Sledges? They experimented with a dozen different models and a hundred different lashings until they developed the types they believed would best serve their needs. Many, many intricate details had to be worked out. For example, what shall be the height of the framework above the snow? If too low, the framework may not clear a rough surface, and if the snow is soft, the runners will sink, the framework will drag and pulling will be beastly hard. Yet if too high, a heavily-loaded sledge will capsize with exasperating persistency. Well, shall the height be six inches, seven or eight? What proportion of the surface shall come in contact with the snow? If too much, pulling may be terribly hard, especially in cold weather, for then the snow is like sandpaper. If too little, then the sledges will sink in soft snow. Very well, let us see what Nansen, Scott, Peary, Amundsen, Rasmussen, Shackleton and the others have to say on the subject? And what does Walden think? A good sledge is a beautiful and efficient thing. It must be rigid in its framework, yet flexible enough to give when travelling over a rough surface, so that the whole strain shall not come on any single part of the sledge. This is vital. It is by no means a simple vehicle. The efficiency of sledges varies according to its number of factors: its length, weight carried, surface conditions, workmanship, etc. All these things must be estimated.
After a series of conferences with Dr. Gould, the following memorandum was issued dividing into departments the research which was necessary for this and allied problems, and the work was assigned as follows:
The following are given duties as stated opposite their names:
Problems of the same nature, if of lesser magnitude, faced the Supporting Party, whose job it was to precede the Geological Party in the field and lay down four bases, at intervals of about 50 miles, on a journey which would carry it 200 miles south, through the most dangerous crevasses met by Amundsen and his party on their entire Polar trip. In a sense, the success of the Supporting Party would largely influence the success of the Geological Party, for the latter would be dependent upon these depots. The duties were divided as follows: the assignments being worked out with de Ganahl and Walden.
Each person charged with a duty such as safety precautions, methods of keeping clothing dry, arrangement of tents, sledges, etc., is requested to write out ideas in detail, for discussion with all members of the party. If agreement cannot be reached, the minority opinion will be included in the report. Lofgren will then compile a booklet.
R. E. BYRD.
The fruits of the many efforts were scores of conferences and, finally, a most comprehensive booklet prepared under Dr. Gould’s direction, which described in detail the proposed operations of both parties, the procedure by which they were to be carried out, and the methods by which the expected difficulties of the trail might be solved. It was an excellent job, concise and compact, the product of great thought and planning.
Let us pause a moment to look into the plan.
The Supporting Party, which we planned would depart south about the second week in October, had several functions. The major task, of course, was to lay down a series of depots, from which the Geological Party might replenish its supplies both on the way out and back. It was essential that the Geological Party, which faced a much longer journey, should travel as light as possible. Its second responsibility was to make a trail, especially through the crevassed areas that Amundsen reported at Lat. 81° 7’.
These depots were to be placed as follows:
After putting down Depot No. 4, the Supporting Party was then to turn back and return to the base. Then the Geological Party, which would meanwhile have started south, would press along the trail, picking up the man food and the dog food cached in the depots, to replace amounts used during the journey, and from Depot No. 4 on, it would lay its own bases. These depots were to be placed at:
The need for the extension of the depot system is, perhaps, self-evident. A polar expedition, like an army travelling through a ravished country, must carry its own supplies. It cannot forage. It cannot even expect to meet an occasional animal, as in the Arctic. To attempt to carry its rations throughout the journey would be a herculean task, even if men and dogs could go through with it. So the depot system becomes the inescapable alternative for a long journey. As most trips of this kind are pursued more or less on a straight line to a definite objective, the problem of establishing depots is not particularly difficult. The needs of the party, both of men and dogs, are carefully computed, and definite amounts are cached at definite distances on the outward—or, in this case, southern—journey. These can be picked up on the return journey, so that the party, on its way back to the base, need be carrying only enough food, plus a determined amount for emergency, to see them from depot to depot. In short, if all went well, by the time of the polar flight we should have a well-marked line of communication to the Queen Maud Range, for the support not only of the Geological Party but of the Polar Flight Party as well, if it came a cropper.
Of course, there must always be an element of risk in the most conservatively computed plan of this kind. A protracted blizzard, failure in dog or man power, the meeting of unexpected difficulties can play hob with the schedule, and the history of polar exploration is full of distressing incidents growing out of the “unexpected.” Unless the schedule is sufficiently flexible to take up slack, the time may come, if hard luck befalls the party, when hunger, then suffering and even death exact the toll. As with the Polar Flight plan, the time schedule for the Geological Party was worked out with an allowance of 20 percent as a safety factor, for bad weather and other unavoidable delays. Amundsen, under similar conditions, allowed 18 percent and in spite of much bad weather found this to be more than adequate. However, Amundsen was one of the fastest and most resourceful of sledge travellers, and the Geological Party was inclined, quite wisely, to rate itself considerably below his par.
Again, we were fortunate in that we brought to the Antarctic our own rescue parties. If the dog teams failed, aviation was there to back them up: and vice versa. This, I believe, was one of the most effective weapons in our hands.
The schedule was as follows: (The time intervals indicate that which was allowed for travelling from depot to depot.)
The expected consumption of man and dog food on the southern trip, together with reserves, cached for the return trip, were calculated as follows:
The ration was worked out according to the recommendations of Dr. Coman, and represented a complete and well balanced diet. The total weight of man food requirements was computed at 1209.6 pounds. This was the weight of the food the Geological Party proposed to carry. Part of it, however, was to be relayed by the Supporting Party. In addition, there was a reserve of 250 pounds of man food which had been deposited in the first depots in 1928—a very generous reserve and emergency supply placed where they should be most likely to need it—near the end of the homeward trip.
Calculating the weight of the dog food was an equally difficult problem. The main ration we proposed to use was the dog pemmican compounded by Dr. Malcolm, which theoretically represented a balanced diet. It had never been tried before on long journeys in the Antarctic, but we were encouraged by the report of Taylor, who had 13 dogs steadily sledging on it on Mt. Cook, in New Zealand, that they were in excellent shape. During the winter this pemmican was put up in cakes of 1.5 pounds, representing a daily ration, so that it could be transported easily and distributed with less likelihood of error on the trail.
Dog food schedules were computed as follows:
The decrease in the consumption of dog food from Depot No. 5 on would proceed from the inescapable economy practiced on all long-distance sledging trips—namely, the disposition of the worn-out dogs. It is more merciful to put them to death than let them die of hunger, roaming the Barrier. It may seem cold-blooded—and I suppose it really is—but a table of expectancy is worked out, like the actuarial tables of the life insurance companies, and such a contingency must be provided for. It was proposed that the Geological Party should depart fr
om Little America with five teams of 9 dogs each. The following schedule was drawn:
This was the stark necessity, laid bare of sentiment. But I shamelessly confess that we hoped to defeat it in a large measure. It is a dangerous and an unwise thing for explorers to allow their judgment to be swayed by love of these animals that serve them, yet we found ourselves in exactly that position. If it was at all possible, the Geological Party proposed to maintain four teams of nine dogs each from Depot No. 8 until the return to the base, and if conditions were favorable the aviation unit planned to drop a sufficient quantity of food at the mountain base to see most of the dogs through.
So much for the larger aspects of the journey.
There was the matter of equipment.
Camping equipment must be strong enough to withstand the hardest kind of handling, and yet light enough not to be cumbersome. There are as many different kinds of tents, I suppose, as there are explorers. There are two-men tents, three-men tents and four-men tents, and the shapes, sizes and weights vary according to the personal predilections of the particular school of thought to which an explorer happens to belong. We had about a dozen different models that we took down, products of my experience in the Arctic, and tents used by successful explorers.
Tents are vital. As with the sledges, we planned to make our own tents. We had brought the material south, and Goodale was appointed the research specialist on tents. He tried out many different types during the winter. The qualities which stamped a good tent for a sledging journey of this kind are: (1) that every square inch of space shall be economically employed, (2) that it shall be strong enough to withstand a high wind, (3) that it can be well ventilated, (4) that it can be put up and struck easily and quickly, (5) that it shall be strong enough to withstand the hardest kind of handling, and (6) that it should have a color that can be seen afar and will also absorb the heat of the sun.
In the end, we hit upon a design which was called the Woods tent, because it so nearly resembled the tent of that name which we had brought from the United States. The Geological Party actually decided on three types—two of the Woods pattern, and a pyramidal tent for cooking designed by Ronne. Ronne’s tent was very similar to the tents which he had made for Amundsen. It was made of light windproof material over a framework of bamboo poles and stood about 6 feet high. It weighed only 25 pounds. The Woods tent was of the same material and approximately the same height and weight. Its shape, however, was quite different. It was more or less wedge-shaped with a ridge pole running its length at the top and bamboo poles in the four corners. Its value lay in the fact that it could be put up very quickly and though it had no center pole, thus saving space, it was very strong. Its entrance was like the sleeve of a coat, the opening of which could be tied together after one had crawled into the tent. It was, therefore, snow tight. Each tent was provided with anchor lines so that it could be tied securely to the snow.
From time immemorial, explorers have had difficulties with cookers. The perfect cooker—well, there is no such animal, nor can there ever be one. The problem is to get a stove that will melt snow in a comparatively short time and at the same time burn very little fuel; it should be light, strong and easy to start, for time is a most precious element on a long sledging trip. The most efficient cooker heretofore devised for the trail was the Nansen cooker, invented by the great explorer whose name it bears. This cooker is built around a two-burner primus, than which there is no more reliable burner for the polar regions. But this cooker could be improved slightly, we thought, and if a few minutes could be saved in the cooking of each meal on the trail, much of the hardships inherent in sledging might be reduced. Few things are more nerve-racking after a day’s hard pulling than to sit, in damp clothing, with a bottomless stomach crying for something warm and nourishing, waiting for a pitifully weak flame to reduce snow to water, then bring water to the boiling point.
The cooker which Czegka devised, with the help of June, was, we believe, an improvement on Nansen’s invention, if not a great departure from it. It utilized double walls, so built that all the heat generated by burners is put to useful work before it passes out of the cooker at atmospheric temperature. It has three pots—a center pot, holding four quarts, a ring pot holding nine and a top pot holding four—in which is placed the snow. Spigots are let in the sides, so that the water may be drained. The snow in the center pot is melted at the end of seven minutes, and begins to boil after twelve. About a third of a pot of water is produced. However, by this time enough hot water has accumulated in the ring and top pots to be drained off the center pot and used to fill the center pot. Soup is then cooked in the center pot, and, meanwhile, the ring and top pots yield enough water for the making of tea. So the soup is distributed, the water from the other two pots is transferred again to the center pot, and by the time the soup is consumed, a pot of boiling water for tea is at their service. In short, a full meal may be had in from 30 to 40 minutes.
It may sound complicated, but it really isn’t.
Still another device was proposed for sledging. Any one familiar with polar literature will know that getting an early start in the morning is one of the most difficult tasks of the journey. It is hardship enough to quit warm sleeping bags. It is torture to wait in the usual huddle for warm food. Amundsen, Scott and Shackleton all have spoken, almost in despair, of the daily battle to get underway at a seasonable hour. Gould decided to have the Geological Party try oatmeal for breakfast, which was to be cooked the night before and sealed in vacuum buckets, thus insuring warm food immediately upon arising. I must confess that I was horrified at the idea of “puddling” around with oatmeal on a sledging trip. Pemmican, tea, biscuits, chocolate bars and erbswurst seemed to me to be enough, but Gould and his men were thoroughly determined that it could be done, and they were to prove that they were right.
There were many other things that had to be taken, and figured out with nice precision. Only a person who has taken a long sledging journey can appreciate the detail that must be worked out. Harnesses must be made strong, yet light, and a proper amount of reserve equipment taken to replace that which wears out. Ski poles and needles, theodolites and toilet paper, mitts and trail markers, whisk brooms to brush the rime from saennegrass and windproofs, navigation instruments and even strips of orange cloth to be spread on the snow according to the intricate patterns that were devised as a means of signalling to the plane in flight. And so on, ad infinitum.
In all, it was proposed to carry a grand total of 5,368 pounds and 14 ounces, distributed as follows:
A load, then, of 1,073 lbs., 12 ozs. per sledge
“But that’s far too much,” Mike Thorne protested. “If we have cold weather at the start, it will be very difficult to make good time with such heavy loads.”
Most of the men were confident, and a few were dubious at first, and it was decided that the Geological Party should make a test trip in the spring before the main advance was started to determine whether or not the theories could stand up against the hard facts of experience. These preliminary spring journeys were to show that in the Antarctic the best laid plans are subject to change.
The planning of spring activities by no means monopolized the efforts of the expedition during the winter. The scientific staff was constantly at work, especially the magnetician, the meteorologists and the radiomen.
In addition to the ordinary surface observations of pressure, temperature, wind, etc., Haines and Harrison made pilot balloons every day, in a study of the upper circulation of the air. Some of these soundings were made to altitudes of 30,000 feet and more, and are significant in that the unbroken series of observations will throw considerable new light upon the atmospheric circulation in high southern latitudes, when they complete their reports. Curiously, the movements of the upper air were found to furnish the only reliable indications by which immediate changes in weather might be prophesied.
Our senior meteorologist had decided that there was no sense in being cold if one could avoi
d it; and when the thermometer tumbled into the forties, fifties and sixties below zero, the devices and schemes by which he enlisted assistants for the more disagreeable jobs are past recounting. He would cast a covetous eye on our bright young men, a number of whom thirsted for knowledge, and by shrewd argument which turned, generally, on how a knowledge of meteorology would help him get along in the world, would finally lead an unsuspecting youth into the cold.
Not long afterwards the assistant might be seen inflating balloons in the Balloon Station, and heating the candles which are attached to them so that the balloons can be followed through the darkness by theodolite. The candles had frozen so hard they had to be warmed before they would burn. All this while, our beloved chief meteorologist might be observed huddled in the shelter of the station, out of reach of the wind, generous to a fault with sound advice, but painfully short on assistance. His success in thus gaining cooperation was such as to cause Davies to define him as “the nominative of the verb to co-opt.” I shall never forget how Taffy, after suffering for weeks under Haines’ amiable tyranny, finally applied the same principle to his study of magnetism. Taffy trained several young men to help him, then sat back, in the warmth of the stove to await results. To his horror he found them, when he went out to supervise the job, working heartily under Haines, who had recognized their possibilities and over-night proselyted them to meteorology. But, seriously, Haines is one of the most conscientious men I have ever known. I can say that because I know him as the result of having had him on two expeditions, and the dirtiest weather could not prevent him from accumulating an immense amount of data which he had set out to get.
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