Monday, February 8, 2010

8 February, 1911

Camp 7
Bearings: Lat 78 degrees 13 minutes.

Last night we marched 10 miles, 200 yards.

The state of the ponies troubles me greatly: it is clear they were much shaken by the blizzard. They all look listless, and two or three are visibly thinner than before. Forde's little pony Bl├╝cher is by far the worst off of the lot; we reduced his loads until at the end Forde had to drag his own sledge and lead him in. The poor thing is a miserable scarecrow and never ought to have been brought -- it is the same pony that did so badly in the ship.

Today it is fine and bright. We are giving a good deal of extra food to the animals in the hopes that they will pick up again, but they cannot stand any more blizzards in their present state.

I'm afraid we shall not get very far, but at all hazards we must keep the greater number of ponies alive. The success of our entire expedition depends upon them.

The dogs are in fine form; the blizzard has only been a pleasant rest for them.

Still, I am convinced, despite all evidence to the contrary, that ponies and not dogs are the way to go.

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