GOOD-BY TO THE POLE
We turned our backs upon the Pole at about four o'clock of the afternoon
of April 7. Some effort has been made to give an adequate impression of
the joy with which that remote spot had been reached, but however much
pleasure we experienced upon reaching it, I left it with only that tinge
of sadness that sometimes flashes over one at the thought, "This scene
my eyes will never see again."
Our pleasure at being once more upon the homeward trail was somewhat
lessened by a distinct feeling of anxiety with regard to the task that
still lay before us. All the plans for the expedition were formulated
quite as much with an eye toward a safe return from the Pole as toward
the task of reaching it. The North Pole expedition has some relation to
the problem of flying: a good many people have found that, while it was
not so very difficult to fly, the difficulties of alighting in safety
were more considerable.
It will be remembered, doubtless, that the greatest dangers of the
expedition of 1905-06 were encountered not upon the upward journey, but
in the course of our return from our farthest north over the polar ice,
for it was then that we encountered the implacable "Big Lead," whose
perils so nearly encompassed the destruction of the entire party. And it
will be further remembered that even after the "Big Lead" was safely
crossed and we had barely managed to stagger ashore upon the
inhospitable edge of northernmost Greenland we escaped starvation only
by the narrowest possible margin.
[Illustration: ATTEMPTED SOUNDING, APRIL 7, 1909]
Memories of this narrow escape were, therefore, in the minds of every
member of our little party as we turned our backs upon the North Pole,
and I dare say that every one of us wondered whether a similar
experience were in store for us. We had found the Pole. Should we return
to tell the story? Before we hit the trail I had a brief talk with the
men of the party and made them understand that it was essential that we
should reach the land before the next spring tides. To this end every
nerve must be strained. From now on it was to be a case of "big travel,"
little sleep, and hustle every minute. My plan was to try to make double
marches on the entire return journey; that is to say, to start out,
cover one northward march, make tea and eat luncheon, then cover another
march, then sleep a few hours, and push on again. As a matter of fact,
we did not fall much short of accomplishing this program. To be
accurate, day in and day out we covered five northward marches in three
return marches. Every day we gained on the return lessened the chances
of the trail being destroyed by high winds shifting the ice. There was
one region just above the 87th parallel, a region about fifty-seven
miles wide, which gave me a great deal of concern until we had passed
it. Twelve hours of strong wind blowing from any quarter excepting the
north would have turned that region into an open sea. I breathed a sigh
of relief when we left the 87th parallel behind.
[Illustration: ACTUAL SOUNDING, FIVE MILES SOUTH OF THE POLE, APRIL 7,
1909, 1500 FATHOMS (9000 FT.) NO BOTTOM]
It will be recalled, perhaps, that though the expedition of 1905-06
started for the Pole from the northern shore of Grant Land, just as did
this last expedition, the former expedition returned by a different
route, reaching land again on the Greenland coast. This result was
caused by the fact that strong winds carried the ice upon which we
traveled far to the eastward of our upward course. This time, however,
we met with no such misfortune. For the most part we found the trail
renewed by our supporting parties easily recognizable and in most cases
in good condition. Moreover there was an abundance of food both for men
and for dogs, and so far as equipment went we were stripped as if for
racing. Nor must the stimulating effects of the party's high spirits be
forgotten. Everything, in short, was in our favor. We crowded on all
speed for the first five miles of our return journey. Then we came to a
narrow crack which was filled with recent ice, which furnished a chance
to try for a sounding, a thing that had not been feasible at the Pole
itself on account of the thickness of the ice. Here, however, we were
able to chop through the ice until we struck water. Our sounding
apparatus gave us 1500 fathoms of water with no bottom. As the Eskimos
were reeling in, the wire parted and both the lead and wire went to the
bottom. With the loss of the lead and wire, the reel became useless, and
was thrown away, lightening Ooqueah's sledge by eighteen pounds. The
first camp, at 89° 25´, was reached in good time, and the march would
have been a pleasant one for me but for my eyes burning from the strain
of the continued observations of the previous hours.
After a few hours' sleep we hurried on again, Eskimos and dogs on the
_qui vive_.
At this camp I began the system followed throughout the return march, of
feeding the dogs according to the distance covered; that is, double
rationing them when we covered two marches. I was able to do this, on
account of the reserve supply of food which I had in my dogs themselves,
in the event of our being seriously delayed by open leads.
At the next camp we made tea and ate our lunch in the igloos, rested the
dogs, and then pushed on again. The weather was fine, though there were
apparently indications of a coming change. It took all of our will power
to reach the next igloos, but we did it, and were asleep almost before
we had finished our supper. Without these igloos to look forward to and
work for, we should not have made this march.
Friday, April 9, was a wild day. All day long the wind blew strong from
the north-northeast, increasing finally to a gale, while the thermometer
hung between 18° and 22° below zero. All the leads that we had passed
here on the upward journey were greatly widened and new ones had been
formed. We struck one just north of the 88th parallel which was at least
a mile wide, but fortunately it was all covered with practicable young
ice. It was not a reassuring day. For the last half of this march the
ice was raftering all about us and beneath our very feet under the
pressure of the howling gale. Fortunately we were traveling nearly
before the wind, for it would have been impossible to move and follow a
trail with the gale in our faces. As it was, the dogs scudded along
before the wind much of the time on the gallop. Under the impact of the
storm the ice was evidently crushing southward and bearing us with it. I
was strongly reminded of the wild gale in which we regained "storm camp"
on our return march in 1906. Luckily there was no lateral movement of
the ice, or we should have had serious trouble. When we camped that
night, at 87° 47´, I wrote in my diary: "From here to the Pole and back
has been a glorious sprint with a savage finish. Its results are due to
hard work, little sleep, much experience, first class equipment, and
good fortune as regards weather and open water."
[Illustration: BARTLETT AND HIS PARTY READY TO START BACK FROM 87° 47´
NORTH, APRIL 1, 1909]
During the night the gale moderated and gradually died away, leaving the
air very thick. All hands found the light extremely trying to the eyes.
It was almost impossible for us to see the trail. Though the temperature
was only 10° below zero, we covered only Bartlett's last march that day.
We did not attempt to do more because the dogs were feeling the effects
of the recent high speed and it was desired to have them in the best
possible condition for the next day, when I expected some trouble with
the young ice we were sure to meet. At this spot certain eliminations
which we were compelled to make among the dogs left us a total of
thirty-five.
[Illustration: COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
CROSSING A LEAD ON AN ICE-CAKE AS A FERRY-BOAT]
Sunday, April 11, proved a brilliant day, the sun breaking through the
clouds soon after we left camp. The air was nearly calm, the sun seemed
almost hot, and its glare was intense. If it had not been for our
smoked goggles we should have suffered from snow-blindness. Despite the
expectation of trouble with which we began this march, we were agreeably
disappointed. On the upward journey, all this region had been covered
with young ice, and we thought it reasonable to expect open water here,
or at the best that the trail would have been obliterated; but there had
not been enough movement of the ice to break the trail. So far there had
been no lateral--east and west--movement of the ice. This was the great,
fortunate, natural feature of the home trip, and the principal reason
why we had so little trouble. We stopped for lunch at the "lead" igloos,
and as we finished our meal the ice opened behind us. We had crossed
just in time. Here we noticed some fox tracks that had just been made.
The animal was probably disturbed by our approach. These are the most
northerly animal tracks ever seen.
Inspirited by our good fortune, we pressed on again, completing two
marches, and when we camped were very near the 87th parallel. The entry
that I made in my diary that night is perhaps worth quoting: "Hope to
reach the Marvin return igloo to-morrow. I shall be glad when we get
there onto the big ice again. This region here was open water as late as
February and early March and is now covered with young ice which is
extremely unreliable as a means of return. A few hours of a brisk wind,
east, west, or south, would make this entire region open water for from
fifty to sixty miles north and south and an unknown extent east and
west. Only calm weather or a northerly wind keeps it practicable."
A double march brought us to Camp Abruzzi, 86° 38´, named in honor of
the farthest north of the Duke of the Abruzzi. The trail was faulted in
several places, but we picked it up each time without much difficulty.
The following day was a bitterly disagreeable one. On this march we had
in our faces a fresh southwest wind that, ever and again, spat snow that
stung like needles and searched every opening in our clothing. But we
were so delighted that we were across the young ice that these things
seemed like trifles. The end of this march was at "Camp Nansen," named
in honor of Nansen's "Farthest North."
This return journey was apparently destined to be full of contrasts, for
the next day was one of brilliant sunlight and perfect calm. Despite the
good weather the dogs seemed almost lifeless. It was impossible to get
them to move faster than a walk, light though the loads were. Henson and
the Eskimos also appeared to be a bit stale, so that it seemed wise to
make a single march here instead of the usual double march.
After a good sleep we started to put in another double march and then we
began to feel the effects of the wind. Even before we broke camp the ice
began to crack and groan all about the igloo. Close by the camp a lead
opened as we set out, and in order to get across it we were obliged to
use an ice-cake ferry.
[Illustration: SWINGING AN ICE-CAKE ACROSS A LEAD TO FORM AN IMPROMPTU
BRIDGE]
Between there and the next camp, at 85° 48´, we found three igloos where
Marvin and Bartlett had been delayed by wide leads, now frozen over. My
Eskimos identified these igloos by recognizing in their construction the
handiwork of men in the parties of Bartlett and Marvin. The Eskimos can
nearly always tell who built an igloo. Though they are all
constructed on one general principle, there are always peculiarities of
individual workmanship which are readily recognized by these experienced
children of the North.
During the first march of the day we found the trail badly faulted, the
ice breaking up in all directions under the pressure of the wind, and
some of the way we were on the run, the dogs jumping from one piece of
ice to another. During the second march we saw a recent bear track,
probably made by the same animal whose track we had seen on the upward
journey. All along here were numerous cracks and narrow leads, but we
were able to cross them without any great delay. There was one lead a
mile wide which had formed since the upward trip, and the young ice over
it was now breaking up.
[Illustration: PASSING OVER THE BRIDGE]
Perhaps we took chances here, perhaps not. One thing was in our favor:
our sledges were much lighter than on the upward journey, and we could
now "rush" them across thin ice that would not have held them a moment
then. In any event we got no thrill or irregularity of the pulse from
the incident. It came as a matter of course, a part of the day's work.
As we left the camp where we had stopped for lunch, a dense, black,
threatening bank of clouds came up from the south and we looked for a
gale, but the wind fell and we arrived at the next camp, where Marvin
had made a 700-fathom sounding and lost wire and pickaxes, in calm and
brilliant sunlight after a march of eighteen hours. We were now
approximately one hundred and forty-six miles from land.
We were coming down the North Pole hill in fine shape now and another
double march, April 16-17, brought us to our eleventh upward camp at 85°
8´, one hundred and twenty-one miles from Cape Columbia. On this march
we crossed seven leads, which, with the repeated faulting of the trail,
lengthened our march once more to eighteen hours. Sunday, April 18,
found us still hurrying along over the trail made by Marvin and
Bartlett. They had lost the main trail, but this made little difference
to us except as to time. We were able to make longer marches when on the
main trail because there we camped in the igloos already built on the
upward journey instead of having to build fresh ones for ourselves. This
was another eighteen-hour march. It had a calm and warm beginning, but,
so far as I was concerned, an extremely uncomfortable finish. During the
day my clothes had become damp with perspiration. Moreover, as our long
marches and short sleeps had brought us round to the calendar day, we
were facing the sun, and this, with the southwest wind, burned my face
so badly that it was little short of agonizing. But I consoled myself
with the reflection that we were now less than a hundred miles from
land. I tried to forget my stinging flesh in looking at the land clouds
which we could see from this camp. There is no mistaking these clouds,
which are permanent and formed of the condensation of the moisture from
the land in the upper strata of the atmosphere. To-morrow, we knew, we
might even be able to see the land itself. Meantime the dogs had again
become utterly lifeless. Three of them had played out entirely. Extra
rations were fed to them and we made a longer stop in this camp, partly
on their account and partly to bring us around again to "night"
marching, with the sun at our backs.
During the next march from Sunday to Monday, April 18th to 19th, there
was a continuation of the fine weather and we were still coming along on
my proposed schedule. Our longer sleep of the night before had heartened
both ourselves and the dogs, and with renewed energy we took to the
trail again about one o'clock in the afternoon. At a quarter past two we
passed Bartlett's igloo on the north side of an enormous lead which had
formed since we went up. We were a little over two hours crossing this
lead.
It was not until eleven that night when we again picked up the main
trail, in Henson's first pioneer march. When, traveling well in advance
of the sledges I picked it up and signaled to my men that I had found
it, they nearly went crazy with delight. The region over which we had
just come had been an open sea at the last full moon, and a brisk wind
from any direction excepting the north would make it the same again; or
the raftering from a north wind would make it a ragged surface of broken
plate glass.
It may seem strange to the reader that in this monotonous waste of ice
we could distinguish between the various sections of our upward marches
and recognize them on return. But, as I have said, my Eskimos know who
built or even who has occupied an igloo, with the same instinct by which
migratory birds recognize their old nests of the preceding year; and I
have traveled these arctic wastes so long and lived so long with these
instinctive children of Nature that my sense of location is almost as
keen as their own.
At midnight we came upon pieces of a sledge which Egingwah had abandoned
on the way up, and at three o'clock in the morning of the 19th we
reached the MacMillan-Goodsell return igloos. We had covered Henson's
three pioneer marches in fifteen and one-half hours of travel.
[Illustration: BREAKING CAMP. PUSHING THE SLEDGES UP TO THE TIRED DOGS]
Another dog played out that day and was shot, leaving me with thirty. At
the end of this march we could see the mountains of Grant Land in the
far distance to the south, and the sight thrilled us. It was like a
vision of the shores of the home land to sea-worn mariners.
Again, the next day, we made a double march. Starting late in the
afternoon we reached the sixth outward camp, "boiled the kettle," and
had a light lunch; then plunged on again until early in the morning of
the 20th, when we reached the fifth outward camp.
So far we had seemed to bear a charm which protected us from all
difficulties and dangers. While Bartlett and Marvin and, as I found out
later, Borup had been delayed by open leads, at no single lead had we
been delayed more than a couple of hours. Sometimes the ice had been
firm enough to carry us across; sometimes we had made a short detour;
sometimes we halted for the lead to close; sometimes we used an ice-cake
as an improvised ferry: but whatever the mode of our crossing, we had
crossed without serious difficulty.
[Illustration: LAST CAMP ON THE ICE ON THE RETURN]
It had seemed as if the guardian genius of the polar waste, having at
last been vanquished by man, had accepted defeat and withdrawn from the
contest.
Now, however, we were getting within the baleful sphere of influence of
the "Big Lead," and in the fifth igloos from Columbia (the first ones
north of the lead) I passed an intensely uncomfortable night, suffering
from a variety of disagreeable symptoms which I diagnosed as those of
quinsy. On this march we had brought the land up very rapidly so that I
had some consolation for my discomfort. In three or four days at the
most, barring accident, our feet would again press land. Despite my
aching throat and no sleep, I took much comfort from this welcome
thought.
[Illustration: SOUNDING]