Monday, January 17, 2011

17 January, 1912

Camp 69.

The Pole.

Yes, but under very different circumstances from those expected. We have had a horrible day—add to our disappointment a head wind 4 to 5, with a temperature of -22, and companions laboring on with cold feet and hands.

We started at 7:30, none of us having slept much after the shock of our discovery. We followed the Norwegian sledge tracks for some way; as far as we make out there are only two men. (Really?)

At 12:30 Evans had such cold hands we camped for lunch—an excellent weekend one. Tonight little Bowers is laying himself out to get sights in terrible difficult circumstances; the wind is blowing hard, and there is that curious damp, cold feeling in the air which chills one to the bone in no time.

Great God! this is an awful place and terrible enough for us to have labored to it without the reward of priority. Well, it is something to have got here, and the wind may be our friend tomorrow. We have had a fat Polar hoosh in spite of our chagrin, and feel comfortable inside—added a small stick of chocolate and the queer taste of a cigarette brought by Wilson.

Now for the run home and a desperate struggle. I wonder if we can do it.

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