In spite of these precautions, we did not escape a very serious “scare”.
On the morning of March 4, Blackburn, Siple and Thorne set out with their teams for the cache. Siple had his double freight sledge, and Blackburn a small basket sledge. Conditions when they started were not bad, the wind was light and the temperature about zero. However they changed very quickly, and within an hour the wind was blowing hard, and visibility was choked off by thick drift. In fact, Balchen and Strom, who came in from a trip to the Bay, reported that the drift was so dense it was impossible to see beyond the end of the skis.
Thorne and Siple presently came in with their loads, but Blackburn was not with them. A mile north of Little America they had turned off the trail to drop part of the loads. Blackburn’s dogs, however, had refused to turn, and Thorne and Siple saw him disappear into the drift, vainly trying to halt the dogs. The two men managed to reach the base after some difficulties, and were somewhat surprised not to find Blackburn already there.
By this time the wind had risen to 40 miles per hour, and the drift was dense. It was snug enough in the houses, where the stoves threw off enervating warmth, and for a time we saw no reason to become alarmed over Blackburn’s absence.
But when I learned he had failed to take his sleeping bag, then I did have fears for his safety. I took Gould and Thorne with me, and started down the trail. Outside was uproar, with the sharp edge of driving drift. We carried a compass. Every few feet we put down a flag, not only to guide ourselves back, but also Blackburn if by chance he was still stumbling about in the confusion of snow and wind. Some distance out we came across a new crevasse which had opened across the old trail, and in the storm it looked ominous. Reaching the cache, we investigated the small valley into which Thorne had seen Blackburn disappear, and finally made our way back to the base, without having come across his trail. However, we realized it was very possible that we passed within a few feet of him, with neither party aware of it, for the drift most of the time shut down visibility almost to the tip of one’s nose, and the wind swiftly extinguished the loudest shout.
Without pausing we sallied forth, this time more to the west, and still failed to find him. I was then convinced that he was either lost to the east of the trail or still in the vicinity of the cache. I was reluctant to believe he had fallen off the Barrier, an idea that had taken hold of several imaginations.
A more efficient drag-net was set in operation. Gould, O’Brien and Feury went out to conduct a search along the northern edge of the Barrier. They carried a goodly amount of alpine rope, and were tied together, lest one of them venture out too far. Then parties of dog teams were dispatched to the cache, whence they were to work, fanwise, to the east and north.
The whole camp, by this time, was alarmed.
However, the incident closed on a happy note when a team under Vaughan, with Bursey, de Ganahl and Thorne in company, came upon several dark lumps in the snow, and found them to be Blackburn’s dogs. Curled in a hole in the snow, with gasoline cans piled up to provide shelter, was Blackburn. He lay in the lee of his sledge, with the dogs dug in beside him. He was unharmed by exposure, although he had been out for eight hours, and I was pleased that he had had the good sense not to continue travelling when he realized he was lost.
One may judge his astonishment when he learned he was less than half a mile from the base, and the flags we had so painfully put down to guide him passed within 20 yards of his hole.
Wednesday
March 5
Still busy.
Brophy is no longer connected with the expedition. I have accepted his resignation. He is in a very nervous condition and it is impossible for him to continue to handle the details of the expedition.
I have urged him to take a long rest and hope he has the wisdom to do it. I have done everything within my power to make it easy for him. Heaven knows, there is still a great deal of work to be done in New Zealand, with units based there, and for weeks now we have had to handle no end of intricate details by radio from here, trying to straighten things out. His breakdown seems complete, and it is a great pity all around.
Mr. Tapley will be in charge of expedition affairs in New Zealand.
Several new projects are in the air.
Tomorrow, weather permitting, the dog teams will be sent out to establish three preliminary depots on the Barrier. These will be laid down in preparation for the spring journeys. With good luck, there is no reason why they should not be able to carry their loads at least 40 miles south.
None of the men, it is true, has had previous experience in Antarctic sledging, but the experiences of Vaughan and Goodale with Grenfell in Labrador and with Walden in New Hampshire, as well as the experience they have acquired during unloading operations, should stand them in good stead. Vaughan will be in charge of the first sledge, Bursey of the second, then Goodale and Crockett.
De Ganahl will be navigator and Petersen will go along as radio operator.
There have been many conferences, and I think the men now understand their problems. Apart from the necessity of getting the bases down, the trip will be beneficial from other considerations. There are many things to learn about the protection of hands and feet from cold and moisture, and how best to make use of the clothing which has been made for use on the tramp. Frozen feet and hands, uncomfortable nights, and real suffering inevitably follow failure to acquire proper protection. There are tricks in using a sleeping bag and in keeping it dry, in the preservation of mukluks, socks, mittens and the rest. Moisture collects in them, freezes, and causes all kinds of trouble. It is one thing to be told about precautions, but effective knowledge can be gained only by experience on the trail. There is also the problem of pitching camp and getting an early start in the morning—both very important points. We shall learn something as a result of this trip, and during the winter all hands can work up the best methods of “beating” these problems.
Gould is very anxious to make a flight to the Rockefellers, for a geological survey. Poor Larry, he has been compelled to dull his geological hammer on the ends of boxes while the rocks in the Rockefellers fairly cried out for investigation. Such a journey would be very important, but, frankly, I am not eager to see him undertake it at this advanced period with winter so near. The weather has been stormy and cold, and I am not sure the flight can be made without considerable risk.
We shall see what comes of the weather. If Haines provides clear skies, he may go, if he still wishes. If we can squeeze in this investigation now, we shall undeniably have that much more time for other work next spring.
Hanson and his men have been working steadily on the main radio set, and today they finished. Heretofore, we have cleared our traffic through the small sets on the Boiling and the City, with surprisingly good results.
The main station is a most prepossessing looking affair. Hanson has displayed real ingenuity in making the most of his limited space, and the corner of the administration building which we now call the Ochs Radio Station, in honor of the friend who has done so much for me. The Station is an anomalous blend of the primitive and the highly modern. On a bleak and roughly hewn table the various dials and bulbs rise in tiers of subtly organized combinations. It gives one a strange sense of power to realize that within these bare walls, hung with cumbersome winter clothing, is a force that puts us within one-eighth of a second of New York City.
And that outside, in the aircraft, is a second power that can carry us easily and at great speed over this formidable Continent.
How few of us realize that it is only during the past century that man has been able to travel rapidly, and to impose his will directly and instantly beyond the range of his voice. The mere extension of these abilities has ceased to surprise us in civilization; and no doubt because they are become commonplace conveniences, we are more sensitive to the nuisances they often do involve.
But down here on this dead ice cap, where what a man could do has heretofore been limited to the power of his le
gs and heart and the blind courage of his dogs and ponies, the possession of them is a wonderful gift. Even the ring of the telephone in the administration building strikes a note of cheerful competence. Or so it seems now. I suppose it will become a bother soon enough.
Thursday, March 7th, both units—the Fokker and the dog teams—took their departure from camp. Just before the departure of the teams, I dispatched Balchen and Braathen on a mission to mark a path through or around the pressure ridges and cracks in the bay ice, as well as the crevasses to the southwest of the camp. They were to mark this trail with flags, and thus save the base-laying party the inconvenience as well as danger of searching for a route. Some of these crevasses were open and others were closed over by shallow and insubstantial bridges, which might let through a heavily loaded sledge. Balchen and Braathen carefully identified a safe passage, and from that point on the drivers could expect smooth Barrier until they reached the place which Amundsen called The Trap.
Each team carried a load of 800 pounds, and the party was given the following designations:
TEAM NO. 1—VAUGHAN
NON-MAGNETIC TEAM
Compass (requiring non-magnetic sledge)
Sleeping bag and gear
De Ganahl’s bag and gear
50 flags
Alpine rope
2 pair of skis and bamboo poles
Navigating instruments
Amundsen’s sledge meter1
TEAM NO. 2—GOODALE
CAMPING TEAM
Sleeping bag and gear
1 pair of skis
1 axe
1 shovel
3 tents
4 ice picks
Man food
TEAM NO. 3—BURSEY
DEPOT-LAYING TEAM
Sleeping bag and gear
Depot supplies
1 hatchet
4 tents
Snow knife
1 pair of skis
Depot bamboo flagpoles
1 shovel
Emergency clothing
TEAM NO. 4—Crockett
RADIO TEAM
Sleeping bags and gear
Petersen’s bag and gear
Extra wood runner and bolts Drill
1 axe
Six pair of snowshoes
2 skis and poles
150 flags
Extra compass
Sledge meter
Alpine rope
Emergency food
Radio set with mast1
In addition, the teams carried 1,700 pounds of dog pemmican, which was divided among the sledges in amounts that brought up the total loads of each to about 800 pounds.
Of the load, approximately 1 3 50 pounds were to be distributed among three depots. The first, 20 miles south, the second 40, and the third 44. Vaughan was requested to use great care in marking the depots, lest the winter blizzards obliterate all traces of the trail. Hence the large supply of flags. Twenty flags were to be placed about each base, to the west, at intervals of a quarter of a mile, and an equal number to the east. The most precious thing in sledging on fixed rations is time, and the hours lost in searching for poorly marked depots have brought great suffering, if not ruin, to many exploring parties. Of course we could not hope to make these depots as conspicuous as a red traffic light on Fifth Avenue; but on a rolling plain of snow conspicuous for its lack of landmarks these little orange-red flags could be picked up by a sledge party even if slightly off its course. More, I saw in them the possibility of a considerable aid to navigation in the southern flights planned for the following spring, for they would provide control points for the checking of compasses in flight and as a check against local error.
The rest of the flags were to be used in marking the southern route, to facilitate the return journey. Because this was primarily a test trip, they were instructed to make liberal use of the flags, rather than run the risk of becoming lost. Storms of considerable force were to be expected almost any time, and it behooved a party on the trail to execute its mission as quickly as possible and return. This meant travelling even in the face of storm and semi-darkness: and under such conditions a string of closely placed flags, leading directly to the base, would be a life line.
The men were liberally provided with cold weather clothing. Lower temperatures than prevailed in the protection of our basin might be expected on the Barrier: in his first season’s marches during March, Amundsen experienced temperatures as low as 45-4° below zero,1 which he described as “rather fresh.”2
The start of the trip was full of excitement. The clear, cold air was as heady as a draught of fine wine, which suffused a sensation of well-being in every one, dogs as well as men. The dogs were like coiled springs, waiting the signal to start. They filled the basin with the sound of barking. Some lay in the snow, munching it placidly. But others, impatient for action, quarrelled constantly, with a great show of force, but withal an amiable intent. There were some excellent dogs among them: Bursey’s leader, St. Lunaire, a brown Labrador husky, one of the hardest workers I ever saw, and possessing an uncanny sense of direction; Crockett’s leader, Quimbo, a son of Chinook, eighty pounds of belligerency and competent leadership; Goodale’s leader, Blizzard, a fine Labrador husky, of the same breed as St. Lunaire, with a splendid dark gray coat, and Vaughan’s leader, Dinny, a black malamute with soulful eyes and the disposition of Puck. And there were, of course, in Vaughan’s and Goodale’s teams, those inseparable companions, Moody and Watch, Targish and Dingo.
When the signal to start was given, the teams went off with a rush, Vaughan’s leading, with the drivers fighting to keep the sledges upright as they tore down the slope into the inlet and the dogs throwing up clouds of snow. They rounded the bend on single runners, and I thought: well, that’s very fine now, but I dare say you will settle down to a less lively pace before long.
We turned to help the geological mission on its way. It was then 3 o’clock.
A short time later, the Fokker shook its skis clear of the Barrier, and headed east. Balchen piloted, June served as radio man and Dr. Gould, of course, was in charge. They carried provisions for several months, the usual emergency equipment and Larry’s precious theodolite. I watched them start with some misgivings. With winter so near, any failure of this operation must result, I felt, in danger. Soon I received a message from the Fokker in flight:
Everything fine with plane about 40 miles from base headed towards Mts.
LARRY.
About two hours later a second message announced the Fokker’s safe arrival at the foot of Chips Gould Mountain. Gould reported: “Sky overcast and no hope of getting position tonight. Very warm and calm. All hands eager to be in the hills tomorrow.”
In Little America we turned to the task of getting rid of the snow that covered everything, and the snow shovel became the most prominent and hated thing in the camp. The Barrier cache was again obliterated by the blizzard, and a crew of men was sent out to locate and retrieve the remaining supplies. Another group was engaged in killing seals out on the bay ice. Killing Weddell seals is not exactly a sport. Even when the amateur hunters made loud noises in an attempt to arouse the beasts into some semblance of activity, they promptly returned to their snoring as soon as the racket subsided. Braathen protested that the only way he could escape a charge of murder was by first giving the seals a hearty dig in the ribs, which awakened them, and then rushing off to a sporting distance before he fired a shot: we really hated to kill these poor creatures, but necessity knows no law; we needed fresh meat in quantities, both the men and dogs, and had to overlook the niceties. Fortunately, by then, we had about 250 carcasses, and soon could call a halt to the unpleasant business.
Friday
March 8th
Weather continues good. Every man in the camp going full speed ahead. Gould, the carpenter, Mulroy, Parker, Rucker and McKinley are putting the finishing touches to the dark room, and Owen is assembling a library in my office. He has been appointed librarian. As we have about volumes
in the collection,1 he has his hands full assorting them.
Both the Geological unit and the Trail Party report everything 0. K.
Saturday
March 9th
A terrific blizzard has been raging all day, compelling us to shut down on all outside jobs. The wind at times reached a velocity of 60 miles per hour. A message from Gould says that everything is fine. There has been no word today from the Trail Party. No doubt Petersen has been unable to get up his radio pole in this strong wind.
Sunday
March 10th
It was 19° below zero last night. The wind blew quite hard during the day, but it has fallen off, and we have dispatched four men and dog teams to the Barrier cache, under the leadership of McKinley. It is time we had all supplies in camp.
Both field units report all well.
The dogs here did not fare very well last night. They howled all night long. Possibly the sound of the wind awakened some strange emotion in them. Then, too, we found their crates packed full of snow.
Several of the dogs broke loose this morning, and engaged in a terrible brawl. They performed a great deal of extemporaneous surgery on one another, and two appear to be quite badly torn. Of course there was a lady at the bottom of the affair. There usually is. We all feel quite badly to have the dogs torn up in their own brawls, for they are great pets. Dr. Coman is busy taking stitches in the wounds.
Josephine I is having a hard time. Last night, when every one was asleep, save the watchman, she stole into the administration building and tried to make off with one of the rugs. The noise she made soon awakened every one, and there were loud protests. We were puzzled as to why she wanted the rug until we discovered that her crate was nearly full of snow, and her litter of puppies were shivering in the cold. I fancy she was doing her best to save them. As the snow accumulated, she and the puppies had retreated to the very end of the box, then, in desperation, the mother came out seeking help. She had to cut through six feet of tightly packed snow with her paws and teeth.
Little America Page 19