FROM THE “BIG LEAD” TO 87° 6′ N. LAT.
The night of April 2d was fine until early morning when it clouded up,
and when we got under way it was dark and threatening, with a biting
wind right from the direction of the Pole, swinging later to the west.
The ice was shrouded in the shadowless light peculiar to these
conditions, making it almost impossible to see Henson’s trail. I found
that our camp floe was an island; a broad lane of young ice separating
it from the other ice. After passing two or three more narrow lanes of
young ice, we got beyond the most pronounced traces of the recent
disturbance, and travelled over heavy old ice, with snow somewhat deeper
and softer than south of the “Big Lead.” There was no season’s ice and
recent pressure ridges were infrequent. We reached Henson’s igloo where
his record told what a hard march they had and how tired they were,
etc., etc. The sun, now continuously above the horizon, shone for a bit
as we camped.
Thick and blowing from the north all night, and the same when we got
under way the 4th. The diffused light made it very difficult to follow
the nearly wind-obliterated trail. Frequent snow squalls from the north
and west added annoyance. At noon it began to lighten and when we
reached Henson’s igloo, the wind had ceased and the sun was trying to
shine. Some season’s ice and two narrow leads of recent ice were crossed
in this march. The rest of the way we had heavy old floes, some of them
the blue hummock kind, on which the going was good, interrupted by old
ruptures and belts of rubble ice over which the going was very bad.
These places served as nets to catch all the snow blown off the level
places, and there it lay soft and deep. It was going that would
seriously discourage an ordinary party, but my little brown children of
the ice cheerfully tooled their sledges through it with the skill born
of life-long experience and habit.
The wind and thick weather came on again during the night of the 4th and
continued. We got under way at 3:30 A. M. and found following the trail
very difficult in the diffused light, and possible only with constant
attention and straining of the eyes. This was distinctly fatiguing, and
added to the depressing effect of the weather, was a strain which I made
up my mind to avoid as much as possible in future by not travelling in
thick weather except when compelled to. The going for the first two
hours was through a zone of rafters and rubble with deep snow; after
that came old blue-topped floes (some of them more massive than I had
ever seen) interrupted by old rafters.
In some places the floes were level, swept free of snow in large
patches, and beautifully blue. One bit of season’s ice and two or three
narrow leads, or rather cracks, were crossed. I was not surprised at the
end of six hours to come upon Henson in camp with his party. “Too thick
to travel,” and all more or less worried at being so far away, the hard
travelling, etc. I set my men building an igloo, and hoped the sun would
clear away the thick weather as it had the day before, and give a chance
to start soon. While building my igloo a crack opened with a loud noise
nearly all round our place, greatly disturbing Sipsu’s sensitive nerves.
Later thick snow came on with the increasing wind. Through carelessness
I frosted my entire left cheek during the march and this I anticipated
would cause me some annoyance as it was in my heavy beard. After the
igloo was built my men overhauled and repaired their sledges thoroughly.
All night the wind and snow continued from the west, and during the
night (probably with the turn of the tide) the cracks closed up with a
good deal of noise, ending with two severe bumps as our floe came to a
bearing all around.
In the morning another movement began. Henson’s igloo which was a little
nearer the rafter than mine, was shattered, and his men built another in
the centre of the floe and moved there. The spring tides of the April
full moon were running now, and with the wind would probably open the
“Hudson River” again. Marvin, however, and I hoped Clark, should be well
over by this time with their supplies, and out on the road. I hoped this
storm would clear the condensation out of the air, and give us another
spell of fine weather in which we might accomplish something.
The ten days’ delay of Henson’s party, and seven of mine, in fine
weather, had been a terrible set-back. Without that we should have been
beyond Abruzzi’s highest now. As it was I was two degrees ahead of four
years ago, when I left Cape Hecla.
The wind and snow continued all night of the 6th and the forenoon of the
7th, then the sun broke through and showed that it was no longer
snowing, though the wind continued unabated accompanied by a furious and
blinding drift.
On this date Nansen reached his highest, and but for the accursed lead,
I should now have been ahead of him. As it was I was behind him and
stalled again. Came on thick again during the night and continued
blowing and drifting without abatement. It seemed as if it _must_ clear
off some time, but as yet there were no signs of it.
The wind continued its infernal howling past the igloo and among the
pinnacles of the rafter close by all night. I was so comfortable
physically, however (barring my stumps which were always cold when I was
not walking, and sometimes even then) that there was nothing to distract
me from its hell-born music, or keep me from thinking of the unbearable
delay. It seemed as if I had been here a month. The wind which had been
a little south of true west swung more to the south, the drift was less
dense, as if the bulk of the snow were packed, and I fancied there was
less weight in the wind in the evening. I hoped to God it would clear
soon. I was curious also to see if the continued blow had materially
changed our position to the east. There had been no detectable
disturbance in the ice since the morning of the 6th. This could be
accounted for in two ways; one that the ice was already jammed to the
eastward, and the old floes too heavy (and with no young ice between) to
permit any compacting or shutting up; the other that the central pack
(detached from the land ice along the big lead) was moving eastward as
one mass. I could not help thinking that in the latter case, the
differences of wind pressure and water resistance of the different floes
would cause more or less motion among them, or at least cause strains
that would be more pronounced. It would be surprising if the “Hudson”
was not wide open now, and I hoped Marvin and Clark were across it with
their supplies, and the former near enough to overtake me in a march or
two from here. If the “Hudson” was open and they the other side of it,
it would necessitate a decided modification of my plans, for the season
was too late now for me to wait for them to come up. I must push on with
what I had here, and take the chances of good going, long marches, and
the certainty of eating dog again before I got back to land.
April 10th was another miserable day. The wind not quite so violent, but
still continuing with a heavy drift that made travelling out of the
question.
Temporarily at least I had got past chafing at the delay and simply
longed for the cessation of the infernal music, and to see the bright
sun glinting on the ice-fields again, as a thin-blooded invalid in
winter longs for the soft breath of summer.
I cheated as much of the time away as possible, planning what I would do
when I got back, and then I ran against the black wall, unless I win
_here_, all these things fall through. Success is what will give them
existence. Then I went over again what I should do in the various
contingencies, if it ever cleared, but that did not take long. I knew
what I should do in every contingency I could think of.
And always through the black shadow of impending failure showed the
steady light of so many days nearer my island and its people.
I quote from my Journal:
Another day, the sixth of the interminable gale. Will it never end? The
wind and drift continue with unabated violence. For some three hours
to-day, I pushed, and butted, and at times almost crawled on hands and
knees, back and forth across the small floe on which we are camped.
This partly for exercise, partly because I could no longer keep quiet,
partly from a desire to determine with certainty, whether, if I were
made of sterner stuff, I might not be travelling. I am perfectly
satisfied now. _No_ party could travel in this gale, not because of the
cold, though that is not slight, but because of the physical
impossibility. To face the gale would quickly wear out the strongest man
living, even if it were possible to expose the face directly for more
than an instant to the cutting drift. I am also satisfied that the
effect of the storm will not be to make the travelling (if it ever
clears) worse; or to obliterate our trail from the “big lead” here.
All the new snow, and some of the old is being scoured off the floes and
deposited in the pressure ridges, and the tracks of my sledges, dogs and
men are left in relief. Six years ago to-day I left Conger for the
Greenland coast.
At last the unprecedented gale abated, or at any rate temporarily
suspended, enough for me to get things moving.
After midnight the violence of the wind moderated, and in the morning
the sun was shining, though a considerable drift was still running, and
a heavy bank of drift lay all around the horizon.
Gradually this subsided, and I was able to get some meridian
observations with the transit. The drift made the use of artificial
horizon impracticable. These observations gave our latitude 85° 12′, and
our longitude but slightly west of the ship at Sheridan.
I immediately started Henson off with two of his men, Panikpah and
Pewahtoo, to push ahead, and at the same time sent off his other man
Sipsu, and one of my men, Ahngodoblaho, to meet Marvin (if he was north
of the “big lead”), and to bring up the supplies left in the small cache
this side the lead if they did not meet him. As I anticipated after the
previous day’s study of the matter, the storm had improved the going. On
the old floes where it had not scoured the snow off entirely, it had
packed it harder, and the patches of rough ice, and the pressure ridges
were now filled with snow hammered in until it would bear a mule. Our
tracks were much more distinct than they were six days before. To the
north of us there was a large floe stretching as far as could be seen.
It was a day of April weather, reminding me very much of the ice-cap;
blue sky with delicate “mare’s tail” clouds, then banks of fog, flurries
of snow, and blue sky again, with a continuous light W. S. W. wind
carrying a low drift along the surface. For several hours there was a
fog bank, probably caused by open leads.
It was well that I had discounted the loss of my provisions at the lead.
Soon after midnight, my two men returned reporting that they had lost
the trail beyond the first igloo south of where we were, and had been
stopped by open water and completely shattered ice extending as far as
they could see from the highest pinnacles.
It was evident that I could no longer count in the slightest degree upon
my supporting parties, and that whatever was to be done now, must be
done with the party, the equipment, the supplies which I had with me.
Unfortunately the party was larger than it need be (eight of us in all),
and the supplies much smaller than I could have wished. I gave my men
their supper and turned over for another nap while they obtained a few
hours’ sleep. I had no occasion to think or worry, I knew already what I
should do in this contingency.
Early in the morning we started after abandoning everything which we did
not absolutely need, and I bent every energy to setting a record pace.
In the legacy of irretrievable damage which the storm had left us was
one small codicil of good. Such snow as the wind had not torn from the
face of the floes was beaten and banked hard, and the snow which had
fallen had been hammered into the areas of rough ice and the shattered
edges of the big floes, so that they gave us little trouble. North of
Storm Camp we had no occasion for snowshoes or pickaxes.
The first march of ten hours, myself in the lead with the compass,
sometimes on a dog-trot, the sledges following in Indian file with
drivers running beside or behind, placed us thirty miles to the good; my
Eskimos said forty.
At the end of the march I was a tired man. Had raised blisters on the
bottom of both my feet, and soft as I was after the days in camp, was
sore in every bone with the rapid pace, which was not less than three
miles an hour. My Eskimos insisted it was nearer four.
The next day the wind was blowing a half gale from west southwest (true)
with a great deal of drift. But we had no time to waste in camp, when
possible to travel at all.
Four and one-half hours after starting, we came upon Henson camped
beside a closed lead where he had been for some twenty hours. He and his
men claimed that it had closed just before I arrived. As I passed they
hitched up and fell in behind my hurrying party. We travelled ten hours,
then camped in very thick weather. During the march we traversed several
large level old floes, which my Eskimos at once remarked, looked as if
they did not move even in summer. We also crossed eleven leads during
the march which however gave us no very serious trouble, a short detour
one way or the other always giving us an opportunity to cross. Several
berg-like pieces of ice discoloured with sand were noted during the
march, my Eskimos saying that these looked as if we were near land. We
travelled at a good pace again during this march, and I felt that we had
covered thirty miles more. I hoped that it was more than this even.
When we started on the next march, it was clear and bright with light
wind and drift, but at noon a dark bank swept over from the west and the
wind increased. At the end of the march we camped beside an open lead
some fifty feet wide, trending apparently northeast and southwest, but
it was now so thick with the driving snow that it was not possible to
determine this with certainty. Building our igloos at this camp was a
disagreeable job in the violent wind and driving snow. Our pace during
this march was not less than two and one-half miles per hour. Several
narrow leads were crossed and after noon we travelled upon almost
continuous one season ice.
At this camp our stay in camp was longer than usual owing to the
continuance of the wind and snow. While here, six worn-out dogs were
killed and fed to the others to save our small store of pemmican, and
the skeleton condition of these dogs as shown when they were skinned,
threw my men into a temporary panic, as they said that the entire pack
might give out at any time and they wanted to turn back from here, but I
told them I was not ready to turn back yet, and should not be until we
had made at least five more marches to the north.
I quote from my Journal:
_April 18th._—What contrasts this country affords. Yesterday hell,
to-day comparative heaven, yet not such heaven as most would voluntarily
choose. The wind died down during the night; this morning the position
of the sun was fairly discernible. Started early and no serious trouble
was experienced in crossing the lead as I had expected. Very rough going
at first through rafters and big drifts, then very decent for the
remainder of the march.
This was the first entirely calm day since leaving the big lead. Clear
except for cirro strata running east and west. We crossed much one
season’s ice, and some only a few days old. No old floes. Travelled ten
hours. We must be close to Abruzzi’s highest now.
During this march the dogs were much excited at one time by the scent of
something to windward, and for three or four miles struck such a pace
that I found it difficult to keep ahead of them even by running, so
stepped one side and let them pass. At the time I thought it might
possibly be a bear and was strongly tempted to go in pursuit. Later I
was very glad that I did not, as the scent noticed by the dogs was
undoubtedly from a seal in an open lead.
As we advanced the character of the ice improved, the floes became
apparently larger and the rafters more infrequent, but the cracks and
narrow leads increased and were nearly all active. These cracks were
uniformly at right angles to our course, and the ice on the northern
side was moving more rapidly eastward than that on the southern. Our
pace was heart-breaking, particularly so as we were on scant rations.
As dogs gave out, unable to keep the pace, they were fed to the others.
April 20th we came into a region of open leads, trending nearly north
and south, and the ice motion became more pronounced. Hurrying on
between these leads a forced march was made. Then we slept a few hours,
and starting again soon after midnight, pushed on till a little before
noon of the 21st.
I should have liked to leave everything at this camp and push on for the
one march with one empty sledge and one or two companions, but I did not
dare to do this owing to the condition of the ice, and was glad as we
advanced that I had not attempted it. I do not know if any of my Eskimos
would have remained behind. In this last spurt we crossed fourteen
cracks and narrow leads, which almost without exception, were in motion.
When my observations were taken and rapidly figured, they showed that we
had reached 87° 6′ north latitude, and had at last beaten the record,
for which I thanked God with as good a grace as possible, though I felt
that the mere beating of the record was but an empty bauble compared
with the splendid jewel on which I had set my heart for years, and for
which, on this expedition, I had almost literally been straining my life
out.
It is perhaps an interesting illustration of the uncertainty or
complexity of human nature that my feelings at this time were anything
but the feelings of exultation which it might be supposed that I should
have. As a matter of fact, they were just the reverse, and my bitter
disappointment combined perhaps with a certain degree of physical
exhaustion from our killing pace on scant rations, gave me the deepest
fit of the blues that I experienced during the entire expedition.
As can perhaps be imagined, I was more than anxious to keep on, but as I
looked at the drawn faces of my comrades, at the skeleton figures of my
few remaining dogs, at my nearly empty sledges, and remembered the
drifting ice over which we had come and the unknown quantity of the “big
lead” between us and the nearest land, I felt that I had cut the margin
as narrow as could reasonably be expected. I told my men we should turn
back from here.
My flags were flung out from the summit of the highest pinnacle near us,
and a hundred feet or so beyond this I left a bottle containing a brief
record and a piece of the silk flag which six years before I had carried
around the northern end of Greenland.
Then we started to return to our last igloo, making no camp here.