THE FIRST OPEN WATER
The first serious obstacle of the sledge journey was encountered the
second day out from land. The day was cloudy, the wind continuing to
blow from the east with unabated violence. Again I intentionally brought
up the rear of my division, in order to see that everything was going
right and that every one was accounted for. The going was much the same
as on the previous day, rough and trying to the endurance of men, dogs
and sledges.
When we had made about three-quarters of a march we saw ahead of us a
dark ominous cloud upon the northern horizon, which always means open
water. There is always fog in the neighborhood of the leads. The open
water supplies the evaporation, the cold air acts as a condenser, and
when the wind is blowing just right this forms a fog so dense that at
times it looks as black as the smoke of a prairie fire.
Sure enough, just ahead of us were black spots against the snow which I
knew to be my various divisions held up by a lead. When we came up with
them I saw a lane of open water, about a quarter of a mile wide, which
had formed since the captain had passed the day before. The wind had
been getting in its work!
I gave the word to camp (there was nothing else to do), and while the
igloos were being built, Marvin and MacMillan made a sounding from the
edge of the lead, getting ninety-six fathoms.
This march to the edge of the lead put us beyond the British record of
83° 20´ made by Captain Markham, R. N., north of Cape Joseph Henry, May
12, 1876.
Before daylight the next morning we heard the grinding of the ice, which
told us that the lead was at last crushing together, and I gave the
signal to the other three igloos, by pounding with a hatchet on the ice
floor of my igloo, to fire up and get breakfast in a hurry. The morning
was clear again, excepting for the wind haze, but the wind still
continued to blow with unabated violence.
With the first of the daylight we were hurrying across the lead on the
raftering young ice, which was moving, crushing, and piling up with the
closing of the sides of the lead. If the reader will imagine crossing a
river on a succession of gigantic shingles, one, two, or three deep and
all afloat and moving, he will perhaps form an idea of the uncertain
surface over which we crossed this lead. Such a passage is distinctly
trying, as any moment may lose a sledge and its team, or plunge a member
of the party into the icy water. On the other side there was no sign of
Bartlett's trail. This meant that the lateral movement (that is east and
west) of the ice shores of the lead had carried the trail along with it.
After an hour or two of marching, we found ourselves in the fork of two
other leads, and unable to move in any direction. The young ice (that
is, the recently frozen ice) on the more westerly of these leads,
though too thin to sustain the weight of the sledges, was yet strong
enough to bear an Eskimo, and I sent Kyutah to the west to scout for the
captain's trail, while the other Eskimos built out of snow blocks a
shelter from the wind, and repaired some minor damages to our sledges.
In half an hour or so Kyutah returned from the west, signaling that he
had found Bartlett's trail. Soon after he reached us a movement of the
shores of the lead to the west crushed up the narrow ribbon of unsafe
young ice over which he had passed, and we were able to hurry across
with sledges and push west for the trail, which was about a mile and a
half distant.
When we reached the trail we saw, by the tracks of men and dogs pointing
south, that Borup had already passed that way on his return to Columbia,
in accordance with my program. He had probably crossed the lead and was
now scouting for our trail somewhere on the southerly side.
As soon as Marvin, who was following me, came up, I had Kyutah throw off
his sledge load, and sent Marvin and the Eskimo on the back trail to
"Crane City," Cape Columbia. I did this partly because of the
possibility that there might be complications there in which Borup, who
was new to the work, would feel the need of a man of Marvin's wider
experience, and partly because many of our alcohol and petroleum tins
had sprung leaks in the rough going of the last few days, and an
additional supply was needed to make up for present and possible future
loss. The change of the loads was effected in a few minutes, without
delay to the main party, which kept right on, and Marvin and his dusky
companion were soon out of sight.
The captain's third camp was reached before dark that night. All day
long the wind kept us company, and we could see by the water clouds all
about us that the leads were open here and there in every direction.
Fortunately none of them immediately crossed our trail, and the going
was much as on the previous day.
[Illustration: APPROACHING A LEAD THROUGH ROUGH ICE]
During this march we saw, above the summits of the great land mountains
which were still visible to the south of us, a flaming blade of yellow
light which reached half way to the zenith--in other words, after nearly
five months, we could almost see the sun again as he skimmed along just
under the southern horizon. Only a day or two more, and his light would
shine directly upon us. The feeling of the arctic traveler for the
returning sun after the long darkness is a feeling hard to interpret to
those who are accustomed to seeing the sun every morning.
On the following day, March 4, the weather changed. The sky was overcast
with clouds, the wind had swung completely around to the west during the
night, there were occasional squalls of light snow, and the thermometer
had risen to only 9° below zero. This temperature, after that of the
minus fifties, in which we had been traveling, seemed almost
oppressively warm. The leads were even more numerous than the day
before, and their presence was clearly outlined by the heavy black
clouds. A mile or two east of us there was a lead stretching far to the
north and directly parallel with our course, which did not cause us any
apprehension. But a broad and ominous band of black extending far to the
east and west across our course and apparently ten or fifteen miles to
the north of us, gave me serious concern. Evidently the ice was all
abroad in every direction, and the high temperature and snow
accompanying the west wind proved that there was a large amount of open
water in that direction.
The outlook was not pleasant, but as some compensation the going was not
quite so rough. As we advanced, I was surprised to find that as yet none
of the leads cut Bartlett's trail. Consequently we made good progress,
and though the march was distinctly longer than the previous one, we
reached Bartlett's igloo in good time.
[Illustration: STOPPED BY OPEN WATER]
Here I found a note from Bartlett which had evidently been despatched by
an Eskimo, informing me that he was in camp about a mile farther
north--held up by open water. This explained the black, ominous band
which I had been watching for hours on the northern horizon, and which
had gradually risen as we approached until it was now almost overhead.
Pushing on, we soon reached the captain's camp. There I found the
familiar unwelcome sight which I had so often before me on the
expedition of 1905-06--the white expanse of ice cut by a river of inky
black water, throwing off dense clouds of vapor which gathered in a
sullen canopy overhead, at times swinging lower with the wind and
obscuring the opposite shore of this malevolent Styx.
The lead had opened directly through the heavy floes, and, considering
that these floes are sometimes one hundred feet in thickness, and of
almost unimaginable weight, the force that could open such a river
through them is comparable with the forces that threw up the mountains
on the continents and opened the channels between the lands.
Bartlett told me that during the previous night in the camp a mile
farther south where I had found his note, the noise caused by the
opening of this great lead had awakened him from sleep. The open water
was now about a quarter of a mile in width, and extended east and west
as far as we could see when we climbed to the highest pinnacle of ice in
the neighborhood of our camp.
Two or three miles to the east of us, as we could see by the vapor
hanging over it, the north and south lead which had paralleled our last
two marches intersected the course of the lead beside which we were
encamped.
Though farther south than where we had encountered the "Big Lead" in
1906, north of Cape Hecla, this one had every resemblance to that great
river of open water which on the way up we had called "the Hudson," and
on our way back--when it seemed that those black waters had cut us off
forever from the land--we had renamed "the Styx." The resemblance was so
strong that even the Eskimos who had been with me on the expedition
three years before spoke about it.
I was glad to see that there was no lateral movement in the ice; that
is, that the two shores of the lead were not moving east or west, or in
opposite directions. The lead was simply an opening in the ice under the
pressure of the wind and the spring tides, which were now swelling to
the full moon on the 6th.
Captain Bartlett, with his usual thoughtfulness, had an igloo already
built for me near his own when I arrived. While the other three
divisions were building their igloos the captain took a sounding, and
obtained a depth of one hundred and ten fathoms. We were now about
forty-five miles north of Cape Columbia.
The next day, March 5, was a fine, clear day, with a light westerly
breeze, and a temperature of 20° below zero. For a little while about
noon the sun lay, a great yellow ball, along the southern horizon. Our
satisfaction at seeing it again was almost compensation for our
impatience at being delayed there--beside the gradually widening lead.
Had it not been cloudy on the 4th, we should have seen the sun one day
earlier.
During the night the lead had narrowed somewhat, raftering the young
ice. Then, under the impulse of the tidal wave, it had opened wider than
ever, leaving, in spite of the constantly forming ice, a broad band of
black water before us. I sent MacMillan back with three dog teams and
three Eskimos to bring up the load which Kyutah had thrown off before he
went back to the land with Marvin, and also to bring up a portion of
Borup's cache which we had not been able to load on our sledges.
MacMillan also took a note to leave at Kyutah's cache, telling Marvin
where we were held up, and urging him to hurry forward with all possible
speed. The remainder of the party occupied themselves repairing damaged
sledges and in drying their clothing over the little oil hand lamps.
All the next day we were still there beside the lead. Another day, and
we were still there. Three, four, five days passed in intolerable
inaction, and still the broad line of black water spread before us.
Those were days of good traveling weather, with temperatures ranging
from minus 5° to minus 32°, a period of time which might have carried
us beyond the 85th parallel but for those three days of wind at the
start which had been the cause of this obstruction in our course.
During those five days I paced back and forth, deploring the luck which,
when everything else was favorable--weather, ice, dogs, men, and
equipment--should thus impede our way with open water. Bartlett and I
did not talk much to each other during those days. It was a time when
silence seemed more expressive than any words. We looked at each other
occasionally, and I could see from the tightening of Bartlett's jaw all
that I needed to know of what was going on in his mind.
Each day the lead continued to widen before us, and each day we looked
anxiously southward along the trail for Marvin and Borup to come up. But
they did not come.
Only one who had been in a similar position could understand the gnawing
torment of those days of forced inaction, as I paced the floe in front
of the igloos most of the time, climbing every little while to the top
of the ice pinnacle back of the igloos to strain my eyes through the dim
light to the south, sleeping through a few hours out of each
twenty-four, with one ear open for the slightest noise, rising
repeatedly to listen more intently for the eagerly desired sound of
incoming dogs--all this punctuated, in spite of my utmost efforts at
self-control, with memories of the effect of the delay at the "Big Lead"
on my prospects in the previous expedition. Altogether, I think that
more of mental wear and tear was crowded into those days than into all
the rest of the fifteen months we were absent from civilization.
The additional supply of oil and alcohol, which Marvin and Borup were to
bring to me, was, I felt, vital to our success; but even if they did not
come in with it, I could not turn back here. While pacing the floe, I
figured out how we should use our sledges piecemeal as fuel in our
cookers, to make tea after the oil and alcohol were gone. By the time
the wood of the sledges was exhausted, it would be warm enough so that
we could suck ice or snow to assuage our thirst, and get along with our
pemmican and raw dog without tea. But, though I planned, it was a plan
of desperation. It was a harrowing time, that period of waiting.