Saturday, December 12, 2009

12 December, 1910

Progress is slow. We are continually up against thick and thin ice, finding the occasional lead, but mostly going nowhere. At least there is drift to count on; we made 15 miles SE by this method alone. You're never really rooted to one spot at sea, whether you think you're moving or not; even when jammed fast in the ice, the ice, as a whole, moves, carrying you with it. This is how Nansen was able to achieve such success in the Fram. Of course the Fram was built to rise up out of the ice; we are not.

Gran, Oates and Bowers were out on the ice on ski. Ponting tells me that in recent years, ski have become very popular among winter-sporters in Switzerland. There's no accounting for what some people think of as fun. Ponting, meanwhile, has been out photographing whales coming up for air and was much caught off guard by a Blue Whale breaching right next to him!

Atkinson lit the blubber stove which we shall rely on for heat. The fat drips down onto an asbestos plate and the run off is collected. Good warmth, but horrid smell.

I just want to go to sleep.

No comments:

Post a Comment