The South Pole, Volumes 1 and 2 by Roald Amundsen

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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. Nodtvedt; H. F. Gjertsen, A. Beck,
M. Ronne, 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 78deg. 41' S. When the Terra Nova was here,
her latitude and ours was 78deg. 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. 160deg. W., and lat. about 78deg.
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.[8]

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. 70.5deg. S.,
long. 177.5deg. 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!

We went comparatively well through the ice, though at night -- from
eleven to one -- we had to slacken speed, as it was impossible to
steer clear on account of the darkness, and towards morning we had
a heavy fall of snow, so that nothing could be seen, and the engine
had to be stopped. When it cleared, at about 9 a.m., we had come
into a dam, out of which we luckily managed to turn fairly easily,
coming out into a bay. This was formed by over a hundred icebergs,
many of which lay in contact with each other and had packed the ice
close together. On the west was the outlet, which we steered for,
and by 10 p.m. on February 23 we were already out of the ice and in
open water. Our latitude was then 69deg. S., longitude 175.5deg. E.

It is very curious to find such calm weather in Ross Sea; in the two
months we have been here we have hardly had a strong breeze. Thus, when
I was relieved at 2 a.m. on the 25th, I wrote in my diary `. . . It
is calm, not a ripple on the water. The three men forming the watch
walk up and down the deck. Now and then one hears the penguins'
cry, kva, kva, but except these there is no other sound than the
tuff, tuff of the motor, 220 times a minute. Ah, that motor! it goes
unweariedly. It has now gone for 1,000 hours without being cleaned,
while on our Atlantic cruise last year it stopped dead after going
for eighty hours. . . . Right over us we have the Southern Cross,
all round glow the splendid southern lights, and in the darkness can
be seen the gleaming outline of an iceberg. . . ."

On the 26th we crossed the Antarctic Circle, and the same day the
temperature both of air and water rose above 32deg. F.

It was with sorrow in our hearts that we ate our last piece of
"crocodile beef," but I hoped we should get a good many albatrosses,
which we saw as soon as we came out of the ice. They were mostly
the sooty albatross, that tireless bird that generally circles alone
about the ship and is so difficult to catch, as he seldom tries to
bite at the pork that is used as bait. When I saw these birds for
the first time, as a deck boy, I was told they were called parsons,
because they were the souls of ungodly clergymen, who had to wait
down here till doomsday without rest.

More or less in our course to Cape Horn there are supposed to be
two groups of islands, the Nimrod group in about long. 158deg. W., and
Dougherty Island in about long. 120deg. W. They are both marked "D"
(Doubtful) on the English charts. Lieutenant Shackleton's vessel,
the Nimrod, Captain Davis, searched for both, but found neither;
Dougherty Island, however, is said to have been twice sighted. The
Fram's course was therefore laid for the Nimrod group. For a time
things went very well, but then we had a week of northerly winds --
that is, head winds -- and when at last we had a fair wind again,
we were so far to the south-east of them that there was no sense
in sailing back to the north-west to look for doubtful islands; it
would certainly have taken us weeks. Consequently, our course was
laid for Dougherty Island. We had westerly winds for about two weeks,
and were only two or three days' sail from the island in question,
when suddenly we had a gale from the north-east, which lasted for
three days, and ended in a hurricane from the same quarter. When
this was over, we had come according to dead reckoning about eighty
nautical miles to the south-east of the island; the heavy swell,
which lasted for days, made it out of the question to attempt to go
against it with the motor. We hardly had a glimpse of sun or stars,
and weeks passed without our being able to get an observation, so
that for that matter we might easily be a degree or two out in our
reckoning. For the present, therefore, we must continue to regard
these islands as doubtful.

Moral: Don't go on voyages of discovery, my friend; you're no good
at it!

As soon as we were out of Ross Sea and had entered the South Pacific
Ocean, the old circus started again -- in other words, the Fram began
her everlasting rolling from one side to the other. When this was at
its worst, and cups and plates were dancing the fandango in the galley,
its occupant's only wish was, "Oh, to be in Buenos Aires!" For that
matter, it is not a very easy job to be cook in such circumstances,
but ours was always in a good humour, singing and whistling all day
long. How well the Fram understands the art of rolling is shown by
the following little episode.

One afternoon a couple of us were sitting drinking coffee on a
tool-box that stood outside the galley. As ill-luck would have it,
during one of the lurches the lashing came loose, and the box shot
along the deck. Suddenly it was checked by an obstacle, and one of
those who were sitting on it flew into the air, through the galley
door, and dashed past the cook with a splendid tiger's leap, until he
landed face downwards at the other end of the galley, still clinging
like grim death to his cup, as though he wanted something to hold on
to. The face he presented after this successful feat of aviation was
extremely comical, and those who saw it had a hearty fit of laughter.

As has already been said, we went very well for a time after reaching
the Pacific, a fair wind for fourteen days together, and I began to
hope that we were once more in what are called the "westerlies."
However, nothing is perfect in this world, and we found that out here,
as we had icebergs every day, and were constantly bothered by
snow-squalls or fog; the former were, of course, to be preferred, as
it was at any rate clear between the squalls; but fog is the worst
thing of all. It sometimes happened that all hands were on deck the
whole night to work the ship at a moment's notice, and there were
never less than two men on the lookout forward. The engine, too, was
always ready to be started instantly. A little example will show how
ready the crew were at any time.

One Sunday afternoon, when Hansen, Kristensen and I were on watch,
the wind began to draw ahead, so that we had to beat. It was blowing
quite freshly, but I did not want to call the watch below, as they
might need all the sleep they could get, and Hansen and I were to put
the ship about. Kristensen was steering, but gave us a hand when he
could leave the wheel. As the ship luffed up into the wind and the
sails began to flap pretty violently, the whole of the watch below
suddenly came rushing on deck in nothing but their unmentionables
and started to haul. Chance willed it that at the same moment an
iceberg came out of the fog, right in front of our bows. It was not
many minutes, either, before we were on the other tack, and the watch
below did not linger long on deck. With so few clothes on it was no
pleasure to be out in that cold, foggy air. They slept so lightly,
then, that it took no more noise than that to wake them. When I
afterwards asked one of them -- I think it was Beck -- what made
them think of coming up, he replied that they thought we were going
to run into an iceberg and were trying to get out of the way.

It has happened at night that I have seen the ice-blink as far off
as eight miles, and then there is nothing to fear; but sometimes in
the middle of the day we have sailed close to icebergs that have only
been seen a few minutes before we were right on them. As the voyage
was long, we sailed as fast as we could, as a rule; but on two or
three nights we had to reduce our way to a minimum, as we could not
see much farther than the end of the bowsprit.

After two or three weeks' sailing the icebergs began gradually to
decrease, and I hoped we should soon come to the end of them; but
on Sunday, March 5, when it was fairly clear, we saw about midday a
whole lot of big bergs ahead. One of the watch below, who had just
come on deck, exclaimed: "What the devil is this beastly mess you
fellows have got into?" He might well ask, for in the course of that
afternoon we passed no less than about a hundred bergs. They were
big tabular bergs, all of the same height, about 100 feet, or about
as high as the crow's-nest of the Fram. The bergs were not the least
worn, but looked as if they had calved quite recently. As I said, it
was clear enough, we even got an observation that day (lat. 61deg. S.,
long. 150deg. W.), and as we had a west wind, we twisted quite elegantly
past one iceberg after another. The sea, which during the morning had
been high enough for the spray to dash over the tops of the bergs,
gradually went down, and in the evening, when we were well to leeward
of them all, it was as smooth as if we had been in harbour. In the
course of the night we passed a good many more bergs, and the next
day we only saw about twenty.

In the various descriptions of voyages in these waters, opinions are
divided as to the temperature of the water falling in the neighbourhood
of icebergs. That it falls steadily as one approaches the pack-ice
is certain enough, but whether it falls for one or a few scattered
icebergs, no doubt depends on circumstances.

One night at 12 o'clock we had a temperature in the water of 34.1deg.
F., at 4 a.m. 33.8deg. F., and at 8 a.m. 33.6deg. F.; at 6 a.m. we passed
an iceberg. At 12 noon the temperature had risen to 33.9deg. F. In this
case one might say that the temperature gave warning, but, as a rule,
in high latitudes it has been constant both before and after passing
an iceberg.