Ice Ship: The Epic Voyages of the Polar Adventurer Fram (24 page)

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The sledgers traveled four more days before Sverdrup decided it was time to move to the second phase of the plan. He could only work off hunches and well-educated guesses based on what they had seen so far. The mountains in the far west were likely on North Cornwall Island, discovered in 1852 by the British explorer Edward Belcher as he searched for the lost Franklin expedition. The great cleft in the land to the east he thought might be the entrance to a sound leading north to Greely Fjord, which was discovered by Adolphus Greely’s overland expedition and the source of the huge icebergs floating in the bay, as they had
not yet seen any glaciers where they had been. So while they had the time and means, they would try to confirm or deny these assumptions.

The teams split up. Sverdrup-Fosheim and Isachsen-Hassel continued northward, more or less together until they, too, would separate to investigate different sectors of the coastline. Schei-Hendriksen, assisted by Baumann-Stolz, would make a big loop, island hopping on sea ice through this unknown territory: back to Bear Fort via Hell Gate to pick up equipment; on to North Kent Island; then north to the islands they had seen from Fourth Camp; and finally across the sea ice near to where they were now, Little Bear Cape at the western edge of a mountainous peninsula of Ellesmere.

An ordeal described by Sverdrup in
New Land
, over many days the two northern teams plodded across the sea ice of the bay, burdened with heavy loads; struggling in bad weather and poor sledging conditions; and resolvedly steering toward “the black wall of rock ahead,” imposing cliffs that revealed themselves when the snowstorms abated or fog lifted. When they finally came close to the cliffs, they found a long, straight shoreline to the west, while to the east openings of what appeared to be big fjords or sounds. This broad landmass, heretofore unknown, they named “Axel Heiberg Land” (after their important sponsor); and its dramatic western terminus, “Cape Southwest.” They headed there, through more bad weather and tough ice, and finally rounded it and continued north, following the coast as it wandered into and out of large bays.

The day after Easter, 1900, the weather cleared and Sverdrup took the
opportunity to climb a tall pressure ridge to take a look across the ice and get his bearings. “While I was standing up there,” he wrote in
New Land
, “scanning the country, I suddenly became aware of something grayish-blue far away in the west. What could it be? New land? Yes, yes, it was!” What kind of land, island, or remote headland of Ellesmere it was, he could not tell from so far away. Whatever it was, he knew it was not on any maps and had never before been seen by explorers.

Then and there Sverdrup modified his plan. Isachsen-Hassel would go off to investigate this new land and then return to where they were now, “Good Friday Bay,” to see if there were any routes inland back to the
Fram
. If they found none, they would move on to search the wide sounds or fjords they had seen on their way north. Sverdrup-Fosheim would soldier on north from here, to reach the limit of what they hoped was Axel Heiberg Island, circumnavigating it before ice breakup, when sledge travel back to the
Fram
would be utterly miserable if not impossible.

Soldier on they did. For almost three weeks they labored their way north, across tossed-up, fractured old ice, while pushing over snow that was either too fine or too wet for the sledges to glide; disoriented by fog; and being lashed and pummeled by storms. They went up on the ice foot, down on sea ice. On the rare clear days they would see what they were facing, an endless repetition of mountains ahead, a coastline always sweeping in huge meanders or cut by fjords they needed to cross to save time. They were sometimes confined to their tent for days, either pinned down by wicked snowstorms or blinded by the sun when it glared off the unrelieved whiteness. They had lightened their loads by casting off dog food, thinking they could find game. But they saw no game, big or little, and hardly a trace of it, and the dogs grew weaker by the day.

Sverdrup and Fosheim realized they had to stop before it was too late. They built a rock cairn, tucked in a written record of their trip, and planted a Norwegian flag on its summit, marking the spot of their furthest north, 80°55’. They walked along the shore a few more miles, for the satisfaction of reaching 81°. There they saw, or so believed, the eastward-curving end of Axel Heiberg Island, fifteen or so miles away.

Fosheim managed to shoot one hare, the only game they had had for over a month. That night they celebrated their accomplishment: a feast of one hare leg apiece, while the rest went to the twelve dogs, some so ravenous they had earlier eaten away at their leather muzzles and harnesses.

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HELL GATE & THE CAVE OF ICE

O
tto Sverdrup and Ivar Fosheim worked south the way they had come, picking up the dog food that had been unloaded, while always hoping to see game that never showed. On May 16, one day ahead of their estimated schedule, they reached Good Friday Bay, where they had parted company with Gunnar Isachsen and Sverre Hassel. There they found a note from them saying they had returned from their westward trip on April 28, after finding that the new land Sverdrup saw was indeed an island. Then, according to instructions, they had searched the fjords north but found no way through, so proceeded south, to see what lay east of Axel Heiberg Land.

Sverdrup and Fosheim left Axel Heiberg Land at Cape Southwest and went directly across the bay ice to Fourth Camp, on the way killing a bear, which was much-needed food for the dogs and themselves. At Land’s End they found a note and map from Victor Baumann, describing an overland route to the
Fram
that he and Oluf Raanes had found, while running from Reindeer Bay in Hell Gate to Goose Fjord. Sverdrup and Fosheim thought they would go that way.

The day was beautiful and warm, and the going easy, as the two rode their sledges, one behind the other, south toward Reindeer Bay. They went down the middle of Hell Gate to take advantage of smoother ice and avoid the pressure ridges along the shore. Suddenly, Sverdrup noticed the ice under the sledges was no longer white but dark blue, and the layer of snow atop it had melted. In an instant he realized what was happening. Hell Gate’s powerful currents were gnawing at the ice from below, and now only inches separated them from the rushing, lethal waters under the surface. Immediately he turned the dogs toward land. The dogs, seeming to comprehend the danger, ran as fast as they could, without urging, as their feet and sledge runners began sinking into the slush. With Fosheim’s team charging right behind Sverdrup’s, they all made it safely to the edge. From where they landed, they saw to the south that the sound was open and ice free. They had turned just short of where the ice ended and the hell of Hell Gate began.

After camping the night at Reindeer Bay, they set out inland, using Baumann’s sketch map as their guide. It began well, but in the thick fog of the day, they took a wrong turn after crossing over the height of land and descended into a different, narrowing valley. Eventually they came to where they were stopped by a valley-filling glacier. There was no way around, and turning back would be terribly long and exhausting.

Sverdrup had an idea. A river had flowed downhill in this valley, so surely it must have cut through the wall of ice somewhere. He looked around and found just that place, a big hole, the beginning of a high-roofed tunnel through the glacier. On the floor of the tunnel were big blocks of ice that had fallen from the roof and walls, some recently. This was a possible way out, yes, but at what risk of being stuck, crushed, or buried alive?

Sverdrup went back to Fosheim to tell him of his find and ponder what to do. The first thing they did, in true explorer fashion, was to have a hot bowl of soup and a cigar. Afterward, mulling it over, they decided to go through the tunnel, allowing extra distance between each other so a falling block would not likely hit both. In Sverdrup’s words in
New Land
,

Over a century later, two other men, veteran Ellesmere traveler Jerry Kobalenko and his companion, would find and enter this same subglacial passageway, the first since Sverdrup and Fosheim. Though the glacier had shrunk and retreated into the valley, and the ceiling of the cave inside was fallen in places, Kobalenko sensed the still-magical sanctity there, and his own humility within it; Sverdrup tried to convey this humility, feelings that dissolved the gap of one hundred years and brought them side by side.

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After emerging from the tunnel, Sverdrup and Fosheim descended the valley, to find it ended at Walrus Fjord. The next day they made their way across the isthmus to Goose Fjord and then around the eastern headland to Bear Fort, arriving in midmorning, but still in time to rouse somnolent Commandant Edvard Bay. Just two days earlier he had played host to Per Schei and Peder Hendriksen on their way back to the
Fram
from their reconnaissance of western lands and islands. Now here were Sverdrup and Fosheim, a richness of company.

Bay had succeeded in looking after Bear Fort but not without close calls and near misses. A polar bear had come at night, drawn to the meat, and Bay—not seeing well, not an expert marksman, and probably highly nervous—shot wildly at the shadowy approaching form. He thought he hit it but, in his anxiety, blazed away at what he thought was its head. When it did not move, he approached cautiously. He wrote later, “On closer examination it proved to be the other end of the bear I had bombarded; but as a zoologist I, of course, knew that the head in
Ursus maritimus
is, as a rule, exactly at the opposite extremity to the after-end of the animal, and at last really succeeded in giving it some lead in the right place. The bear had, no doubt, been dead for some time, but discretion is the better part of valor. I then realized that I had killed my first bear.”
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Another time Bay had slipped and fallen into the frigid water while trying to drag a seal he had killed from a floe to land, in the process losing the seal, his comfort, and his composure, once again supporting Sverdrup’s contention, writing in
New Land
, that “there was something amphibious about Bay.”

Bay, wearying of his three-month solitary stint and anxious to get back to scientific work, went back to the
Fram
with Sverdrup, as Fosheim took over his duties at Bear Fort. They arrived on June 3, soon to hear how, in their absence, the
Fram
had almost been lost, not to ice but to heat and flames.

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Isachsen and Hassel had gone around the south end of Axel Heiberg Land and then east to explore the convoluted coastline of Ellesmere. Due to slow going and lateness of the season, they had turned around and gone south to Hell Gate and then by Baumann’s route overland to Goose Fjord. Sverdrup had sent out a search party for them on June 5, which was at that moment going in the opposite direction along a different valley. Nonetheless, they all made it back to the
Fram
without incident, Isachsen and Hassel on June 19 and the search party the very next day.

By then, spring, as it comes to the Arctic, was suddenly upon them: the meltwater coursing down the hills; the flowers and insects awakening from long dormancy; and the grip of ice in the bays and fjords loosening and shifting. Seals appeared on the floes, and birds returned to the cliffs and patches of open water. The dogs, now kept by the river, were lying with puppies.

The men of the
Fram
were busy with new activity, too: wandering the land to gather specimens of emerging flora and fauna; boating and dredging to sample life in the depths; hunting seals; making new spars and sails to replace those lost in the fire; and, as always, preparing for the next, always-looming winter. The blacksmith shop, now on land by the river, served double duty, its forge heating iron for new fittings and heating water for washing and bathing.

It was, as Sverdrup noted, a delightful time. The men experienced renewed liveliness, as demonstrated in this little story that Sverdrup tells in
New Land
of one of the favorites on the ship: “The steward [Adolf Henrik Lindstrøm] at this time also ‘took to science,’ as he termed it, and went ashore every evening collecting plants and insects. One evening, when he had been on his trip ashore and was returning on board, he saw a codfish swimming towards the boat. Certain skeptics thought it highly improbable that it was a cod, but Lindstrøm stuck to his opinion, despite these malicious souls who told him that he must have seen his own reflection in the water; he only laughed, and I have never seen a cod do that.”

On June 19, the waning ice released the
Fram
, and it settled on water for the first time since the previous fall. Now time was approaching when it would leave its protected anchorage—but for where? Off and on through winter Sverdrup
had toyed with the idea of trying again to carry out the original plan of reaching northern Greenland, through Smith Sound, Kane Basin, and Nares Strait. Now, with the
Fram
almost ready to sail out, and with his usual levelheadedness, he thought better of it. There was no reason to believe that ice conditions in Kane Basin would be any more favorable this year than in the last two. Also, he was probably a bit leery of Robert Peary, with his expedition still there. Finally, and perhaps most compelling to Sverdrup, their mapping of the boundaries of Ellesmere Land was not finished.

He decided to go the other way, west through the last half (one hundred miles or so) of Jones Sound and into Norwegian Bay, putting the
Fram
closer to the center of upcoming activity. He conjectured that after one more winter somewhere
there, with good conditions to finish their fieldwork, they could sail around North Devon Island, down Penny Strait and Wellington Channel, and on to Victoria Island where they would spend a final winter, their fourth, before heading home. His proposed route out would follow that of the 1845–46 Franklin expedition in search of the Northwest Passage, and certainly he was aware of it but at all costs would not repeat its tragic end.

Sverdrup daily hiked up a nearby mountain slope to check on ice conditions outside the fjord and judge when the
Fram
might exit. On August 8, the situation looked good. Jones Sound was clear except for a belt of ice beyond the fjord, and the weather was fair. They would leave the following day. The boiler fire was lit, the blacksmith shop was retrieved, and fifty-four dogs and twenty puppies were brought on board in a deafening symphony of howls, barks, and whines. Midday on August 9, the
Fram
weighed anchor and steamed out of Harbor Fjord, after more than eleven months of confinement there.

After a day of plowing and ramming through the ice belt, they reached glass-smooth open water and set course to the end of Jones Sound, arriving two days later at a bay south of an east-jutting peninsula of North Devon (later named Colin Archer Peninsula). From there Sverdrup intended to take the ship around the peninsula and northwest through Cardigan Strait, the channel between North Kent and North Devon Islands (previously discovered by Edward Belcher), and into the Norwegian Sea. They had not proceeded very far before encountering “violent cross-currents” in the ten-mile-wide passageway between Ellesmere and North Devon, where Hell Gate and Cardigan Strait converged. Then things got interesting.

Under full steam, with its crew struggling to control it as it swung wildly and sometimes beam-to in the currents, the
Fram
battled its way north, up the full length of Cardigan Strait, only to be suddenly engulfed by fog. Then pack ice appeared out of nowhere. As the
Fram
sat trapped, the tide changed and the currents started to rip northward, pushing it further out with the pack. The fog lifted enough for them to see water sky in the northwest, the open water of Norwegian Bay, where they wanted to be. Getting there was another matter.