The Worst Journey in the World (81 page)

That is the bare bones of what was without any possible doubt a great
shock. Consider! These men had been out 2½ months and were 800 miles
from home. The glacier had been a heavy grind: the plateau certainly not
worse, probably better, than was expected, as far as that place where the
Last Return Party left them. But then, in addition to a high altitude, a
head wind, and a temperature which averaged -18.7°, came this shower of
ice-crystals, turning the surface to sand, especially when the sun was
out. They were living in cirrus clouds, and the extraordinary state seems
to have obtained that the surface of the snow was colder when the sun was
shining than when clouds checked the radiation from it. They began to
descend. Things began to go not quite right: they felt the cold,
especially Oates and Evans: Evans' hands also were wrong—ever since the
seamen made that new sledge. The making of that sledge must have been
fiercely cold work: one of the hardest jobs they did. I am not sure that
enough notice has been taken of that.

And then: "The Norwegians have forestalled us and are first at the Pole.
It is a terrible disappointment, and I am very sorry for my loyal
companions. Many thoughts come and much discussion have we had. To-morrow
we must march on to the Pole and then hasten home with all the speed we
can compass. All the day-dreams must go; it will be a wearisome return."
"The Pole. Yes, but under very different circumstances from those
expected ... companions labouring on with cold feet and hands.... Evans
had such cold hands we camped for lunch ... the wind is blowing hard, T.
-21°, and there is that curious damp, cold feeling in the air which
chills one to the bone in no time.... Great God! this is an awful
place...."
^[290]

This is not a cry of despair. It is an ejaculation provoked by the
ghastly facts. Even now in January the temperature near the South Pole is
about 24° lower than it is during the corresponding month of the year
(July) near the North Pole,
^[291]
and if it is like this in mid-summer,
what is it like in mid-winter? At the same time it was, with the
exception of the sandy surfaces, what they had looked for, and every
detail of organization was working out as well as if not better than had
been expected.

Bowers was so busy with the meteorological log and sights which were
taken in terribly difficult circumstances that he kept no diary until
they started back. Then he wrote on seven consecutive days, as follows:

"
January 19.
A splendid clear morning with a fine S.W. wind blowing.
During breakfast time I sewed a flap attachment on to the hood of my
green hat so as to prevent the wind from blowing down my neck on the
march. We got up the mast and sail on the sledge and headed north,
picking up Amundsen's cairn and our outgoing tracks shortly afterwards.
Along these we travelled till we struck the other cairn and finally the
black flag where we had made our 58th outward camp. We then with much
relief left all traces of the Norwegians behind us, and headed on our own
track till lunch camp, when we had covered eight miles.

"In the afternoon we passed No. 2 cairn of the British route, and fairly
slithered along before a fresh breeze. It was heavy travelling for me,
not being on ski, but one does not mind being tired if a good march is
made. We did sixteen
(miles)
altogether for the day, and so should pick
up our Last Depôt to-morrow afternoon. The weather became fairly thick
soon after noon, and at the end of the afternoon there was considerable
drift, with a mist caused by ice-crystals, and parhelion."

"
January 20.
Good sailing breeze again this morning. It is a great
pleasure to have one's back to the wind instead of having to face it. It
came on thicker later, but we sighted the Last Depôt soon after 1 P.M.
and reached it at 1.45 P.M. The red flag on the bamboo pole was blowing
out merrily to welcome us back from the Pole, with its supply of
necessaries of life below. We are absolutely dependent upon our depôts to
get off the plateau alive, and so welcome the lonely little cairns
gladly. At this one, called the Last Depôt, we picked up four days' food,
a can of oil, some methylated spirit (for lighting purposes) and some
personal gear we had left there. The bamboo was bent on to the
floor-cloth as a yard for our sail instead of a broken sledge-runner of
Amundsen's which we had found at the Pole and made a temporary yard of.

"As we had marched extra long in the forenoon in order to reach the
depôt, our afternoon march was shorter than usual. The wind increased to
a moderate gale with heavy gusts and considerable drift. We should have
had a bad time had we been facing it. After an hour I had to shift my
harness aft so as to control the motions of the sledge. Unfortunately the
surface got very sandy latterly, but we finished up with 16.1 miles to
our credit and camped in a stiff breeze, which resolved itself into a
blizzard a few hours later. I was glad we had our depôt safe."

"
January 21.
Wind increased to force 8 during night with heavy drift.
In the morning it was blizzing like blazes and marching was out of the
question. The wind would have been of great assistance to us, but the
drift was so thick that steering a course would have been next to
impossible. We decided to await developments and get under weigh as soon
as it showed any signs of clearing. Fortunately it was shortlived, and
instead of lasting the regulation two days it eased up in the afternoon,
and 3.45 found us off with our sail full. It was good running on ski but
soft plodding for me on foot. I shall be jolly glad to pick up my dear
old ski. They are nearly 200 miles away yet, however. The breeze fell
altogether latterly and I shifted up into my old place as middle number
of the five. Our distance completed was 5.5 miles, when camp was made
again. Our old cairns are of great assistance to us, also the tracks,
which are obliterated in places by heavy drift and hard sastrugi, but can
be followed easily."

"
January 22.
We came across Evans' sheepskin boots this morning. They
were almost covered up after their long spell since they fell off the
sledge
(on January 11)
. The breeze was fair from the S.S.W. but got
lighter and lighter. At lunch camp we had completed 8.2 miles. In the
afternoon the breeze fell altogether, and the surface, acted on by the
sun, became perfect sawdust. The light sledge pulled by five men came
along like a drag without a particle of slide or give. We were all glad
to camp soon after 7 P.M. I think we were all pretty tired out. We did
altogether 19.5 miles for the day. We are only thirty miles from the 1½
Degree Depôt, and should reach it in two marches with any luck."
(The
minimum temperature this night was -30° (uncorrected).)

"
January 23.
Started off with a bit of a breeze which helped us a
little
(temperature -28°)
. After the first two hours it increased to
force 4, S.S.W., and filling the sail we sped along merrily, doing 8¾
miles before lunch. In the afternoon it was even stronger, and I had to
go back on the sledge and act as guide and brakesman. We had to lower the
sail a bit, but even then she ran like a bird.

"We are picking up our old cairns famously. Evans got his nose
frost-bitten, not an unusual thing with him, but as we were all getting
pretty cold latterly we stopped at a quarter to seven, having done 16½
miles. We camped with considerable difficulty owing to the force of the
wind."
^[292]

The same night Scott wrote: "We came along at a great pace, and should
have got within an easy march of our
(One and a Half Degree)
Depôt had
not Wilson suddenly discovered that Evans' nose was frost-bitten—it was
white and hard. We thought it best to camp at 6.45. Got the tent up with
some difficulty, and now pretty cosy after good hoosh.

"There is no doubt Evans is a good deal run down—his fingers are badly
blistered and his nose is rather seriously congested with frequent
frost-bites. He is very much annoyed with himself, which is not a good
sign. I think Wilson, Bowers and I are as fit as possible under the
circumstances. Oates gets cold feet. One way and another I shall be glad
to get off the summit!... The weather seems to be breaking up."
^[293]

Bowers resumes the tale:

"
January 24.
Evans has got his fingers all blistered with frost-bites,
otherwise we are all well, but thinning, and in spite of our good rations
get hungrier daily. I sometimes spend much thought on the march with
plans for making a pig of myself on the first opportunity. As that will
be after a further march of 700 miles they are a bit premature.

"It was blowing a gale when we started and it increased in force. Finally
with the sail half down, one man detached tracking ahead and Titus and I
breaking back, we could not always keep the sledge from overrunning. The
blizzard got worse and worse till, having done only seven miles, we had
to camp soon after twelve o'clock. We had a most difficult job camping,
and it has been blowing like blazes all the afternoon. I think it is
moderating now, 9 P.M. We are only seven miles from our depôt and this
delay is exasperating."
^[294]

[Scott wrote: "This is the second full gale since we left the Pole. I
don't like the look of it. Is the weather breaking up? If so, God help
us, with the tremendous summit journey and scant food. Wilson and Bowers
are my stand-by. I don't like the easy way in which Oates and Evans get
frost-bitten."
^[295]
]

"
January 25.
It was no use turning out at our usual time (5.45 A.M.),
as the blizzard was as furious as ever; we therefore decided on a late
breakfast and no lunch unless able to march. We have only three days'
food with us and shall be in Queer Street if we miss the depôt. Our bags
are getting steadily wetter, so are our clothes. It shows a tendency to
clear off now (breakfast time) so, D.V., we may march after all. I am in
tribulation as regards meals now as we have run out of salt, one of my
favourite commodities. It is owing to Atkinson's party taking back an
extra tin by mistake from the Upper Glacier Depôt. Fortunately we have
some depôted there, so I will only have to endure another two weeks
without it.

"10 P.M.—We have got in a march after all, thank the Lord. Assisted by
the wind we made an excellent rundown to our One and a Half Degree Depôt,
where the big red flag was blowing out like fury with the breeze, in
clouds of driving drift. Here we picked up 1¼ cans of oil and one week's
food for five men, together with some personal gear depôted. We left the
bamboo and flag on the cairn. I was much relieved to pick up the depôt:
now we only have one other source of anxiety on this endless snow summit,
viz. the Three Degree Depôt in latitude 86° 56' S.

"In the afternoon we did 5.2 miles. It was a miserable march, blizzard
all the time and our sledge either sticking in sastrugi or overrunning
the traces. We had to lower the sail half down, and Titus and I hung on
to her. It was most strenuous work, as well as much colder than pulling
ahead. Most of the time we had to brake back with all our strength to
keep the sledge from overrunning. Bill got a bad go of snow glare from
following the track without goggles on.

"This day last year we started the Depôt Journey. I did not think so
short a time would turn me into an old hand at polar travelling, neither
did I imagine at the time that I would be returning from the Pole
itself."
^[296]

Wilson was very subject to these attacks of snow blindness, and also to
headaches before blizzards. I have an idea that his anxiety to sketch
whenever opportunity offered, and his willingness to take off his goggles
to search for tracks and cairns, had something to do with it. This attack
was very typical. "I wrote this at lunch and in the evening had a bad
attack of snow blindness." ... "Blizzard in afternoon. We only got in a
forenoon march. Couldn't see enough of the tracks to follow at all. My
eyes didn't begin to trouble me till to-morrow [yesterday], though it was
the strain of tracking and the very cold drift which we had to-day that
gave me this attack of snow glare." ... "Marched on foot in the afternoon
as my eyes were too bad to go on ski. We had a lot of drift and wind and
very cold. Had ZuSO_4 and cocaine in my eyes at night and didn't get to
sleep at all for the pain—dozed about an hour in the morning only." ...
"Marched on foot again all day as I couldn't see my way on ski at all,
Birdie used my ski. Eyes still very painful and watering. Tired out by
the evening, had a splendid night's sleep, and though very painful across
forehead to-night they are much better."
^[297]

The surface was awful: in his diary of the day after they left the Pole
(January 19) Wilson wrote an account of it. "We had a splendid wind right
behind us most of the afternoon and went well until about 6 P.M. when the
sun came out and we had an awful grind until 7.30 when we camped. The sun
comes out on sandy drifts, all on the move in the wind, and temp. -20°,
and gives us an absolutely awful surface with no glide at all for ski or
sledge, and just like fine sand. The weather all day has been more or
less overcast with white broken alto-stratus, and for 3 degrees above the
horizon there is a grey belt looking like a blizzard of drift, but this
in reality is caused by a constant fall of minute snow crystals, very
minute. Sometimes instead of crystal plates the fall is of minute
agglomerate spicules like tiny sea-urchins. The plates glitter in the sun
as though of some size, but you can only just see them as pin-points on
your burberry. So the spicule collections are only just visible. Our
hands are never warm enough in camp to do any neat work now. The weather
is always uncomfortably cold and windy, about -23°, but after lunch
to-day I got a bit of drawing done."
^[298]