A little worse I fear. One of Oates' feet very bad this morning; he is wonderfully brave. We still talk of what we will do at home.
We only made 6 1/2 miles yesterday. This morning, in 4 1/2 hours we did just over 4 miles. We are 16 from our depot. If we only find the correct proportion of food there and this surface continues, we may get to the next depot (Mt. Hooper, 72 miles farther) but not to One Ton Camp. We hope against hope that the dogs have been to Mt. Hooper; then we might pull through. If there is a shortage of oil again we can have little hope.
One feels that for poor Oates the crisis is near, but none of us are improving, though we are wonderfully fit considering the really excessive work we are doing. We are only kept going by good food. No wind this morning till a chill northerly air came ahead. Sun bright and cairns showing up well.
I should like to keep the track to the end.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
6 March, 1912
Lunch.
We did a little better with help of wind yesterday afternoon, finishing 9 1/2 miles for the day, and 27 miles from the depot. But this morning things have been awful. It was warm in the night and for the first time during the journey I overslept myself by more than an hour; then we were slow with foot gear; then, pulling with all our might (for our lives) we could scarcely advance at a rate of a mile an hour; then it grew thick and three times we had to get out of harness to search for tracks. The result is something less than 3 1/2 miles for the forenoon. The sun is shining now and the wind gone.
Poor Oates is unable to pull, sits on the sledge when we are track-searching—he is wonderfully plucky, as his feet must be giving him great pain. He makes no complaint, but his spirits only come up in spurts now, and he grows more silent in the tent.
We are making a spirit lamp to try to replace the primus when our oil is exhausted.. It will be a very poor substitute and we've not got much spirit.
If we could keep up our 9-mile days we might have got within reasonable distance of the depot before running out, but nothing but a strong wind and good surface can help us now, and though we had quite a good breeze this morning, the sledge came as heavy as lead.
If we were all fit I should have hopes of getting through, but the poor Soldier has become a terrible hindrance, though he does his utmost and suffers much, I fear.
We did a little better with help of wind yesterday afternoon, finishing 9 1/2 miles for the day, and 27 miles from the depot. But this morning things have been awful. It was warm in the night and for the first time during the journey I overslept myself by more than an hour; then we were slow with foot gear; then, pulling with all our might (for our lives) we could scarcely advance at a rate of a mile an hour; then it grew thick and three times we had to get out of harness to search for tracks. The result is something less than 3 1/2 miles for the forenoon. The sun is shining now and the wind gone.
Poor Oates is unable to pull, sits on the sledge when we are track-searching—he is wonderfully plucky, as his feet must be giving him great pain. He makes no complaint, but his spirits only come up in spurts now, and he grows more silent in the tent.
We are making a spirit lamp to try to replace the primus when our oil is exhausted.. It will be a very poor substitute and we've not got much spirit.
If we could keep up our 9-mile days we might have got within reasonable distance of the depot before running out, but nothing but a strong wind and good surface can help us now, and though we had quite a good breeze this morning, the sledge came as heavy as lead.
If we were all fit I should have hopes of getting through, but the poor Soldier has become a terrible hindrance, though he does his utmost and suffers much, I fear.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
5 March, 1912
Lunch
Regret to say going from bad to worse.
We got a slant of wind yesterday afternoon, and going on 5 hours we converted our wretched morning run of 3 1/2 miles into something over 9. We went to bed on a cup of cocoa and pemmican solid with the chill off. The result is telling on all, but mainly on Oates, whose feet are in a wretched condition. One swelled up tremendously last night and he is very lame this morning.
We started march on tea and pemmican as last night—we pretend to prefer the pemmican this way.
Marched for 5 hours this morning over a slightly better surface. Sledge capsized twice; we pulled on foot, covering 5 1/2 miles. We are two pony marches and 4 miles from our depot. Our fuel dreadfully low and the poor Soldier (Oates) nearly done. It I pathetic enough because we can do nothing for him; more hot food might do a little, but only a little, I fear. We none of us expected these low temperatures, and of the rest of us Wilson is feeling them most, mainly, I fear, from his self-sacrificing devotion to doctoring Oates' feet.
We cannot help each other, each has enough to do to take care of himself. We get cold on the march when the trudging is heavy, and the wind pierces our warm garments. The others, all of them, are unendingly cheerful when in the tent.
We mean to see the game through with a proper spirit, but it's tough work to be pulling harder than we ever pulled in our lives for long hours, and to feel that the progress is so slow. One can only say "God help us!" and plod on our weary way, cold and very miserable, though outwardly cheerful.
We talk of all sorts of subjects in the tent, not much of food now, since we decided to take the risk of running a full ration. We simply couldn't go hungry at this time.
Regret to say going from bad to worse.
We got a slant of wind yesterday afternoon, and going on 5 hours we converted our wretched morning run of 3 1/2 miles into something over 9. We went to bed on a cup of cocoa and pemmican solid with the chill off. The result is telling on all, but mainly on Oates, whose feet are in a wretched condition. One swelled up tremendously last night and he is very lame this morning.
We started march on tea and pemmican as last night—we pretend to prefer the pemmican this way.
Marched for 5 hours this morning over a slightly better surface. Sledge capsized twice; we pulled on foot, covering 5 1/2 miles. We are two pony marches and 4 miles from our depot. Our fuel dreadfully low and the poor Soldier (Oates) nearly done. It I pathetic enough because we can do nothing for him; more hot food might do a little, but only a little, I fear. We none of us expected these low temperatures, and of the rest of us Wilson is feeling them most, mainly, I fear, from his self-sacrificing devotion to doctoring Oates' feet.
We cannot help each other, each has enough to do to take care of himself. We get cold on the march when the trudging is heavy, and the wind pierces our warm garments. The others, all of them, are unendingly cheerful when in the tent.
We mean to see the game through with a proper spirit, but it's tough work to be pulling harder than we ever pulled in our lives for long hours, and to feel that the progress is so slow. One can only say "God help us!" and plod on our weary way, cold and very miserable, though outwardly cheerful.
We talk of all sorts of subjects in the tent, not much of food now, since we decided to take the risk of running a full ration. We simply couldn't go hungry at this time.
Friday, March 4, 2011
4 March, 1912
Lunch
Things looking very black indeed. As usual we forgot our trouble last night, got into our bags, slept splendidly on good hoosh, woke and had another, and started marching. Sun shining brightly, tracks clear, but surface covered with sandy frost-rime. All the morning we had to pull with all our strength, and in 4 1/2 hours we covered 3 1/2 miles.
Last night was overcast and thick, surface bad; this morning sun shining and surface as bad as ever. One has little to hope for except perhaps strong dry wind—an unlikely contingency at this time of the year. We are about 42 miles form the next depot and have a week's food, but only about 3 to 4 days' fuel—we are as economical of the latter as one can possibly be, and we cannot afford to save food and pull as we are pulling.
We are in a very tight place indeed, but none of us are despondent yet, or at least we preserve every semblance of good cheer, but one's heart sinks as the sledge stops dead at some sastrugi behind which the surface sand lies thickly heaped.
For the moment the temperature is on the -20 — an improvement which makes us much more comfortable, but a colder snap is bound to come again soon. I fear that Oates at least will weather such an event very poorly.
Providence to our aid!
We can expect little from man now except the possibility of extra food at the next depot. It will be real bad if we get there and find the same shortage of oil. Shall we get there? Such a short distance it would have appeared to us on the summit! I don't know what I should do if Wilson and Bowers weren't so determinedly cheerful over things.
Things looking very black indeed. As usual we forgot our trouble last night, got into our bags, slept splendidly on good hoosh, woke and had another, and started marching. Sun shining brightly, tracks clear, but surface covered with sandy frost-rime. All the morning we had to pull with all our strength, and in 4 1/2 hours we covered 3 1/2 miles.
Last night was overcast and thick, surface bad; this morning sun shining and surface as bad as ever. One has little to hope for except perhaps strong dry wind—an unlikely contingency at this time of the year. We are about 42 miles form the next depot and have a week's food, but only about 3 to 4 days' fuel—we are as economical of the latter as one can possibly be, and we cannot afford to save food and pull as we are pulling.
We are in a very tight place indeed, but none of us are despondent yet, or at least we preserve every semblance of good cheer, but one's heart sinks as the sledge stops dead at some sastrugi behind which the surface sand lies thickly heaped.
For the moment the temperature is on the -20 — an improvement which makes us much more comfortable, but a colder snap is bound to come again soon. I fear that Oates at least will weather such an event very poorly.
Providence to our aid!
We can expect little from man now except the possibility of extra food at the next depot. It will be real bad if we get there and find the same shortage of oil. Shall we get there? Such a short distance it would have appeared to us on the summit! I don't know what I should do if Wilson and Bowers weren't so determinedly cheerful over things.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
3rd March, 1912
Lunch
We picked up the track again yesterday, finding ourselves to the east. Did close on 10 miles and things looked a trifle better; but this morning the outlook is blacker than ever.
Started well with a good breeze; for an hour made good headway; then the surface grew awful beyond words. The wind drew forward; every circumstance was against us.
After 4 1/2 hours things got so bad that we camped, having covered just 4 1/2 miles. One cannot consider this a fault of our own—certainly we were pulling hard this morning—it was more than three parts surface which held us back—the wind at strongest, powerless to move the sledge. When the light is good it is easy to see the reason. The surface, lately a very good hard one, is coated with a layer of woolly crystals, formed by radiation no doubt. These are too firmly fixed to be removed by the wind and cause impossible friction on the runners.
God help us, we can't keep up this pulling, that is certain. Amongst ourselves we are unendingly cheerful, but what each man feels in his heart I can only guess.
Pulling on foot gear in the morning is getting slower and slower, therefore every day more dangerous.
We picked up the track again yesterday, finding ourselves to the east. Did close on 10 miles and things looked a trifle better; but this morning the outlook is blacker than ever.
Started well with a good breeze; for an hour made good headway; then the surface grew awful beyond words. The wind drew forward; every circumstance was against us.
After 4 1/2 hours things got so bad that we camped, having covered just 4 1/2 miles. One cannot consider this a fault of our own—certainly we were pulling hard this morning—it was more than three parts surface which held us back—the wind at strongest, powerless to move the sledge. When the light is good it is easy to see the reason. The surface, lately a very good hard one, is coated with a layer of woolly crystals, formed by radiation no doubt. These are too firmly fixed to be removed by the wind and cause impossible friction on the runners.
God help us, we can't keep up this pulling, that is certain. Amongst ourselves we are unendingly cheerful, but what each man feels in his heart I can only guess.
Pulling on foot gear in the morning is getting slower and slower, therefore every day more dangerous.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
2nd March, 1912
Lunch.
Misfortunes rarely come singly.
We marched to the Middle Barrier depot fairly easily yesterday afternoon, and since we have suffered three distinct blows which have placed us in a bad position.
First we found a shortage of oil; with most rigid economy it can scarce carry us to the next depot on this surface (71 miles away).
Second, Titus Oates disclosed his feet, the toes showing very bad indeed, evidently bitten by the late temperatures.
The third blow came in the night, when the wind, which we had hailed with some joy, brought dark overcast weather. It fell below -40 in the night, and this morning it took 1 1/2 hours to get our foot gear on, but we got away before eight.
We lost cairn and tracks together and made as steady as we could North by West, but have seen nothing. Worse was to come—the surface is simply awful. In spite of strong wind and full sail we have only done 5 1/2 miles.
We are in a very queer street since there is no doubt we cannot do the extra marches and feel the cold horribly.
Misfortunes rarely come singly.
We marched to the Middle Barrier depot fairly easily yesterday afternoon, and since we have suffered three distinct blows which have placed us in a bad position.
First we found a shortage of oil; with most rigid economy it can scarce carry us to the next depot on this surface (71 miles away).
Second, Titus Oates disclosed his feet, the toes showing very bad indeed, evidently bitten by the late temperatures.
The third blow came in the night, when the wind, which we had hailed with some joy, brought dark overcast weather. It fell below -40 in the night, and this morning it took 1 1/2 hours to get our foot gear on, but we got away before eight.
We lost cairn and tracks together and made as steady as we could North by West, but have seen nothing. Worse was to come—the surface is simply awful. In spite of strong wind and full sail we have only done 5 1/2 miles.
We are in a very queer street since there is no doubt we cannot do the extra marches and feel the cold horribly.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
1st March, 1912
Lunchtime.
Very cold last night—minimum -41.5 degrees.
Cold start to the march, too, as usual now. Got away at 8 and have marched within sight of the depot; flag something under 3 miles away. Marched 6 miles this morning. Apart from sledging considerations the weather is wonderful. Cloudless days and nights and the wind trifling. Worse luck, the light airs come from the north and keep us horribly cold. For this lunch hour the exception has come: there is a bright and comparatively warm sun. All our gear is out drying.
Very cold last night—minimum -41.5 degrees.
Cold start to the march, too, as usual now. Got away at 8 and have marched within sight of the depot; flag something under 3 miles away. Marched 6 miles this morning. Apart from sledging considerations the weather is wonderful. Cloudless days and nights and the wind trifling. Worse luck, the light airs come from the north and keep us horribly cold. For this lunch hour the exception has come: there is a bright and comparatively warm sun. All our gear is out drying.
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