13 February, 1911

Camp 12

Quite hard going this morning, cold and a slog in the morning, and although it cleared a bit after lunch, we are now sitting here, five to a tent, with a full blizzard blowing outside. I do not know exactly where some of our party are camped, but hope they got shelter up before it became too tough. We have built large walls behind our ponies to help them. their coats are getting thicker; I see no reason we shouldn't get to the 80th parallel is only the weather would give us a chance.

Bowers is wonderful. He wears no headgear in the night but for a common green felt hat kept on with a chin stay affording no cover whatsoever for the ears, while the rest of us are happy for our thick balaclavas and wind helmets. I have never seen anyone so unaffected by the cold. Tonight he remained outside for an hour pottering about camp performing small jobs while the rest of us were tucked up in our tents.

Cherry-Garrard, too, is remarkable, because without his glasses he is practically as blind as a bat, and the conditions make it very hard for him to see through them, yet you would never guess it. Still, despite these many inconveniences, he manages to do more than his share of camp work.

It is pretty clear to me that these two young fellows are good stuff.

12 February, 1911

Camp 11: Bluff Camp

We made 10 miles and depoted one bale of fodder. The surface is decidedly worse. The ponies sink deeply. Blossom practically had to be dragged the last mile.

Have decided to send E. Evans, Forde and Keohane back with the three weakest ponies, which they have been leading. The remaining five ponies shall come on with us for a few days at least. We shall try to get as close to the 80th parallel as we can.

Cherry-Garrard has come into our tent.

I think Evans is much displeased with my decision as he feels that he is being slighted. I shall not have a second-in-command make a break for it however, and lead to the Pole, under any circumstances, and I know he has ambitions. I suppose he feels that he is being looked over in favor of younger, more inexperienced men, and I suppose he's right.

11 February, 1911

Camp 10

The snow is soft and the ponies are having a hard time of it. Snow shoes would help enormously. Blossom, E. Evans's pony, has small hoofs and found the going very bad.

Meares replaced Osman with Rabchick, who has taken up his charge most willingly.

Note to Self: A stout male bamboo shod with a spike to sound for crevasses.

And completely exhausted. Am going to turn in and dream of England.

10 February, 1911

Camp 9.

On we plod.

This is our day: we turn out of our sleeping bags at 9PM. Somewhere around 11:30 I give a shout to Oates to ask how things are, and he usually says they are ready. Soon after, figures are busy taking down tents and packing sledges and getting harness on ponies and packing feed for the break. The animals are taken off their picket one by one and brought to the sledges in formation. It is a cold business and one gets resentful of tardiness. Someone is slow wrapping up their tent or tending to their animal while the more prompt among us stand there in the cold. The ponies turn their heads away from the wind. When we are ready one says "All right, Bowers, go ahead" and he leads off. Finnesko do not provide much of a foothold, so there is quite a bit of slipping and sliding at first. Marching is warmer work and within ten minutes we are settle into a rhythm. Bowers keeps a steady rhythm until our first half-march break when I pull out my whistle and he pulls off to the left to set up camp. Within minutes the animals are picketed and covered, at their feed, while tents are up and cookers going. Meanwhile the dog drivers time their faster passage to meet up with us at this point and we all eat our lunch.

We make our final camp about 8 o'clock and build our walls for ponies. Within an hour and a half we are tucked up in our sleeping bags.

Most warmth is kept by getting into one's bag as soon as possible after eating, the warming effects of the hot food helping as much as possible.

9 February, 1911

Made a decent might march of 11 miles to bring up to Camp 8.

The ponies are holding out. We think the cause for their discomfort is the comparative thinness of their coats -- they have not had a chance to grow thicker ones yet. It was minus 6 degrees last night but warmer in the sun when we stop.

Forde's "Misery" is improving slightly and is very keen on it's feed, though it's fate is much in doubt.

I have taken to building a snow barrier behind my pony when he is picketed at night to give him some shelter from the southern wind at night. The others, seeing my example, have followed suit.

No crevasses today. This doesn't mean we shall not face them tomorrow, however.

Nothing like a yawning hole that reaches down to eternity to keep you on your toes.

8 February, 1911

Camp 7

Bearings: Lat 78 degrees 13 minutes.

Last night we marched 10 miles, 200 yards.

The state of the ponies troubles me greatly: it is clear they were much shaken by the blizzard. They all look listless, and two or three are visibly thinner than before. Forde's little pony Blücher is by far the worst off of the lot; we reduced his loads until at the end Forde had to drag his own sledge and lead him in. The poor thing is a miserable scarecrow and never ought to have been brought -- it is the same pony that did so badly in the ship.

Today it is fine and bright. We are giving a good deal of extra food to the animals in the hopes that they will pick up again, but they cannot stand any more blizzards in their present state.

I'm afraid we shall not get very far, but at all hazards we must keep the greater number of ponies alive. The success of our entire expedition depends upon them.

The dogs are in fine form; the blizzard has only been a pleasant rest for them.

Still, I am convinced, despite all evidence to the contrary, that ponies and not dogs are the way to go.

7 February, 1911

Corner Camp

Every now and then it looks like the skies might be clearing but then the winds come back. We were able to get to do some camp work earlier -- digging the sledges out and making the ponies more comfortable -- but that is all.

One begins to feel that fortune is altogether too hard on us.

The next week is going to be rough, but right now, it looks promising for a night march.

When one spends hour upon hour in one's sleeping bag one's thoughts often drift to the comforts of home, naturally, especially in that half-sleep that one often falls into. And when I say comforts of home, I mean our lady-folk, for those of us who are married. I mean the comforts provided by our wives. You know what I mean. It's not easy to manage the results. I have no idea what the unmarried men think of.