Camp 29.
Our luck in weather is preposterous.
I roused the hands at 2:30am, intending to get away at 5. It was thick and snowy, yet we could have gone on; but at breakfast the wind increased, and by 4:30 it was blowing a full gale from the south. The pony wall blew down, huge drifts collected, and the sledges were quickly buried. It was the strongest wind I have known here in summer. We finally left camp at 2pm. A new storm was upon us by 3. The sun went out, snow fell thickly, and marching conditions became horrible. The wind came from all angles, perfectly bewildering.
In spite of all these difficulties, we have managed to get 11.5 miles south and to this camp at 7pm.
Bowers and I on ski passed the manhaulers. I think they are tired of leading. We steered with compass. The whole weather conditions seem thoroughly disturbed, and if they continue so when we are on the Glacier, we shall be very awkwardly placed. It is time luck turned in our favor—we have had all too little of it. Every mile seems to have been hardly won under such conditions.
The ponies did splendidly and the forage is lasting a little better than expected. Victor was found to have quite a lot of fat on him and the others are pretty certain to have more, so that we should have no difficulty whatever regards transport if only the weather was kind.
I wonder if Victor was so fat because Bowers had been sharing his ration with the beast?
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