The South Pole, Volumes 1 and 2 by Roald Amundsen

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On the 30th we passed 87deg. S., and were thus rapidly nearing the Devil's
Ballroom and Glacier. The next day was brilliantly fine-temperature
-2.2deg. F. -- with a good breeze right aft. To our great joy, we got
sight of the land around the Butcher's Shop. It was still a long way
off, of course, but was miraged up in the warm, sunny air. We were
extraordinarily lucky on our homeward trip; we escaped the Devil's
Ballroom altogether.

On January 1 we ought, according to our reckoning, to reach the Devil's
Glacier, and this held good. We could see it at a great distance;
huge hummocks and ice-waves towered into the sky. But what astonished
us was that between these disturbances and on the far side of them,
we seemed to see an even, unbroken plain, entirely unaffected by the
broken surface. Mounts Hassel, Wisting, and Bjaaland, lay as we had
left them; they were easy to recognize when we came a little nearer
to them. Now Mount Helmer Hanssen again towered high into the air;
it flashed and sparkled like diamonds as it lay bathed in the rays of
the morning sun. We assumed that we had come nearer to this range than
when we were going south, and that this was the reason of our finding
the ground so changed. When we were going south, it certainly looked
impassable between us and the mountains; but who could tell? Perhaps
in the middle of all the broken ground that we then saw there was a
good even stretch, and that we had now been lucky enough to stumble
upon it. But it was once more the atmosphere that deceived us, as we
found out on the following day, for instead of being nearer the range
we had come farther out from it, and this was the reason of our only
getting a little strip of this undesirable glacier.

We had our camp that evening in the middle of a big, filled-up
crevasse. We were a trifle anxious as to what kind of surface we
should find farther on; that these few hummocks and old crevasses
were all the glacier had to offer us this time, was more than we
dared to hope. But the 2nd came, and brought -- thank God! -- no
disappointment. With incredible luck we had slipped past all those
ugly and dangerous places, and now, before we knew where we were,
we found ourselves safe and sound on the plain below the glacier. The
weather was not first-rate when we started at seven in the evening. It
was fairly thick, and we could only just distinguish the top of Mount
Bjaaland. This was bad, as we were now in the neighbourhood of our
depot, and would have liked clear weather to find out where it lay;
but instead of clearing, as we hoped, it grew thicker and thicker,
and when we had gone about six and three-quarter miles, it was so bad
that we thought it best to stop and wait for a while. We had all the
time been going on the erroneous assumption that we had come too far to
the east-that is, too near the mountains -- and under the circumstances
-- in the short gleams that had come from time to time -- we had not
been able to recognize the ground below the glacier. According to
our idea, we were on the east of the depot. The bearings, which had
been taken in thick air, and were now to guide us in this heavy mist,
gave no result whatever. There was no depot to be seen.

We had just swallowed the grateful warm pemmican when the sun suddenly
showed itself. I don't think the camp was ever broken and the sledges
packed in such a short time. From the moment we jumped out of our
bags till the sledges were ready, it only took us fifteen minutes,
which is incredibly quick. "What on earth is that shining over there
through the fog?" The question came from one of the lads. The mist
had divided, and was rolling away on both sides; in the western bank
something big and white peeped through -- along ridge running north
and south. Hurrah! it's Helland Hansen. Can't possibly be anything
else. Our only landmark on the west. We all shouted with joy on meeting
this old acquaintance. But in the direction of the depot the fog hung
thick. We held a brief consultation, and agreed to let it go, to steer
for the Butcher's and put on the pace. We had food enough, anyhow. No
sooner said than done, and we started off. It rapidly cleared, and
then, on our way towards Helland Hansen, we found out that we had
come, not too far to the east, but too far to the west. But to turn
round and begin to search for our depot was not to our liking. Below
Mount Helland Hansen we came up on a fairly high ridge. We had now
gone our fixed distance, and so halted.

Behind us, in the brightest, clearest weather, lay the glacier, as we
had seen it for the first time on our way to the south: break after
break, crevasse after crevasse. But in among all this nastiness there
ran a white, unbroken line, the very path we had stood and looked at a
few weeks back. And directly below that white stripe we knew, as sure
as anything could be, that our depot lay. We stood there expressing our
annoyance rather forcibly at the depot having escaped us so easily,
and talking of how jolly it would have been to have picked up all
our depots from the plain we had strewed them over. Dead tired as I
felt that evening, I had not the least desire to go back the fifteen
miles that separated us from it. "If anybody would like to make the
trip, he shall have many thanks." They all wanted to make it -- all
as one man. There was no lack of volunteers in that company. I chose
Hanssen and Bjaaland. They took nearly everything off the sledge,
and went away with it empty.

It was then five in the morning. At three in the afternoon they
came back to the tent, Bjaaland running in front, Hanssen driving
the sedge. That was a notable feat, both for men and dogs. Hanssen,
Bjaaland, and that team had covered about fifty miles that day,
at an average rate of three to three and a half miles an hour. They
had found the depot without much search. Their greatest difficulty
had been in the undulating surface; for long stretches at a time
they were in the hollows between the waves, which shut in their view
entirely. Ridge succeeded ridge, endlessly. We had taken care that
everything was ready for their return -- above all great quantities
of water. Water, water was the first thing, and generally the last,
that was in request. When their thirst was a little quenched,
great interest was shown in the pemmican. While these two were
being well looked after, the depot they had brought in was divided
between the two sledges, and in a short time all was ready for our
departure. Meanwhile, the weather had been getting finer and finer,
and before us lay the mountains, sharp and clear. We thought we
recognized Fridtjof Nansen and Don Pedro Christophersen, and took
good bearings of them in case the fog should return. With most of us
the ideas of day and night began to get rather mixed. "Six o'clock,"
someone would answer, when asked the time. "Yes, in the morning,"
remarks the other. "No; what are you talking about?" answers the
first one again; "it's evening, of course." The date was hopeless;
it was a good thing if we remembered the year. Only when writing in
our diaries and observation books did we come across such things as
dates; while at work we had not the remotest idea of them.

Splendid weather it was when we turned out on the morning of January
3. We had now agreed to go as it suited us, and take no notice of day
or night; for some time past we had all been sick of the long hours
of rest, and wanted to break them up at any price. As I have said,
the weather could not have been finer brilliantly clear and a dead
calm. The temperature of -2.2deg. F. felt altogether like summer in
this bright, still air. Before we began our march all unnecessary
clothes were taken off and put on the sledges. It almost looked as
if everything would be considered superfluous, and the costume in
which we finally started would no doubt have been regarded as somewhat
unseemly in our latitudes. We smiled and congratulated ourselves that
at present no ladies had reached the Antarctic regions, or they might
have objected to our extremely comfortable and serviceable costume. The
high land now stood out still more sharply. It was very interesting
to see in these conditions the country we had gone through on,
the southward trip in the thickest blizzard. We had then been going
along the foot of this immense mountain chain without a suspicion
of how near we were to it, or how colossal it was. The ground was
fortunately quite undisturbed in this part. I say fortunately, as
Heaven knows what would have happened to us if we had been obliged
to cross a crevassed surface in such weather as we then had. Perhaps
we should have managed it -- perhaps not.

The journey before us was a stiff one, as the Butcher's lay 2,680
feet higher than the place where we were. We had been expecting to
stumble upon one of our beacons before long, but this did not happen
until we had gone twelve and a half miles. Then one of them suddenly
came in sight, and was greeted with joy. We knew well enough that we
were on the right track, but an old acquaintance like this was very
welcome all the same. The sun had evidently been at work up here while
we were in the south, as some of the beacons were quite bent over,
and great icicles told us clearly enough how powerful the sunshine
had been. After a march of about twenty-five miles we halted at the
beacon we had built right under the hill, where we had been forced
to stop by thick weather on November 25.

January 4 was one of the days to which we looked forward with anxiety,
as we were then due at our depot at the Butcher's, and had to find
it. This depot, which consisted of the finest, fresh dogs' flesh, was
of immense importance to us. Not only had our animals got into the way
of preferring this food to pemmican, but, what was of still greater
importance, it had an extremely good effect on the dogs' state of
health. No doubt our pemmican was good enough -- indeed, it could not
have been better -- but a variation of diet is a great consideration,
and seems, according to my experience, to mean even more to the dogs
than to the men on a long journey like this. On former occasions I have
seen dogs refuse pemmican, presumably because they were tired of it,
having no variety; the result was that the dogs grew thin and weak,
although we had food enough. The pemmican I am referring to on that
occasion was made for human use, so that their distaste cannot have
been due to the quality.

It was 1.15 a.m. when we set out. We had not had a long sleep, but it
was very important to avail ourselves of this fine, clear weather while
it lasted; we knew by experience that up here in the neighbourhood of
the Butcher's the weather was not to be depended upon. From the outward
journey we knew that the distance from the beacon where our camp was
to the depot at the Butcher's was thirteen and a half miles. We had
not put up more than two beacons on this stretch, but the ground was
of such a nature that we thought we could not go wrong. That it was
not so easy to find the way, in spite of the beacons, we were soon to
discover. In the fine, clear weather, and with Hanssen's sharp eyes,
we picked up both our beacons. Meanwhile we were astonished at the
appearance of the mountains. As I have already mentioned, we thought
the weather was perfectly clear when we reached the Butcher's for
the first time, on November 20. I then took a bearing from the tent
of the way we had come up on to the plateau between the mountains,
and carefully recorded it. After passing our last beacon, when we
were beginning to approach the Butcher's -- as we reckoned -- we were
greatly surprised at the aspect of our surroundings. Last time --
on November 20 -- we had seen mountains on the west and north, but
a long way off: Now the whole of that part of the horizon seemed
to be filled with colossal mountain masses, which were right over
us. What in the world was the meaning of this? Was it witchcraft? I
am sure I began to think so for a moment. I would readily have taken
my most solemn oath that I had never seen that landscape before in my
life. We had now gone the full distance, and according to the beacons
we had passed, we ought to be on the spot. This was very strange; in
the direction in which I had taken the bearing of our ascent, we now
only saw the side of a perfectly unknown mountain, sticking up from
the plain. There could be absolutely no way down in that precipitous
wall. Only on the north-west did the ground give the impression of
allowing a descent; there a natural depression seemed to be formed,
running down towards the Barrier, which we could see far, far away.

We halted and discussed the situation. "Hullo!" Hanssen suddenly
exclaimed, "somebody has been here before." -- "Yes," broke in Wisting;
"I'm hanged if that isn't my broken ski that I stuck up by the
depot." So it was Wisting's broken ski that brought us out of this
unpleasant situation. It was a good thing he put it there -- very
thoughtful, in any case. I now examined the place with the glasses,
and by the side of a snow mound, which proved to be our depot, but
might easily have escaped our notice, we could see the ski sticking
up out of the snow. We cheerfully set our course for the spot, but
did not reach it until we had gone three miles.

There was rejoicing in our little band when we arrived and saw that
what we had considered the most important point of our homeward
journey had been reached. It was not so much for the sake of the food
it contained that we considered it so necessary to find this spot,
as for discovering the way down to the Barrier again. And now that
we stood there, we recognized this necessity more than ever. For
although we now knew, from our bearings, exactly where the descent
lay, we could see nothing of it at all. The plateau there seemed to go
right up to the mountain, without any opening towards the lower ground
beyond; and yet the compass told us that such an opening must exist,
and would take us down. The mountain, on which we had thus walked all
day on the outward journey, without knowing anything of it, was Mount
Fridtjof Nansen. Yes, the difference in the light made a surprising
alteration in the appearance of things.

The first thing we did on reaching the depot was to take out the
dogs' carcasses that lay there and cut them into big lumps, that
were divided among the dogs. They looked rather surprised; they
had not been accustomed to such rations. We threw three carcasses
on to the sledges, so as to have a little extra food for them on
the way down. The Butcher's was not a very friendly spot this time,
either. True, it was not the same awful weather as on our first visit,
but it was blowing a fresh breeze with a temperature of -9.4deg. F.,
which, after the heat of the last few days, seemed to go to one's
marrow, and did not invite us to stay longer than was absolutely
necessary. Therefore, as soon as we had finished feeding the dogs
and putting our sledges in order, we set out.

Although the ground had not given us the impression of sloping, we
soon found out that it did so when we got under way. It was not only
downhill, but the pace became so great that we had to stop and put
brakes under the sledges. As we advanced, the apparently unbroken
wall opened more and more, and showed us at last our old familiar
ascent. There lay Mount Ole Engelstad, snowclad and cold, as we saw
it the first time. As we rounded it we came on to the severe, steep
slope, where, on the way south, I had so much admired the work done
by my companions and the dogs that day. But now I had an even better
opportunity of seeing how steep this ascent really had been. Many
were the brakes we had to put on before we could reduce the speed
to a moderate pace, but even so we came down rapidly, and soon the
first part of the descent lay behind us. So as not to be exposed to
possible gusts from the plain, we went round Mount Engelstad and
camped under the lee of it, well content with the day's work. The
snow lay here as on our first visit, deep and loose, and it was
difficult to find anything like a good place for the tent. We could
soon feel that we had descended a couple of thousand feet and come
down among the mountains. It was still, absolutely still, and the
sun broiled us as on a day of high summer at home. I thought, too,
that I could notice a difference in my breathing; it seemed to work
much more easily and pleasantly -- perhaps it was only imagination.

At one o'clock on the following morning we were out again. The sight
that met our eyes that morning, when we came out of the tent, was one
of those that will always live in our memories. The tent stood in the
narrow gap between Fridtjof Nansen and Ole Engelstad. The sun, which
now stood in the south, was completely hidden by the latter mountain,
and our camp was thus in the deepest shadow; but right against us
on the other side the Nansen mountain raised its splendid ice-clad
summit high towards heaven, gleaming and sparkling in the rays of
the midnight sun. The shining white passed gradually, very gradually,
into pale blue, then deeper and deeper blue, until the shadow swallowed
it up. But down below, right on the Heiberg Glacier, its ice-covered
side was exposed -- dark and solemn the mountain mass stood out. Mount
Engelstad lay in shadow, but on its summit rested a beautiful light
little cirrus cloud, red with an edge of gold. Down over its side
the blocks of ice lay scattered pell-mell. And farther down on the
east rose Don Pedro Christophersen, partly in shadow, partly gleaming
in the sun -- a marvellously beautiful sight. And all was so still;
one almost feared to disturb the incomparable splendour of the scene.

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 85deg. 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 80deg..

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 85deg. 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.