Lowest minimum temperature last night: -30.
Little wind and heavy marching at start. Then wind increased and we did 8.7 miles by lunch, when it was practically blowing a blizzard. The old tracks show so remarkably well that we can follow them without much difficulty—a great piece of luck.
In the afternoon we had to reorganize. Could carry a whole sail. Bowers hung onto the sledge, Evans and Oates had to lengthen out. We came along at a great rate and should have got within an easy march of our depot had not Wilson suddenly discovered that Evans' nose was frostbitten—it was white and hard. We thought it best to camp at 6:45 pm. Got the tent up with some difficulty, and now pretty cozy after some hoosh.
There is no doubt Evans is a good deal run down—his fingers are badly blistered and his nose is rather seriously congested with frequent frostbites. He is very much annoyed with himself, which is not a good sign. I think Wilson, Bowers and I are as fit as possible under the circumstances. Oates gets cold feet. One way and another, I shall be glad to get off the summit!
We are only about 13 miles from our Degree and a Half depot and should get there tomorrow. The weather seems to be breaking up. Pray God we have something of a track to follow to the Three Degree Depot—once we pick that up we ought to be right.
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