Little America

by Richard Evelyn Byrd Jr.

  Our noon position was Lat. 70° S., Long. 178° E.

  Wednesday

  February 26th

  We are out of the pack at last. It was tough going for a while—but really not bad. Recent southerly winds had massed a lot of ice against the southern edge of the pack. This was thick enough to impede us considerably—in fact, stopped us once altogether. Then a walloping 35-mile wind came out of the south, and literally pushed us through. We set all sails, and with the wind behind us plowed through, gaining an open lead. Later the City averaged as high as five knots going through rotten ice, patches of which are at least four feet thick.

  When night fell, the ship hove to. The lead we were following had narrowed down and rather than run the risk of crashing against a heavy floe in the darkness we decided to wait until daybreak before continuing. In the morning conditions were much better, and the northern edge of the pack was made up of loose floes. We turned westward and are making for the Kosmos.

  There has been no sun for several days, and we are proceeding by dead reckoning. The slush was freezing behind us as we quit the pack.

  Friday

  February 28th

  Homeward bound.

  Early this morning we came alongside the Kosmos and transferred Mason and Taylor’s dogs. The Bolling was nearby. I cannot describe how strange it was to see new faces after these many months.

  Poor Mason went up in a basket operated by a winch, and after him went the dogs. One crate fell between two ships, but the dogs were saved. The sea was quite rough, and we used a couple of dead whales as bumpers between the two ships. The odor was simply terrible.

  I paid my regards to Captain Andresen and to Dr. Barnes, who, in volunteering to serve aboard the Kosmos is living up to the best traditions of the expedition. The Kosmos has excellent hospital facilities and Mason is certain of good care.

  A heavy swell was running and we had a most difficult time to find water smooth enough to permit the Bolling to come alongside. We tried it first in the lee of a huge iceberg but the water was much too rough and we were finally forced to enter heavy pack which was quite dangerous to the unprotected rudder posts of the Bolling. However, the sea was quieter there.

  The journey is almost run. In a few days we shall see Dunedin and our friends. Then home. The mission is done, and well, I hope … I hope it sincerely, principally for these men who have gone each step of the way with me. They have given two years of their lives to the service of science, a hard and grudging master, and it would be a pity if their sacrifice were neither understood nor appreciated.

  To what is already written I can add little more. There is the wish, however, to restate our debt to the men who showed the way in the Antarctic—to Scott, Shackleton, Amundsen, Mawson, and the rest of that fine company. There is the wish also to put an end, once and for all, to the journalistic practice of referring to our efforts as the “conquest” of the Antarctic. The Antarctic has not been conquered. At best we simply tore away a bit more of the veil which conceals its secrets. An immense job yet remains to be done. The Antarctic will yield to no single expedition, nor yet to half a dozen. In its larger aspects, it still remains, and will probably remain for many years to come, one of the great undone tasks of the world.

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE GEOLOGICAL SLEDGE TRIP

  BY DR. LAURENCE M. GOULD

  IN his original plans for sledging operations southward from Little America, Admiral Byrd had expected to have the dog teams proceed directly south to the Queen Maud Range at the foot of Axel Heiberg Glacier. En route they were to establish bases that could be used by the airplanes for flights to the east or west as well as over the pole. The loss of the Fokker on the geological trip to the Rockefeller Mountains during the first season of operations necessarily curtailed the work that could be done by airplane. Of all places of interest, both geologically and geographically, the Queen Maud Mountains, especially at their junction with the supposed Carmen Land, had first place. With the loss of the Fokker it was impossible for the geologist to have a plane at his disposal to reach these fields of activity. Consequently it was decided to have the southern sledging trip provide the means for geological and geographical research in this section as well as to lay bases for possible use by the airplanes. The designation of the party was then changed to the Geological Sledging Party under the leadership of the expedition geologist.

  To reach the places desired by the geologist it was necessary to plan for a much longer sledge trip than had been originally visioned. These plans were consummated and the long trip was made possible only because of the excellent cooperation of the Supporting Party whose work has been elsewhere described.

  A large part of the winter was consumed in making plans and completing preparations for the trip. To understand the reasons for the success of the trip, a knowledge of these preparations is essential. The first thing to occupy our attention was, of course, food; and, with the assistance of Dr. Coman, we worked out the following very generous ration:

  The above items were the essential constituents of our ration, but in addition, more or less as delicacies for occasional use to add variety, we included:

  The greatest innovation in the above is oatmeal. It was necessary in preparing rations for such a lengthy trip to take food that needed little or no cooking, in view of the fact that our entire fuel supply had to be carried with us. We did some experiments during the winter and found that a vacuum jug made an excellent fireless cooker, and that it was only necessary to bring the oatmeal to a boil and put it into the jug after supper to find it well cooked by morning. Furthermore, after breakfast we filled the jug with hot tea so that we could make our noonday stop and have a hot drink without lighting a fire. This system worked out well, and throughout the summer we had two bowls of hot oatmeal and milk for breakfast with two cups of hot tea and a biscuit: for lunch, two cups of tea, a 4 oz. bar of chocolate and two biscuits: for supper, two or three bowls of rich stew made of pemmican and soup rolls, four biscuits and two cups of tea. The other items in our rations were used from time to time by way of variety.

  For a cooker we used an adaptation of the Nansen cooker designed and built by Victor Czegka, the machinist. For the standard one burner primus, a two burner arrangement was substituted. I dare say no one has ever used a more efficient stove than this one.

  Of almost equal importance to our own food, was that of the dogs. It was a rare bit of good fortune that Dr. Malcolm, Professor of Chemistry at Otago University in Dunedin, New Zealand, interested himself in our behalf. He designed a pemmican that represented a correctly balanced diet which the dogs liked and on which they thrived throughout the trip.

  Little need be said about our personal equipment, for it did not differ essentially from that used by Admiral Byrd and others who went far afield by air.

  The sledges came in for a good deal of alteration. We planned to have five dog teams of nine dogs each with each team hauling two sledges in tandem. When we finally left Little America we used for lead sledges, one single-ended flexible sledge, two double-ended flexible sledges, and two double-ended rigid freight sledges such as had been used so successfully in transporting supplies from the ships to Little America. For the second or trailer sledges we used much lighter types, two single-ended sledges supplied by Amundsen and three sledges with runners made from skis. We found the rigid freight sledges heavy and cumbersome to handle on the trail, and as our loads lightened these were the first sledges we abandoned. In every particular for use on the trail we found the flexible type—that is one bound together by rawhide thongs—superior. All of these flexible sledges which we used were lashed together by Strom and Balchen, and the two double-ended lead sledges were entirely constructed by them. I do not think that any explorers have had better sledges than these two.

  In addition to the expected amount of camp gear, ropes and materials for making repairs, we carried a moving picture camera and six thousand feet of film, two still cameras with an abundance of film, a
radio receiver and transmitter with hand generator, and flags for marking the trail.

  We planned to mark the trail at half mile intervals with small orange flags. Surmounting each depot of dog food, man food and fuel to be laid down at fifty mile intervals from Little America to the foot of the Queen Maud Mountains, was to be a large flag. Furthermore a line of trail flags, spaced at one-fourth mile intervals, was to be placed to the east and west of the depots for a distance of five miles. The flag sticks thus set out were to be numbered serially beginning with one and proceeding away from the depot on either side. Flags to the east to have a capital E together with the appropriate number, while those to the west were to have a W with appropriate number. Thus a flag stick marked with W-2 would be eight flags or two miles west of the depot. For the first 200 miles of the trip southward, which ended with depot No. 4, this system of marking the trail and laying depots was carried out by the Supporting Party.

  As our plans stood completed we planned to sledge directly south from Little America to the foot of the Queen Maud Mountains, where we would establish a base where Admiral Byrd could make a cache of gasoline and oil for refueling on the polar flight. After the polar flight we planned to scale Mt. Nansen, if possible, and then sledge eastward along the foot of the range, at least as far as Carmen Land. We were then to return to our base camp, established when we reached the mountains, and follow our trail back toward Little America as far as depot No. 5 at latitude 82° 35’ south. We then proposed to leave the trail and head northeast to investigate Amundsen’s recorded appearances of land, after which we would return to our main trail at depot No. 3, and then back to Little America.

  Neither the Supporting Party nor the Geological Party found any evidence of this land on their way south. On his first flight south to lay a cache of gasoline and oil for the polar flight, Admiral Byrd found that there was no land whatever showing toward the east. The Geological Party therefore naturally abandoned its plan to leave the main trail when homeward bound. Otherwise the plans as outlined above were carried out.

  By the middle of October both sledging parties were ready to depart. On the morning of October 15, 1929, the Supporting Party took its final departure. We decided to go along with them for a few days, just by way of testing out our own equipment and to have our heavy loads at least a few miles under way when we took our final departure. In my own unenlightened eagerness to be of use, I attempted, with my skis on, to drive Mike Thorne’s team. The results were disastrous. My skis became entangled with dogs and sledges. I was so badly bruised as a result that I brought my own party back to Little America from only 20 miles out. Two days after our return to Little America the five dog teams departed again on what we termed the 100 mile trip. I remained in camp to recuperate. They moved our heavy loads out to depot No. 2, 100 miles south of Little America, and then returned to Little America, arriving on October 28th.

  Some seven days were consumed in making desired alterations in our equipment and giving the dogs a good rest. Finally on November 4th everything was ready for our final departure. There were six of us—Frederick E. Crockett, dog driver and radio operator; Edward E. Goodale, dog driver; George A. Thorne, dog driver and topographer; J. S. O’Brien, dog driver and surveyor; Norman D. Vaughan, dog driver and in general charge of all the dogs; and myself in the role of navigator, cook, and of course geologist.

  It was a dull gray day with overcast sky—at one P. M.—that we took our departure.

  The first 100 miles, of course, were dead easy, for my companions had previously advanced our heavy sledge load to that point. From here south it was hard work Little need be said about our travel to depot No. 4, established by the Supporting Party at 81° 43’, for they had traversed and marked this part of our route ahead of us. Their difficulties in crossing the badly crevassed area between 81° south and depot No. 4 have been described. The fact that they preceded us and marked the trail made our crossing relatively easy. Recrossing this area two months later on our homeward trip was, however, a different story.

  We arrived at depot No. 4, the last outpost of the Supporting Party, on November 17th. From here on our work became heavier, and the dogs had already all the load they should haul. Yet somehow we had to carry on from here at least 500 pounds of dog food. We loaded it onto our sledges, and on the morning of November 18th we started southward pioneering our way.

  We had long since learned that the dogs keep a straighter course if someone leads the trail ahead. George Thorne, or Mike, as we all called him, was eminently fitted to lead the way. Thus we travelled with Mike ahead, immediately I came driving his team so that I could watch the compass on the sledge and call ahead to him as necessary, “right,” “left” or “steady.” He had such a good sense of direction that he needed but little steering from me.

  This first day with the additional loads was a disheartening one. Everybody was tugging at ropes tied to the sledges trying to help the dogs along, and Mike and Norman even carried heavy packs on their backs. Even so we travelled but 8 miles. The mountains seemed infinitely far away that night. Our sense of slowness in travel was further accentuated that day, for just after noon we suddenly heard behind and above us an unfamiliar and unexpected roar. We looked up to see the Floyd Bennett soaring over us southward bound to lay a cache of gasoline, oil and food for use on the polar flight. A sharper contrast between the old and the new methods of travel could hardly be pictured. Here was Commander Byrd and his party covering in four hours a distance which took us four weeks to cover with our dogs.

  November 19th we travelled 12 miles, and the dogs were so utterly tired out that we deemed it best to give them a holiday. Accordingly we let them rest the 20th. This was a good idea. From now on things began to go better. And from here on to the mountains we travelled along without greatly fearing but that we should be able to make our goal.

  From the crevassed area to the mountains the Barrier is quite flat and unbroken. The following entries from my log describe typical days over this part of our journey: “Nov. 21. Fairly good surface this morning—few low sastrugi but well coated over. Overcast but with fair visibility this morning. Became steadily worse and at 10 o’clock a light snowfall began. The horizon promptly disappeared, and we are in that sort of milky light when every direction—up, down, left, right—all look alike. One could not even distinguish the snow surface at his feet. One had the curious sensation of being suspended in a world of opaque white. I became fairly dizzy watching the compass and then looking up to see if Mike was on the course. I would level my eyes toward him and then find him up above me 45 degrees, so it seemed.”

  “November 25. Rough sastrugi which we had to cross diagonally and which made the compass bound about badly and steering, therefore, difficult. As is always the case, these sastrugi trend in an ESE to WNW direction. We were sure at noon that at last we could see the long sought for mountains. Shortly after noon, the southerly haze lifted and there to the southwest, but still very far away, was a grand escarpment of snow covered peaks, nothing dead ahead. By four o’clock we could distinguish a huge mountain mass almost dead ahead of us. This we believe to be Mt. Nansen. It has been a stimulating afternoon after the almost unchanging travel for the past three weeks over the sastrugi surface of the Barrier.”

  “November 27. Twenty-five to thirty miles of wind this morning with heavy drift, but we would have gone on anyhow but that we were requested to wait until one P. M. for radio schedule with Little America to advise them about the weather, since they were in readiness to take off for the polar flight. Even so we broke camp immediately the schedule was over and were under way by three o’clock.

  “The mountains have drawn much nearer today, so much so that it is hard to believe that they are still 50 miles away. Perfect weather this afternoon with only about 5 miles of wind, made the mountains stand out especially clearly. We could see a great gap in the solid wall of rock, which we believe to be Axel Heiberg Glacier, and we have already altered our course to steer directly towar
d it. (Later we were to learn that it was Liv’s Glacier and not Axel Heiberg toward which we were steering.)

  “The weather has been perfect since noon. Nothing better could be hoped for for the polar flight, but we learn that it is still cloudy and windy at Little America.”

  “On the morning of the 28th I sent a message to Commander Byrd to the effect that the sky was cloudless, that the barometer was high, that there was no wind, and that this looked like the day.

  “It was the day. We remained in camp or stood by for the flight, listening in by radio ready to start with our dog teams to the rescue should the plane have a forced landing. We were not needed, but we did get a real thrill when the Floyd Bennett, poleward bound, zoomed over us and dropped us a parachuted load of films, messages and cigarettes.

  “November 29. Shortly after 9 o’clock, when we learned that the Floyd Bennett had landed at Little America, we broke camp and were under way again.

  “The mountains stood out clearly and beautifully, and we continued to head directly for the great break which we at first thought was Axel Heiberg glacier, but which we are now convinced is Liv’s. The mountains draw perceptibly nearer and it looks very much as though we would surely reach them tomorrow.

  “November 30. The mountains looked so near that we decided to make them or bust—it came very near being the latter. We travelled 35 miles over the toughest going we have ever had, which was complicated by a twenty mile wind from the SE with heavy drifting snow that stung our faces and pushed us about where the surface became icy near the mountains. Fifteen miles away from the mountains the Barrier was pushed up into icy covered ridges by the ice flowing out of the glaciers, and the whole was cut up by a series of great, almost parallel crevasses, miles in length, that crossed our course diagonally. We crossed numberless ones—great huge ones—little ones—open and closed ones—bridges falling in as we hurried across.