My party left just before ten this morning: Wilson, Cherry-Garrard and I. Our ponies marched steadily over the sea ice. At Safety Camp we met up with Atkinson and Ponting arrived, set up his cinematograph and just caught the flying rear guard being led by Snatcher in fine form.
After lunch we packed up and marched on steadily as before. I don't like these midnight lunches, but for man the march that follows is pleasant when, as today, the win falls and the sun steadily increases its heat.
We are camped some 5 miles beyond Safety Camp, and all the ponies are tired, Chinaman and Jehu very tired. Nearly all are inclined to be off their feed, but this is temporary we think. We have built walls for them but there is no wind and the sun gets warmer by the minute.
1PM: feeding time. Oates fed the ponies. It is a sweltering day, the air breathless, the glare intense—one loses sight of the fact that the temperature is low (-22)—one's mind seeks comparison in hot sunlit streets and scorching pavements, yet six hours ago my thumb was frostbitten. All the inconveniences of frozen footwear and damp clothes and sleeping bags have vanished entirely.
Crean announced that bones has eaten Christopher's goggles. Now Christopher is blinking in the hot sun.
Ponting took this shot of Meares and Dimitri at the blubber stove at Hut Point today.
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