the unbidden guests. If
they became too impertinent, we did not hesitate to take them, for
their flesh, especially the liver, was excellent. The albatrosses,
which had followed us through the whole of the west wind belt, had
now departed, and in their place came the beautiful snowy petrels
and Antarctic petrels.

We had more or less fog all through the pack-ice. Only on the night
of the 5th did we have sun and fine weather, when we saw the midnight
sun for the first time. A more beautiful morning it would be difficult
to imagine: radiantly clear, with thick ice everywhere, as far as the
eye could see; the lanes of water between the floes gleamed in the
sun, and the ice-crystals glittered like thousands of diamonds. It
was a pure delight to go on deck and drink in the fresh air; one felt
altogether a new man. I believe everyone on board found this passage
through the pack the most interesting part of the whole voyage, and,
of course, it all had the charm of novelty. Those who had not been
in the ice before, myself among them, and who were hunting for the
first time, ran about after seals and penguins, and amused themselves
like children.

At 10 p.m. on the 6th we were already out of the ice after a passage
of exactly four days; we had been extremely lucky, and the Fram went
very easily through the ice.

After coming out of the pack, our course was continued through the open
Ross Sea to the Bay of Whales, which from the previous description
was to be found in about long. 164° W. On the afternoon of the 11th
we had strong ice-blink ahead, by which is meant the luminous stripe
that is seen above a considerable accumulation of ice; the nearest
thing one can compare it to is the glare that is always seen over
a great city on approaching it at night. We knew at once that this
was the glare of the mighty Ross Barrier, named after Sir James Clark
Ross, who first saw it in 1841. The Barrier is a wall of ice, several
hundred miles long, and about 100 feet high, which forms the southern
boundary of Ross Sea. We were, of course, very intent upon seeing
what it looked like, but to me it did not appear so imposing as I had
imagined it. Possibly this was because I had become familiar with it,
in a way, from the many descriptions of it. From these descriptions we
had expected to find a comparatively narrow opening into Balloon Bight,
as shown in the photographs we had before us; but as we went along
the Barrier, on the 12th, we could find no opening. In long. 164° W.,
on the other hand, there was a great break in the wall, forming a cape
(West Cape); from here to the other side of the Barrier was about eight
geographical miles, and southward, as far as we could see, lay loose
bay ice. We held on to the east outside this drift-ice and along the
eastern Barrier till past midnight, but as Balloon Bight was not to
be found, we returned to the above-mentioned break or cape, where we
lay during the whole forenoon of the 13th, as the ice was too thick to
allow us to make any progress. After midday, however, the ice loosened,
and began to drift out; at the same time we went in, and having gone
as far as possible, the Fram was moored to the fast ice-foot on the
western side of the great bay we had entered. It proved that Balloon
Bight and another bight had merged to form a great bay, exactly as
described by Sir Ernest Shackleton, and named by him the Bay of Whales.

After mooring here, the Chief and one or two others went on a
reconnoitring tour; but it began to snow pretty thickly, and, as far
as I am aware, nothing was accomplished beyond seeing that the Barrier
at the southernmost end of the bay sloped evenly down to the sea-ice;
but between the latter and the slope there was open water, so that
they could not go any farther. We lay all night drifting in the ice,
which was constantly breaking up, and during this time several seals
and penguins were shot. Towards morning on the 14th it became quite
clear, and we had a splendid view of the surroundings. Right over on
the eastern side of the bay it looked as if there was more open water;
we therefore went along the fast ice-foot and moored off the eastern
Barrier at about three in the afternoon. The cape in the Barrier,
under which we lay, was given the name of "Man's Head," on account
of its resemblance to a human profile. All the time we were going
along the ice we were shooting seals, so that on arrival at our final
moorings we already had a good supply of meat.

For my part I was rather unlucky on one of these hunts: Four seals
were lying on the ice-foot, and I jumped down with rifle and five
cartridges; to take any cartridges in reserve did not occur to me, as,
of course, I regarded myself as a mighty hunter, and thought that one
shot per seal was quite enough. The three first died without a groan;
but the fourth took the alarm, and made off as fast as it could. I
fired my fourth cartridge, but it did not hit as it ought to have
done, and the seal was in full flight, leaving a streak of blood
behind it. I was not anxious to let a wounded seal go, and as I had
only one cartridge left, and the seal had its tail turned towards me,
I wanted to come to close quarters to make sure of it. I therefore
ran as hard as I could, but the seal was quicker, and it determined
the range. After running half-way to the South Pole, I summoned
my remaining strength and fired the last shot. Whether the bullet
went above or below, I have no idea. All I know is, that on arriving
on board I was met by scornful smiles and had to stand a good deal
of chaff.

As already mentioned, we left Norway on August 9, 1910, and arrived
at our final moorings on January 14, 1911, in the course of which
time we had only called at Madeira. The Barrier is 16,000 geographical
miles from Norway, a distance which we took five months to cover. From
Madeira we had had 127 days in open sea, and therewith the first part
of the voyage was brought to an end.


Off the Barrier.

As soon as we had moored, the Chief, Prestrud, Johansen and I went
up on to the Barrier on a tour of reconnaissance. The ascent from the
sea-ice to the Barrier was fine, a perfectly even slope. When no more
than a mile from the ship, we found a good site for the first dog-camp,
and another mile to the south it was decided that the house was to
stand, on the slope of a hill, where it would be least exposed to
the strong south-easterly gales which might be expected from previous
descriptions. Up on the Barrier all was absolutely still, and there
was not a sign of life; indeed, what should anything live on? This
delightful ski-run was extended a little farther to the south, and
after a couple of hours we returned on board. Here in the meantime
the slaughtering of seals had been going on, and there were plenty
to be had, as several hundreds of them lay about on the ice.

After the rather long sea voyage, and the cramped quarters on board,
I must say it was a pleasure to have firm ground under one's feet
and to be able to move about a little. The dogs evidently thought
the same; when they came down on to the ice, they rolled in the snow
and ran about, wild with delight. During our whole stay a great part
of the time was spent in ski-runs and seal-hunts, and an agreeable
change it was.

Sunday the 15th was spent in setting up tents at the first dog-camp and
at Framheim, as the winter station was named. A team of dogs was used,
and, as they were unused to being driven, it is not surprising that
some lay down, others fought, a few wanted to go on board, but hardly
any of them appreciated the seriousness of the situation or understood
that their good time had come to an end. On Monday all the dogs were
landed, and on the following day the supplies began to be put ashore.

The landing of the cases was done in this way: the sea-party brought
up on deck as many cases as the drivers could take in one journey;
as the sledges came down to the vessel, the cases were sent down
on to the ice on skids, so that it all went very rapidly. We would
not put the cases out on the ice before the sledges came back, as,
in case the ice should break up, we should be obliged to heave them
all on board again, or we might even lose them. At night no one was
ever allowed to stay on the ice.

Before we reached the ice, we had counted on having 50 per cent. of
idle days -- that is, from previous descriptions we had reckoned on
having such bad weather half the time that the Fram would be obliged
to leave her moorings. In this respect we were far luckier than we
expected, and only had to put out twice. The first time was on the
night of January 25, when we had a stiff breeze from the north with
some sea, so that the vessel was bumping rather hard against the
ice. Drifting floes came down upon us, and so as not to be caught
by any iceberg that might suddenly come sailing in from the point
of the Barrier we called Man's Head, we took our moorings on board
and went. When the shore party next morning came down as usual at
a swinging pace, they saw to their astonishment that the Fram was
gone. In the course of the day the weather became fine, and we tried
to go back about noon; but the bay was so full of drift-ice that we
could not come in to the fast ice-foot. About nine in the evening
we saw from the crow's nest that the ice was loosening; we made the
attempt, and by midnight we were again moored.

But the day was not wasted by the shore party, for on the day before
Kristensen, L. Hansen and I had been out on ski and had shot forty
seals, which were taken up to the station while we were away.

Only once or twice more did we have to leave our berth, until on
February 7, when almost all the ice had left the bay, we were able
to moor alongside the low, fast Barrier, where we lay in peace until
we went for good.

There was a great deal of animal life about us. A number of whales
came close in to the vessel, where they stayed still to look at the
uninvited guests. On the ice seals came right up to the ship, as did
large and small flocks of penguins, to have a look at us. These latter
were altogether extraordinarily inquisitive creatures. Two Emperor
penguins often came to our last moorings to watch us laying out an
ice-anchor or hauling on a hawser, while they put their heads on one
side and jabbered, and they were given the names of "the Harbour-master
and his Missis."

A great number of birds, skua gulls, snowy petrels and Antarctic
petrels, flew round the ship and gave us many a good "roast ptarmigan."

On the morning of February 4, about 1 a.m., the watchman, Beck, came
and called me with the news that a vessel was coming in. I guessed
at once, of course, that it was the Terra Nova; but I must confess
that I did not feel inclined to turn out and look at her. We hoisted
the colours, however.

As soon as she was moored, Beck told me, some of her party went ashore,
presumably to look for the house. They did not find it, though, and at
3 a.m. Beck came below again, and said that now they were coming on
board. So then I turned out and received them. They were Lieutenant
Campbell, the leader of Captain Scott's second shore party, and
Lieutenant Pennell, the commander of the Terra Nova. They naturally
asked a number of questions, and evidently had some difficulty in
believing that it was actually the Fram that was lying here. We had
at first been taken for a whaler. They offered to take our mail to
New Zealand; but we had no mail ready, and had to decline the offer
with thanks. Later in the day a number of the Terra Nova's officers
went to breakfast at Framheim, and the Chief, Prestrud and I lunched
with them. At about two in the afternoon the Terra Nova sailed again.

On Friday, February 16, a number of the shore party started on the
first trip to lay down depots. We cleared up, filled our water-tanks
with snow, and made the ship ready for sea. We had finished this by
the evening of the 14th.


From the Bay of Whales to Buenos Aires.

The sea party consisted of the following ten men Thorvald Nilsen,
L. Hansen, H. Kristensen and J. Nödtvedt; H. F. Gjertsen, A. Beck,
M. Rönne, A. Kutschin and O. K. Sundbeck. The first four formed one
watch, from eight to two, and the last five the other, from two to
eight. Last, but not least, comes K. Olsen, cook.

Having made ready for sea, we let go our moorings on the Ice Barrier at
9 a.m. on February 15, 1911. Hassel, Wisting, Bjaaland, and Stubberud
came down to see us off. As in the course of the last few days the
ice had broken up right to the end of the bay, we went as far south
as possible to take a sounding; the shallowest we got was 155 3/4
fathoms (285 metres). The bay ended in a ridge of ice on the east,
which was continued in a northerly direction, so that at the spot
where we were stopped by the Barrier, we reached the most southerly
point that a vessel can attain, so long as the Barrier remains as
it is now. Highest latitude 78° 41' S. When the Terra Nova was here,
her latitude and ours was 78° 38' S.

The last two days before our departure had been calm, and a thick,
dense sludge lay over the whole bay; so dense was it that the Fram
lost her way altogether, and we had to keep going ahead and astern
until we came out into a channel. Seals by the hundred were lying on
the floes, but as we had a quantity of seal's flesh, we left them in
peace for a change.

Before the Chief began the laying out of depots, I received from him
the following orders:



"To First-lieutenant Thorvald Nilsen.

With the departure of the Fram from the Ice Barrier, you will take
over the command on board. In accordance with the plan we have mutually
agreed upon

"1. You will sail direct to Buenos Aires, where the necessary
repairs will be executed, provisions taken on board, and the crew
completed. When this has been done,

"2. You will sail from Buenos Aires to carry out oceanographical
observations in the South Atlantic Ocean. It would be desirable if
you could investigate the conditions between South America and Africa
in two sections. These investigations must, however, be dependent on
the prevailing conditions, and on the time at your disposal. When
the time arrives you will return to Buenos Aires, where the final
preparations will be made for

"3. Your departure for the Ice Barrier to take off the shore party. The
sooner you can make your way in to the Barrier in 1912, the better. I
mention no time, as everything depends on circumstances, and I leave
it to you to act according to your judgment.

"In all else that concerns the interests of the Expedition, I leave
you entire freedom of action.

"If on your return to the Barrier you should find that I am prevented
by illness or death from taking over the leadership of the Expedition,
I place this in your hands, and beg you most earnestly to endeavour
to carry out the original plan of the Expedition -- the exploration
of the North Polar basin.

"With thanks for the time we have spent together, and in the hope
that when we meet again we shall have reached our respective goals,

"I am,

"Yours sincerely,

"Roald Amundsen."

When Sir James Ross was in these waters for the first time, in 1842,
he marked "Appearance of land" in long. 160° W., and lat. about 78°
S. Afterwards, in 1902, Captain Scott named this land "King Edward
VII. Land." One of the Terra Nova's objects was to explore this land;
but when we met the ship on February 4, they told us on board that
on account of the ice conditions they had not been able to land. As
no one had ever been ashore there, I thought it might be interesting
to go and see what it looked like. Consequently our course was laid
north-eastward along the Barrier. During the night a thick sea-fog
came on, and it was only now and then that we could see the Barrier
over our heads. All of a sudden we were close upon a lofty iceberg,
so that we had to put the helm hard over to go clear. The Fram steers
splendidly, however, when she is in proper trim, and turns as if on
a pivot; besides which, it was calm.

As the day advanced, the weather cleared more and more, and by noon it
was perfectly clear. The sight that then met us was the lofty Barrier
to starboard, and elsewhere all round about some fifty icebergs,
great and small. The Barrier rose from about 100 feet at its edge to
something like 1,200 feet.

We followed the Barrier for some distance, but in the neighbourhood of
Cape Colbeck we met the drift-ice, and as I had no wish to come between
this and the Barrier, we stood out in a north-westerly direction. There
is, besides, the disadvantage about a propeller like ours, that it is
apt to wear out the brasses, so that these have to be renewed from
time to time. It was imperative that this should be done before we
came into the pack-ice, and the sooner the better. When, therefore,
we had gone along the Barrier for about a day and a half without
seeing any bare land, we set our course north-west in open water,
and after we had come some way out we got a slant of easterly wind,
so that the sails could be set. We saw the snow-covered land and the
glare above it all night.

The date had not yet been changed, but as this had to be done, it
was changed on February 15.[2]

At noon on the 16th the propeller was lifted, and by the evening of the
17th the job was done -- a record in spite of the temperature. Capital
fellows to work, our engineers.

On the night of the 15th we saw the midnight sun unfortunately for the
last time. The same night something dark was sighted on the port bow;
in that light it looked very like an islet. The sounding apparatus
was got ready, and we who were on watch of course saw ourselves in
our minds as great discoverers. I was already wondering what would
be the most appropriate name to give it, but, alas! the "discovery"
became clearer and the name -- well, it was a rather prosaic one:
"Dead Whale Islet"; for it turned out to be a huge inflated whale,
that was drifting, covered with birds.

We went rather slowly north-westward under sail alone. On the morning
of the 17th we saw ice-blink on the starboard bow, and about noon we
were close to the pack itself; it was here quite thick, and raised
by pressure, so that an attempt to get through it was out of the
question. We were, therefore, obliged to follow the ice to the
west. Due aft we saw in the sky the same glare as above the great
Ice Barrier, which may possibly show that the Barrier turns towards
the north and north-west; besides which, the masses of pressure-ice
that collect here must go to show that it encounters an obstruction,
probably the Barrier. When we went out in 1912 the ice lay in exactly
the same place and in the same way.

Our course was still to the west along the pack-ice, and it was
not till the 20th that we could turn her nose northward again. For a
change we now had a stiff breeze from the south-east, with thick snow,
so we got on very well. On the whole, the Fram goes much more easily
through the water now than on the way south. Her bottom has probably
been cleaned by the cold water and all the scraping against the ice;
besides which, we have no more than a third of the load with which
we left Norway.

On the night of the 20th we had to light the binnacle-lamps again,
and now the days grew rapidly shorter. It may possibly be a good thing
to have dark nights on land, but at sea it ought always to be light,
especially in these waters, which are more or less unknown, and full
of drifting icebergs.

At 4 p.m. on the 22nd we entered the drift-ice in lat. 70.5° S.,
long. 177.5° E. The ice was much higher and uglier than when we were
going south, but as there was nothing but ice as far as we could
see both east and west, and it was fairly loose, we had to make the
attempt where there seemed to be the best chance of getting through.

The seals, which to the south of the ice had been following us
in decreasing numbers, had now disappeared almost entirely, and
curiously enough we saw very few seals in the pack. Luckily, however,
Lieutenant Gjertsen's watch got three seals, and for a week we were
able to enjoy seal-beef, popularly known as "crocodile beef," three
times a day. Seal-beef and fresh whortleberries -- delicioso!

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