1st August, 1911

The month has opened with a very beautiful day. This morning I took a circuitous walk over our land "estate," winding to and fro in gulleys filled with smooth ice patches or loose sandy soil, with a twofold object. I wanted to find the remains of poor Julick (no suck luck) and to test our new crampons. With these I am immensely pleased. They possess every virtue in a footwear designed for marching over smooth ice—lightness, warmth, comfort, and ease in the putting on and off.

The light was especially good today; the sun was directly reflected by a single twisted iridescent cloud in the north, a brilliant and most beautiful object. The air was very still, and it was very pleasant to hear the crisp sounds of our workers abroad. The tones of voices, the swish of ski, the chipping of an ice pick carry or two or three miles on such days—more than once we could hear the notes of some blithe singer—happily signaling the coming of the spring and sun.

This afternoon as I sit in the hut I find it worthy of record that two telephones are in use; one keeping time for Wright, and the other bringing messages from Nelson in his ice hole three-quarters of a mile away. This last connection is made with a bare aluminium wire and earth return, and shows that we should have little difficulty in competing our circuit to Hut Point as is contemplated.

Wish the Crozier Party would make themselves known. It is making me very nervous.

31 July, 1911

It was overcast today and the light not quite so good, but this is the last day of another month, and August means the sun. One begins to wonder what the Crozier Party is doing. It has been away five weeks.

The ponies are getting buckish. Chinaman squeals and kicks in his stable, Nobby kicks without squealing, but with even more purpose; last night he kicked down part of his stall. The noise of these animals is rather trying at night—one imagines all sorts of dreadful things happening, but when the watchman visits the stables its occupants blink at him with a sleepy air as though hte disturbance could not possibly have been there!

There was a glorious northern sky today; the horizon was clear and the flood of red light illuminated the underside of the broken stratus cloud above, producing very beautiful bands of violet light. Simpson predicts a blizzard within 24 hours—it will be interesting to watch the results.

July 30, 1911

Julick

One of our best sledge dogs, Julick, has disappeared. I am afraid he's been set upon by the others at some distant spot and we shall see nothing more of him but his stiffened carcass when the light returns. Meares doesn't think the others would have attacked him, and that he has fallen into an ice crack or water. Either way, we must be resigned to another loss. It's an awful nuisance.

We seem to have chosen an especially wind-swept spot for our station. Our average wind speeds are 20mph, compared with 12 mph in Discovery days.

Was out for two hours this morning—it was amazingly pleasant to be able to see the inequities of one's path, and the familiar landmarks bathed in violet light. An hour after noon the northern sky was intensely red.

28 July, 1911

Calmer days: the sky rosier: the light visibly advancing. We have never suffered from low spirits, so that the presence of day raises us above a normal cheerfulness to the realm of high spirits.

The light, merry humor of our company has never been eclipsed, the good-natured, kindly chaff has never ceased since those early days of enthusiasm which inspired them--they have survived the winter days of stress and already renew themselves with the coming of spring. If pessimistic moments had foreseen the growth of rifts in the bond forged by these amenities, they stand prophetically falsified; there is no longer room for doubt that we shall come to our work with a unity of purpose and a disposition for mutual support which have never been equalled in these paths of activity. Such a spirit should tide us over all minor difficulties.

It is a good omen.

26 July, 1911

Very beautiful at noon today; the air was very clear and the detail of the Western Mountains was revealed in infinitely delicate contrasts of light.

I wonder if man shall ever spoil them.

25 July, 1911

There is absolutely nothing to report. Life is monotonous. Everyone seems fit; there is no sign of depression.

I get a bit down sometimes. There are certain things a man misses about civilization. You know.

24 July, 1911

Blizzard continued. We recorded gusts of 82 mph, though Simpson gets readings 20% higher in a less sheltered position; therefore e can assume gusts of 100 mph, which is hurricane force. It is warmer though.

What damnable weather.