Sunday, July 11, 2010
9 July, 1911
Awful gale. Last night I had watch duty, and on the occasions when I had to step out of doors I was struck with the impossibility of enduring such conditions for any length of time. One seemed to be robbed of breath -- the fine snow beat in behind the wind guard, and ten paces against the wind were sufficient to reduce one's face to the verge of frostbite.
I thought of our absentees at Cape Crozier with the devout hope that they may be safely housed. They are certain to have been caught by this gale. Sometimes I have imagined them getting much more wind than we do, yet at others it seems difficult to believe that the Emperor penguins have chosen an excessively wind-swept area for their rookery.
It sounds bloody awful out there.