† Grease ice is a thin film of ice that forms on the surface of the ocean in strips or patches, and indicates the onset of ice formation. Frazil ice is created as grease ice thickens into nascent floes.
We also saw many seals, but always at a distance. If one starts whistling at them, however, as if to a horse one is leading to water, the seals will approach, evidently intrigued, peering curiously with heads held high. In this fashion we were able to kill four or five of them. To our delight, this lucky catch greatly enriched our dwindling reserves of flesh and blubber, and we could look forward to several days of abundant and nourishing food.
Whether boiled or roasted, seal meat remains dark and tender, with a pleasant taste, similar to venison, at least as far as the animals we killed to the north of Franz Josef Land were concerned; seal meat I had eaten in the Kara Sea often had an oily, blubbery taste, even after being left a long time to marinate in vinegar. Polar bear meat is without a doubt much tastier, although it also takes on an oily taste if it is kept for any time after it has been cooked, especially the meat near the bone. This difference in taste probably depends on the environment in which the animal is found, as well as its diet. In the stomachs of all the seals we killed north of Franz Josef Land—and that was a considerable number—we invariably found the remains of small crustaceans, but never any fish. In my opinion, seal meat is entirely edible; the liver of the seal is even a delicacy. All of us on the ship ate it with relish, even when we still had abundant and varied provisions. Seal brains fried in seal oil also taste very good. The front flippers, well baked, are reminiscent of calves’ feet.
Initially my companions overindulged in seal blubber. They would cut it into small pieces and fry it thoroughly, producing what is called cracklings. If they ate them with ship’s biscuits, they would quickly become sated. But we were rationing biscuits, so the cracklings were often eaten alone, just with salt. This delicacy has a pronounced effect on a stomach that is unaccustomed to it, like a powerful laxative. Eventually, however, one’s stomach gets used to anything, and we found we could eat the cracklings with impunity.
During the full two days we camped beside this stretch of open water, the grease ice and frazil ice congealed into a thin but solid surface that spanned the polynya’s narrower, western reaches, allowing us to finally haul our sledges across it. Once on the far side, we pressed onward in a slightly more easterly direction, hoping to find a greater expanse of open water, but this goal eluded us. Now and then we would encounter small polynyas in which we could shoot seals for food and fuel, but none permitted us to travel far in our kayaks.
DEATH OF SAILOR BAYEV, FURTHER DISCOURAGEMENT, EXHAUSTION
Here we were, once again making our way across the pack from ice floe to ice floe, sinking into deep snow. Our sledges, made with improvised tools, were simply not up to the task; every day we had to stop for long and complicated repairs. Fortunately we had reinforced the runners with iron strips; when the runners broke, the only way we could repair them was to screw the metal strips back onto the shattered runners, thereby holding the damaged sections together, however tenuously.
But the month of May had arrived. It was at around this time that the sailor Bayev asked me to head in a more westerly direction because, according to his observations, there were long uninterrupted stretches of ice to be found in that direction which would speed up our progress. “They are,” he insisted, “as flat as a skating rink.” I gave in to his request, but although we headed westward for an entire day, the promised stretches of smooth ice did not appear. Bayev insisted that his level ice field really existed. “I saw it with my own eyes, sir. I skied along it myself. It stretched all the way to the island.”
The next day, May 3, I resolved to head more to the south-southeast, to search for a better route. Bayev again asked permission to explore the terrain to the west.
With several companions, I set out to the south-southeast. We found a fairly practicable route, and returned to our bivouac after three hours. Bayev was not there. Noon came, and still he had not arrived. At four P.M., sure that something was amiss, we decided to search for the missing man.
Taking some biscuits, Regald, Konrad, Shpakovsky, and I set off on the trail. Bayev was not a good skier, and he had left his skis behind. We could easily follow the tracks of his skin boots in the deep snow. At first they led to the southwest, but gradually curved to the west. About three miles from camp we encountered thin ice with very little snow on it. Bayev had followed the left edge of these ice fields, apparently in the hope that they would swing toward the south, but ice blocks continued to obstruct his route.
In the meantime the weather had deteriorated, and snow had begun to fall. We soon ran across small leads, which we crossed on skis with no problem; but Bayev would have had to cross them by hopping from floe to floe. We followed Bayev’s trail for two hours, having covered at least six to eight miles. Finally the tracks turned back, but Bayev had not retraced his outbound route, veering instead to the left. Our flag, hoisted atop an ice hummock near camp, had long since disappeared from view behind the pressure ridges. Now Bayev’s track grew faint, as fresh snow covered it: We would find a few footprints, then lose the track altogether. The snow had even begun to obliterate our own tracks. We shouted, whistled, and fired our guns without success. Bayev had a rifle with about twelve shells with him. Had he been nearby, he would have heard our shots and responded in kind. But we heard nothing.
We hurried back to the camp to resort to other methods of rescue. There, with the help of long sticks and ski poles, I raised a mast thirty feet high with two signal flags that could be seen from a great distance. If Bayev was lost not far from the camp, he could not fail to see them and would easily find his way back to us. Moreover, the weather was improving by the hour. When Bayev had not returned by late evening, we became increasingly worried. The night did not calm our anxiety. At first light we once more began to explore the area around us, but without success. We waited three days, still hoping to see him reappear. We could only assume that he must have fallen through a fissure in the ice. Perhaps he succumbed to the shock of the icy water, for he had often complained of a bad heart.
We had done everything in our power to save him. Now all that I could do was to organize our departure, in order not to further endanger the lives of those who remained. This sad turn of events was enough in itself to dampen the men’s spirits; they sincerely regretted the loss of their companion, who had set off with such noble intentions, only to meet his death.
To continue my story, I refer to the notes in my diary:
MAY 14
We are continuing our journey, but have traveled only two and a half miles in six hours. Today is a noteworthy day because we are now sixty nautical miles* away from the Saint Anna, but we have mixed feelings as we realize that despite all our efforts, our average progress has been only two miles a day! Nevertheless we celebrated the event with a soup made from dried cherries and blueberries, enhanced with a bit of condensed milk, and a rye biscuit. The wind is blowing from the northwest, and the temperature is dropping. To the south we can see a vast water sky.
* The significance of this to Albanov was that sixty nautical miles equals one degree of latitude.
MAY 15
We will once again have to make do with a cold meal due to lack of fuel. This precarious situation is extremely upsetting to me, since I am entirely responsible for it. I find it odd that this fails to worry my companions. Not only are they incapable of any serious thoughts, but they also lack determination and enterprising spirit. Their interest in our daily tasks is solely motivated by their desire to reach home: Serious or critical situations drain them of all their strength. My concern for their future is sometimes an enormous burden to me, but they scarcely realize it!
Today we have covered just over a mile; cold, misty weather.
MAY 16
Further calamitous events! Yesterday three of the men almost drowned. Fortunately, their shipmates were
able to rescue them in time. But our shotgun and “stove” were immersed in corrosive seawater, and most of our remaining fuel was lost. As a result, our meat must now be eaten raw. We have reached the end of the polynya, and must continue our trek without further delay. The entire region is shrouded in fog; not long ago we could still see a lot of water sky.
MAY 17
Yesterday our kayaks hardly made any headway as the water was obstructed by chunks of ice, which made our crossing particularly difficult. Today we were luckier and were able to paddle roughly six miles to the south-southwest. Our kayaks have been very useful; we can fit all our belongings in the bottom of their hulls and then sit comfortably on top of them. Although our craft are not completely waterproof, they transport us quickly and safely wherever we find a favorable lead.
I paddled ahead of the others with the sailor Nilsen. When we reached the edge of the open water, I climbed on top of a high block of ice to search the horizon. I could see only two of our kayaks, the other two being probably too far away. Two hours went by, and the kayaks still had not arrived.
What had happened? Finally two kayaks approached the shore, and we learned the cause of the delay. Alone in his boat, our steward Regald had not been able to resist the temptation of clambering up onto an iceberg. When he was ready to get back into his kayak, the edge of the block of ice split and Regald took an involuntary plunge into the cold water. He managed to heave himself back onto the ice, but as the wind had driven his boat away, the other kayak had to save him and recapture his drifting boat. Soaked to the skin, Regald was in great danger of freezing to death, so we pitched the tent and lit a fire as quickly as possible, which also allowed us to cook a dish of peas on a makeshift stove.
This unplanned halt was a great irritation to me. My companions are no better than children: As if it were not enough to endure our numerous involuntary setbacks—they seem to cause still others just for the sake of it. I certainly will not rest until I’ve managed to save them in spite of themselves.
Toward evening, a wind from the southeast picked up, bringing a light snowfall.
SUNDAY, MAY 18
Today we reached some excellent terrain and were able to continue without interruption across a fine layer of fresh ice as smooth as a mirror, which supported us nicely, as it was unfractured and about six inches thick. This reminded me of the fact that Nansen, in Hvidtenland,* had also encountered similar ice conditions. It was surely not the same kind of ice here as that which had trapped the Saint Anna. Hauling three of our sledges over this solid layer, we were able to travel on a straight course for four hours, and covered roughly four and a quarter miles before reaching a new open lead, where we called a halt. I decided to stay there with Lunayev to shoot some game while the other eight went back for the two remaining sledges. How often had I pondered in vain on a way to resolve this useless waste of time and energy! We just could not go on like this. Besides, Lunayev was so weak that he could hardly stand. Without further hesitation, I sacrificed a sledge and a kayak for fuel so that there would be only four sledges and four kayaks for the ten of us, and that would have to suffice, come what may.
* An island group in northeast Franz Josef Land, the first land that Nansen came to on his journey south (see map).
MAY 19
We have not made a move all day. We lashed all our belongings onto the four sledges and inspected the lead to see if we should go around or across it. I fell through the ice twice during our investigations. Soundings were taken, but our line measured only 110 fathoms and could not reach the bottom. There were pools of open water in every direction, and the gloomy weather greatly reduced visibility. For nineteen days I have been unable to take a proper sun sight, or calculate our position, or—most important of all—ascertain our progress toward the south.
We calculated today that we have 460 pounds of biscuits left, which should be sufficient for one month. If we manage to shoot some more seals or polar bears, we will be able to reduce our daily ration of biscuit. It is strange that, despite encountering so much open water, we have found no seals; as for bears, we have seen only their tracks, which means they must be hiding in their lairs. White gulls and fulmars often fly overhead in pairs or even three at a time; diving birds such as auks, however, have suddenly disappeared. All these impressions do nothing to improve my faith in the outcome of our ordeal. In these inhospitable latitudes, one must be prepared for daily surprises that can destroy the best-laid plans. Moreover, winds from the north and northeast can drive us appreciably and unpredictably toward the south and southwest. We have just come upon a channel, which if it continues toward the south, will allow us to make better progress and offers the possibility of shooting a bear.
Each of our sledges now has a load of about 240 pounds, a weight that two men can haul under any circumstances. We are all tormented by terrible pain in our eyes, and Lunayev still has severe leg pains. Are we going to have to carry him on a sledge? Our scouts have just returned with the news that it is possible to go around the open lead that blocks our path. Southeasterly wind blowing, force 4,* working against us.
* Force 4 on the Beaufort scale is a “moderate breeze” of 11 to 16 knots (13 to 18 mph).
MAY 20
No change in the wind. Dull weather, sky somewhat overcast. We set off with all the sledges at once, but the route quickly became so bad that we again had to resort to taking them in stages. Toward evening, our difficulties increased still further, and we struggled to make the slightest headway. There was a huge polynya ahead of us, from which we were separated by many small leads and crevasses. We had come to realize that the various ice floes were all subject to constant movement, and that new floes were continually forming.
We pitched our tent to have a rest. Shpakovsky and I went out to search for a safe route for the next day, and we managed to find one.
Lunayev’s condition is more and more worrying: He complains of pains in his legs, and is suffering from snow blindness. I am afraid we may soon have to strap him to a sledge. Our greatest hope lies in finding the landmass we have been seeking for so long, where we shall be saved from our fears of drifting ever northward.
MAY 21
We managed to bypass the dangerous waters, but at the expenditure of a great deal of sweat! Six or seven of us at a time had to strain hard to get each sledge over myriad ice ridges, crevasses, and holes. The entire way we had to carve a passable route from the pack ice, chipping away with our axes and harpoons. It was a far cry from the smooth, snow-free terrain where we needed only two men to pull each sledge. We were blocked at every stride by unforeseen channels and fissures, and today we covered only four miles. The horizon reveals a water sky. Ahead of us lie numerous open leads too wide to be bridged by a sledge, yet too narrow and choked with ice blocks to be navigable by kayak. The appearance of our surroundings has changed dramatically. No sign of thick pack ice. Everywhere there is fresh, bluish sheet ice between one and nine inches thick. Today it is even mixed with sand and clay.*
* Sand and clay in the ice would signal the presence of nearby land.
When I was with Lunayev today I noticed he was spitting blood. I examined him at once and found that his gums bore the characteristic symptoms of scurvy.
At least I now have a clear idea of what is wrong with him, and there is only one remedy: a lot of physical movement! But I also managed to make him take some quinine. His recovery depends on the strength of his physical resistance and his will to live.
My instruments are in a sorry state. The big compass was broken and quite useless so I threw it out. The small one is hardly any better: The glass is broken and the liquid has seeped out. The magnet stone at the tip of the needle has been damaged by the repeated battering it has received, so now the needle scarcely moves at all. To navigate I have been forced to rely on little more than the sun, my watch, and the miniature compass fitted onto my binoculars. But these minor setbacks would be bearable if we had confidence that we were getting nearer to our destina
tion and could see land. Open, Sesame!
Toward evening, the wind backed to the northeast. Thank God!
MAY 22
The wind has shifted again, and is now blowing from the east-northeast, which is quite bad news since it can force us to drift westward. It has gotten much colder. The terrain, on the whole, is good. Only rarely do we have to cross thin, brittle ice; the underlayer sometimes has a brownish color, which we mistakenly thought was sand or clay. On closer examination we realized it was a pinkish brown algae, which led us to the conclusion that the ice had been near a coastline. Later, this coloring would become more frequent.
The fog finally lifted and the sun came out, but I was unable to calculate the meridian altitude; I could do no more than reckon that we were at latitude 82°38´ north. At midnight I obtained the sun’s altitude and got a latitude of 82°29´, a coordinate which seemed more exact. Without an artificial horizon, and with an overcast sky, I had to be content with these approximate observations. That is not all that is missing. Above all, we lack good sledges . . . and good sledge dogs.
In the Land of White Death Page 6