Camp 67
During the night the air cleared entirely and the sun shone in a perfectly clear sky. We made our last depot at lunch. Only four days' food and a sundry or two. The load is now very light. The light wind dropped and the temperature fell to -27. I guessed this meant a hard pull, and guessed right. The surface was terrible.
It is wonderful to think that two long marches would land us at the Pole. It ought to be a certain thing now, and the only appalling possibility is the sight of the Norwegian flag forestalling ours. Little Bowers continues his indefatigable efforts to get good sights, and it is wonderful how he works them up in his sleeping bag in our congested tent.
Only 27 miles from the Pole. We ought to do it now.
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