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.

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