Thank God we found our Half Degree Depot.
After lying in our bags yesterday afternoon and all night, we debated breakfast; decided to have it later and go without lunch. At the time the gale seemed as bad as ever, but during breakfast the sun showed and there was light enough to see the old track. It was a long and terribly cold job digging out our sledge and breaking camp, but we got through and on the march without sail, all pulling. This was about 11, and at about 2:30, to our joy, we saw the red depot flag. We had lunch and left with 9 1/2 days' provisions, still following the track—marched till 8 and covered 5 miles, over 12 in the day.
Only 89 miles to the next depot, but it's time we cleared off this plateau.
We are not without ailments: Oates suffers from a very cold foot; Evans' fingers and nose are in a bad state, and tonight Wilson is suffering tortures from his eyes. Bowers and I are the only members of the party without troubles just at present.
The weather still looks unsettled, and I fear a succession of blizzards at this time of year; the wind is strong from the south, and this afternoon has been very helpful with the full sail. Needless to say I shall sleep much better with our provision bag full again. The only real anxiety now is finding the Three Degree Depot. The tracks seem as good as ever so far; they reappear quite clearly raised above the surface. If the light is good there is not the least difficulty in following. Blizzards are our bugbear, not only stopping our marches, but the cold damp air takes it out of us.
Bowers has been on ski today whilst Wilson walked by the sledge or pulled ahead of it.
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