A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

The South Pole, Volumes 1 and 2

R >> Roald Amundsen >> The South Pole, Volumes 1 and 2




On Christmas Eve, 1911, when on our second trip southward we saw the
first real iceberg, the temperature of the water fell in four hours
from 35.6° F. to 32.7° F., which was the temperature when the bergs
were passed, after which it rose rather rapidly to 35° F.

In the west wind belt I believe one can tell with some degree of
certainty when one is approaching ice. In the middle of November, 1911,
between Prince Edward Island and the Crozet Islands (about lat. 47°
S.) the temperature fell. Towards morning I remarked to someone:
"The temperature of the water is falling as if we were getting near
the ice." On the forenoon of the same day we sailed past a very small
berg; the temperature again rose to the normal, and we met no more
ice until Christmas Eve.

On Saturday, March 4, the day before we met that large collection
of bergs, the temperature fell pretty rapidly from 33.9° F. to 32.5°
F. We had not then seen ice for nearly twenty-four hours. At the same
time the colour of the water became unusually green, and it is possible
that we had come into a cold current. The temperature remained as low
as this till Sunday morning, when at 8 a. m. it rose to 32.7° F.;
at 12 noon, close to a berg, to 32.9° F., and a mile to lee of it,
to 33° F. It continued to rise, and at 4 p.m., when the bergs were
thickest, it was 33.4° F.; at 8 p.m. 33.6° F., and at midnight 33.8°
F. If there had been a fog, we should certainly have thought we were
leaving the ice instead of approaching it; it is very curious, too,
that the temperature of the water should not be more constant in
the presence of such a great quantity of ice; but, as I have said,
it may have been a current.

In the course of the week following March 5 the bergs became rarer,
but the same kind of weather prevailed. Our speed was irreproachable,
and in one day's work (from noon to noon) we covered a distance of
200 nautical miles, or an average of about 82 knots an hour, which
was the best day's work the Fram had done up to that time. The wind;
which had been westerly and north-westerly, went by degrees to the
north, and ended in a hurricane from the north-east on Sunday, March
12. I shall quote here what I wrote about this in my diary on the 13th:

"Well, now we have experienced the first hurricane on the Fram. On
Saturday afternoon, the 11th, the wind went to the north-east, as an
ordinary breeze with rain. The barometer had been steady between 29.29
inches (744 millimetres) and 29.33 inches (745 millimetres). During
the afternoon it began to fall, and at 8 p.m. it was 29.25 inches
(743 millimetres) without the wind having freshened at all. The outer
jib was taken in, however. By midnight the barometer had fallen to
29.0 inches (737 millimetres), while the wind had increased to a stiff
breeze. We took in the foresail, mainsail, and inner jib, and had now
only the topsail and a storm-trysail left. The wind gradually increased
to a gale. At 4 a.m. on Sunday the barometer had fallen again to 28.66
inches (728 millimetres), and at 6 a.m. the topsail was made fast.[3]

The wind increased and the seas ran higher, but we did not ship much
water. At 8 a.m. the barometer was 28.30 inches (719 millimetres),
and at 9 a.m. 28.26 inches (718 millimetres), when at last it
stopped going down and remained steady till about noon, during
which time a furious hurricane was blowing. The clouds were brown,
the colour of chocolate; I cannot remember ever having seen such an
ugly sky. Little by little the wind went to the north, and we sailed
large under two storm-trysails. Finally, we had the seas on our beam,
and now the Fram showed herself in all her glory as the best sea-boat
in the world. It was extraordinary to watch how she behaved. Enormous
seas came surging high to windward, and we, who were standing on the
bridge, turned our backs to receive them, with some such remark as:
'Ugh, that's a nasty one coming.' But the sea never came. A few
yards from the ship it looked over the bulwarks and got ready to
hurl itself upon her. But at the last moment the Fram gave a wriggle
of her body and was instantly at the top of the wave, which slipped
under the vessel. Can anyone be surprised if one gets fond of such a
ship? Then she went down with the speed of lightning from the top of
the wave into the trough, a fall of fourteen or fifteen yards. When
we sank like this, it gave one the same feeling as dropping from
the twelfth to the ground-floor in an American express elevator,
'as if everything inside you was coming up.' It was so quick that we
seemed to be lifted off the deck. We went up and down like this all the
afternoon and evening, till during the night the wind gradually dropped
and it became calm. That the storm would not be of long duration
might almost be assumed from its suddenness, and the English rule --

Long foretold, long last; Short notice, soon past' --
may thus be said to have held good.

"When there is a strong wind on her beam, the Fram does not roll
so much as usual, except for an occasional leeward lurch; nor was
any excessive quantity of water shipped in this boisterous sea. The
watch went below as usual when they were relieved, and, as somebody
very truly remarked, all hands might quite well have turned in, if we
had not had to keep a lookout for ice. And fortune willed it that the
day of the hurricane was the first since we had left the Barrier that
we did not see ice -- whether this was because the spray was so high
that it hid our view, or because there really was none. Be that as it
may, the main thing was that we saw no ice. During the night we had
a glimpse of the full moon, which gave the man at the wheel occasion
to call out 'Hurrah!' -- and with good reason, as we had been waiting
a long time for the moon to help us in looking out for ice.

"In weather like this one notices nothing out of the ordinary
below deck. Here hardly anything is heard of the wind, and in
the after-saloon, which is below the water-line, it is perfectly
comfortable. The cook, who resides below, therefore reckons 'ugly
weather' according to the motion of the vessel, and not according to
storms, fog, or rain. On deck we do not mind much how it blows, so
long as it is only clear, and the wind is not against us. How little
one hears below deck may be understood from the fact that yesterday
morning, while it was blowing a hurricane, the cook went about as
usual, whistling his two verses of 'The Whistling Bowery Boy.' While
he was in the middle of the first, I came by and told him that it
was blowing a hurricane if he cared to see what it looked like. 'Oh,
yes,' he said, 'I could guess it was blowing, for the galley fire
has never drawn so well; the bits of coal are flying up the chimney';
and then he whistled through the second verse. All the same, he could
not resist going up to see. It was not long before he came down again,
with a 'My word, it is blowing, and waves up to the sky!' No; it was
warmer and more cosy below among his pots and pans.

"For dinner, which was eaten as usual amid cheerful conversation,
we had green-pea soup, roast sirloin, with a glass of aquavit, and
caramel pudding; so it may be seen that the cook was not behindhand in
opening tins, even in a hurricane. After dinner we enjoyed our usual
Sunday cigar, while the canary, which has become Kristensen's pet,
and hangs in his cabin, sang at the top of its voice."

On March 14 we saw the last iceberg; during the whole trip we had
seen and passed between 500 and 600 bergs.

The wind held steady from the north-east for a week and a half, and
I was beginning to think we should be stuck down here to play the
Flying Dutchman. There was every possible sign of a west wind, but
it did not come. On the night of the 17th it cleared; light cirrus
clouds covered the sky, and there was a ring about the moon. This,
together with the heavy swell and the pronounced fall of the barometer,
showed that something might be expected. And, sure enough, on Sunday,
March 19, we were in a cyclone. By manoeuvring according to the rules
for avoiding a cyclone in the southern hemisphere, we at any rate
went well clear of one semicircle. About 4 p.m. on Sunday afternoon
the barometer was down to 27.56 inches (700 millimetres), the lowest
barometer reading I have ever heard of. From noon to 4 p.m. there was
a calm, with heavy sea. Immediately after a gale sprang up from the
north-west, and in the course of a couple of days it slowly moderated
to a breeze from the same quarter.

Sunday, March 5, a hundred icebergs; Sunday March 12, a hurricane;
and Sunday, March 19, a cyclone: truly three pleasant "days of rest."

The curves given on the next page, which show the course of barometric
pressure for a week, from Monday to Monday, are interesting.

By way of comparison a third curve is given from the north-east trade,
where there is an almost constant breeze and fine weather.

On this trip the fore-saloon was converted into a sail-loft, where
Rönne and Hansen carried on their work, each in his watch. The
after-saloon was used as a common mess-room, as it is warmer, and
the motion is far less felt than forward.

From the middle of March it looked as if the equinoctial gales were
over, for we had quite fine weather all the way to Buenos Aires. Cape
Horn was passed on March 31 in the most delightful weather -- a light
westerly breeze, not a cloud in the sky, and only a very slight swell
from the west. Who would have guessed that such splendid weather was
to be found in these parts? -- and that in March, the most stormy
month of the year.

Lieutenant Gjertsen and Kutschin collected plankton all the time;
the latter smiled all over his face whenever he chanced to get one
or two "tadpoles" in his tow-net.

From the Falkland Islands onward the Fram was washed and painted,
so that we might not present too "Polar" an appearance on arrival at
Buenos Aires.

It may be mentioned as a curious fact that the snow with which we
filled our water-tanks on the Barrier did not melt till we were in
the River La Plata, which shows what an even temperature is maintained
in the Fram's hold.

About midday on Easter Sunday we were at the mouth of the River La
Plata, without seeing land, however. During the night the weather
became perfect, a breeze from the south, moonlight and starry, and we
went up the river by soundings and observations of the stars until at
1 a.m. on Monday, when we had the Recalada light-ship right ahead. We
had not seen any light since we left Madeira on September 9. At 2.30
the same morning we got a pilot aboard, and at seven in the evening
we anchored in the roads of Buenos Aires.

We had then been nearly once round the world, and for over seven
months the anchor had not been out.

We had reckoned on a two months' voyage from the ice, and it had
taken us sixty-two days.


The Oceanographical Cruise.

According to the programme, the Fram was to go on an oceanographical
cruise in the South Atlantic, and my orders were that this was to
be arranged to suit the existing circumstances. I had reckoned on a
cruise of about three months. We should have to leave Buenos Aires
at the beginning of October to be down in the ice at the right time
(about the New Year).

As we were too short-handed to work the ship, take soundings, etc.,
the following four seamen were engaged: H. Halvorsen, A. Olsen,
F. Steller, and J. Andersen.

At last we were more or less ready, and the Fram sailed from Buenos
Aires on June 8, 1911, the anniversary of our leaving Horten on our
first hydrographic cruise in the North Atlantic. I suppose there was
no one on board on June 8, 1910, who dreamed that a year later we
should go on a similar cruise in the South.

We had a pilot on board as far as Montevideo, where we arrived on the
afternoon of the 9th; but on account of an increasing wind (pampero)
we had to lie at anchor here for a day and a half, as the pilot could
not be taken off. On Saturday afternoon, the 10th, he was fetched
off by a big tug-boat, on board of which was the Secretary of the
Norwegian Consulate. This gentleman asked us if we could not come
into the harbour, as "people would like to see the ship." I promised
to come in on the way back, "if we had time."

On Sunday morning, the 11th, we weighed anchor, and went out in
the most lovely weather that can be imagined. Gradually the land
disappeared, and in the course of the evening we lost the lights;
we were once more out in the Atlantic, and immediately everything
resumed its old course.

In order to save our supply of preserved provisions as much as
possible, we took with us a quantity of live poultry, and no fewer
than twenty live sheep, which were quartered in the "farmyard" on the
port side of the vessel's fore-deck. Sheep and hens were all together,
and there was always a most beautiful scent of hay, so that we had not
only sea air, but "country air." In spite of all this delightful air,
three or four of the crew were down with influenza, and had to keep
their berths for some days.

I reckoned on being back at Buenos Aires by the beginning of September,
and on getting, if possible, one station a day. The distance,
according to a rough calculation, was about 8,000 nautical miles,
and I laid down the following plan: To go about east by north with
the prevailing northerly and north-westerly winds to the coast of
Africa, and there get hold of the south-east trade. If we could not
reach Africa before that date, then to turn on July 22 and lay our
course with the south-east trade for St. Helena, which we could reach
before August 1; from there again with the same wind to South Trinidad
(August 11 or 12); on again with easterly and north-easterly winds on
a south-westerly course until about August 22, when the observations
were to be concluded, and we should try to make Buenos Aires in the
shortest time.

That was the plan that we attempted. On account of the fresh water
from the River La Plata, we did not begin at once to take samples of
water, and with a head-wind, north-east, we lay close-hauled for some
days. We also had a pretty stiff breeze, which was another reason
for delaying the soundings until the 17th.

For taking samples of water a winch is used, with a sounding-line of,
let us say, 5,000 metres (2,734 fathoms), on which are hung one or more
tubes for catching water; we used three at once to save time. Now,
supposing water and temperatures are to be taken at depths of 300,
400, and 500 metres (164, 218, and 273 fathoms), Apparatus III. (see
diagram) is first hung on, about 20 metres (10 fathoms) from the end
of the line, where a small weight (a) hangs; then it is lowered until
the indicator-wheel, over which the line passes, shows 100 metres
(54 fathoms); Apparatus II. is then put on, and it is lowered again
for another 100 metres, when Apparatus I. is put on and the line paid
out for 300 metres (164 fathoms) -- that is, until the indicator-wheel
shows 500 metres (273 fathoms). The upper Apparatus (I.) is then at
300 metres (164 fathoms), No. II. at 400 metres (218 fathoms), and
No. III. at 500 metres (273 fathoms). Under Apparatus I. and II. is
hung a slipping sinker (about 8 centimetres, or 3 1/4 inches, long,
and 3 centimetres, or 1 1/4 inches, in diameter). To the water-samplers
are attached thermometers (b) in tubes arranged for the purpose.

The water-samplers themselves consist of a brass cylinder (c), about
38 centimetres (15 inches) long and 4 centimetres (1 1/2 inches)
in diameter (about half a litre of water), set in a frame (d). At
about the middle of the cylinder are pivots, which rest in bearings
on the frame, so that the cylinder can be swung 180 degrees (straight
up and down).

The cylinder, while being lowered in an inverted position, is open
at both ends, so that the water can pass through. But at its upper
and lower ends are valves, working on hinges and provided with
packing. When the apparatus is released, the cylinder swings round,
and these valves then automatically close the ends of the cylinder. The
water that is thus caught in the cylinder at the required depth remains
in it while it is being heaved up, and is collected in bottles. When
the apparatus is released, the column of mercury in the thermometer
is broken, and the temperature of the water is read at the same depth
as the water is taken from.

The release takes place in the following manner: when all the
cylinders have been lowered to the required depths, they are left
hanging for a few minutes, so that the thermometers may be set at
the right temperature before the column of mercury is broken. Then a
slipping sinker is sent down the line. When this sinker strikes the
first apparatus, a spring is pressed, a hook (e) which has held the
cylinder slips loose, and the cylinder turns completely over (Apparatus
I.). As it does this, the valves, as already mentioned, close the
ends of the cylinder, which is fixed in its new position by a hook
in the bottom of the frame. At the same instant the slipping sinker
that hangs under Apparatus I. is released, and continues the journey
to Apparatus II., where the same thing happens. It is then repeated
with Apparatus III. When they are all ready, they are heaved in.

By holding one's finger on the line one can feel, at all events in
fairly calm weather, when the sinkers strike against the cylinders;
but I used to look at my watch, as it takes about half a minute for
the sinker to go down 100 metres.

The necessary data are entered in a book.

On the morning of the 17th, then, the sails were clewed up, and the
Fram began to roll even worse than with the sails set. We first tried
taking soundings with a sinker of 66 pounds, and a tube for taking
specimens of the sea-bed. At 2,000 metres (1,093 fathoms) or more
the line (piano wire) broke, so that sinker, tube, and over 2,000
metres of line continued their way unhindered to the bottom. I had
thought of taking samples of water at 4,000, 3,000, and 2,000 metres
(2,187, 1,639, 1,093 fathoms), and so on, and water-cylinders were put
on from 0 to 2,000 metres. This, however, took six hours. Next day,
on account of the heavy sea, only a few samples from 0 to 100 metres
(54 fathoms) were taken. On the third day we made another attempt to
get the bottom. This time we got specimens of the sea-bed from about
4,500 metres (about 2,500 fathoms); but the heaving in and taking of
water samples and temperatures occupied eight hours, from 7 a.m. till
3 p.m., or a third part of the twenty-four hours. In this way we should
want at least nine months on the route that had been laid down; but as,
unfortunately, this time was not at our disposal, we at once gave up
taking specimens of the bottom and samples of water at greater depths
than 1,000 metres (546 fathoms). For the remainder of the trip we took
temperatures and samples of water at the following depths: 0, 5, 10,
25, 50, 75, 100, 150, 200, 250, 300, 400, 500, 750, and 1,000 metres
(0, 2 3/4, 5 1/2, 13 1/2, 27, 41, 54, 81, 108, 135, 164, 218, 273,
410, and 546 fathoms), in all, fifteen samples from each station,
and from this time forward we went on regularly with one station
every day. Finally, we managed to heave up two water-cylinders on
the same line by hand without great difficulty. At first this was
done with the motor and sounding-machine, but this took too long,
and we afterwards used nothing but a light hand-winch. Before very
long we were so practised that the whole business only took two hours.

These two hours were those we liked best of the twenty-four. All kinds
of funny stories were told, especially about experiences in Buenos
Aires, and every day there was something new. Here is a little yarn:

One of the members of the expedition had been knocked down by
a motor-car in one of the busiest streets; the car stopped and of
course a crowd collected at once. Our friend lay there, wondering
whether he ought not to be dead, or at least to have broken a leg, so
as to get compensation. While he lay thus, being prodded and examined
by the public, he suddenly remembered that he had half a dollar in
his pocket. With all that money it didn't matter so much about the
compensation; up jumped our friend like an india-rubber ball, and
in a second he had vanished in the crowd, who stood open-mouthed,
gazing after the "dead" man.

Our speed on this cruise was regulated as nearly as possible so
that there might be about 100 nautical miles between each station,
and I must say we were uncommonly lucky in the weather. We made two
fairly parallel sections with comparatively regular intervals between
the stations; as regular, in any case, as one can hope to get with a
vessel like the Fram, which really has too little both of sail area
and engine power. The number of stations was 60 in all and 891 samples
of water were taken. Of plankton specimens 190 were sent home. The
further examination of these specimens in Norway will show whether
the material collected is of any value, and whether the cruise has
yielded satisfactory results.

As regards the weather on the trip, it was uniformly good the whole
time; we had a good deal of wind now and then, with seas and rolling,
but for the most part there was a fresh breeze. In the south-east
trade we sailed for four weeks at a stretch without using the engine,
which then had a thorough overhauling. At the same time we had a good
opportunity of smartening up the ship, which she needed badly. All
the iron was freed from rust, and the whole vessel painted both
below and above deck. The decks themselves were smeared with a
mixture of oil, tar and turpentine, after being scoured. All the
rigging was examined. At the anchorage at Buenos Aires nearly the
whole ship was painted again, masts and yards, the outside of the
vessel and everything inboard, both deck-houses, the boats and the
various winches, pumps, etc. In the engine-room everything was either
shining bright or freshly painted, everything hung in its place and
such order and cleanliness reigned that it was a pleasure to go down
there. The result of all this renovating and smartening up was that,
when we fetched up by the quay at Buenos Aires, the Fram looked
brighter than I suppose she has ever done since she was new.

During the trip the holds were also cleaned up, and all the provisions
re-stowed and an inventory made of them.

A whole suit of sails was completely worn out on this voyage; but
what can one expect when the ship is being worked every single day,
with clewing up, making fast and setting of sails both in calms
and winds? This work every day reminded me of the corvette Ellida,
when the order was "all hands aloft." As a rule, though, it was only
clewing up the sails that had to be done, as we always had to take
soundings on the weather side, so that the sounding-line should not
foul the bottom of the vessel and smash the apparatus. And we did
not lose more than one thermometer in about nine hundred soundings.

On account of all this wear and tear of sails Rönne was occupied the
whole time, both at sea and in Buenos Aires, in making and patching
sails, as there was not much more than the leeches left of those
that had been used, and on the approaching trip (to the Ice Barrier)
we should have to have absolutely first-class things in the "Roaring
Forties."

June 30, 1911, is a red-letter day in the Fram's history, as on that
day we intersected our course from Norway to the Barrier, and the
Franz thus completed her first circumnavigation of the globe. Bravo,
Fram! It was well done, especially after the bad character you have
been given as a sailer and a sea-boat. In honour of the occasion we
had a better dinner than usual, and the Franz was congratulated by
all present on having done her work well.

On the evening of July 29 St. Helena was passed. It was the first
time I had seen this historic island. It was very strange to think
that "the greatest spirit of a hundred centuries," as some author has
called Napoleon, should have ending his restless life on this lonely
island of the South Atlantic.

On August 12, when daylight came, we sighted the little Martin Vaz
Islands ahead, and a little later South Trinidad (in 1910 this island
was passed on October 16). We checked our chronometers, which, however,
proved to be correct. From noon till 2 p.m., while we were lying
still and taking our daily hydrographic observations, a sailing ship
appeared to the north of us, lying close-hauled to the south. She bore
down on us and ran up her flag, and we exchanged the usual greetings;
she was a Norwegian barque bound for Australia. Otherwise we did not
see more than four or five ships on the whole voyage, and those were
pretty far off:

Never since leaving Madeira (September, 1910) had we been troubled
with animals or insects of any kind whatever; but when we were in
Buenos Aires for the first time, at least half a million flies came
aboard to look at the vessel. I hoped they would go ashore when the
Fram sailed; but no, they followed us, until by degrees they passed
peacefully away on fly-paper.

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