THE ATTEMPT TO REACH KING EDWARD VII LAND
We were now in the Ross Sea, and evidently had avoided the main
pack. Our position at noon (Jan. 17) was 70° 43′ South latitude, and
178° 58′ East longitude, and we were steering a little more westerly so
as to strike the Barrier well to the east of Barrier Inlet, and also to
avoid the heavy pack that previous expeditions had encountered to the
east of meridian 160° West. The snow had now become hard and dry, like
sago--the true Antarctic type, and numbers of Antarctic petrels circled
round and round the ship.
We were now revelling in the indescribable freshness of the Antarctic
that seems to permeate one's being, and which must be responsible
for that longing to go again which assails each returned explorer
from polar regions. On the morning of the 23rd we saw some very large
icebergs, which were evidently great masses broken off the Barrier,
and we were keeping a sharp look-out for the Barrier itself. The
thermometer registered some twelve degrees of frost, but the wind was
so dry that we scarcely felt the cold.
[Illustration: Flight of Antarctic Petrels]
At 9.30 A.M. on the 23rd a low straight line appeared ahead of the
ship. It was the Barrier. After half an hour it disappeared, but by
eleven o'clock the straight line stretching east and west was in full
view and we rapidly approached it. I had hoped to make the Barrier
about the position of what we call the Western Bight, and at noon
we could see a point which was obviously the eastern limit of the
Western Bight. Soon afterwards we were within a quarter of a mile of
the ice-face, and exclamations of wonder at the stupendous bulk of the
Barrier were drawn from those who had not seen it before.
Looking at the Barrier from some little distance, one would imagine it
to be a perfectly even wall of ice; when steaming along parallel with
it, however, the impression it gave was that of a series of points,
each of which looked as though it might be the horn of a bay. Then when
the ship came abeam of it, one would see that the wall only receded
for a few hundred yards, and afterwards new points came into view as
the ship moved on. The weather continued fine and calm, and there was
absolutely no sign of the strong westerly current along the Barrier
which we had always encountered during the voyage of the _Discovery_.
About midnight we suddenly came to the end of a very high portion of
the Barrier, and entered a wide shallow bay which must have been the
inlet where Borchgrevink landed in 1900, but it had changed greatly
since that time. About half a mile down this bay we reached fast ice.
It was about half-past twelve at night, and the southerly sun shone in
our faces.
To the east rose a long snow slope which cut the horizon at the
height of about 300 ft. It had every appearance of ice-covered land
but we could not stop to make certain, for the heavy ice lying to the
northward of us was setting down into the bay, and if we were not
to be beset it was necessary to get away at once. All round us were
numbers of great whales showing their dorsal fins as they occasionally
sounded, so we named this playground for these monsters "The Bay of
Whales."
As it was impossible to work to the eastward, we struck northwards
through an open lead and came south to the Barrier again about 2
A.M. on the 24th. Then we coasted eastward along the wall of ice,
always looking out for the inlet. The lashings had been taken off
the motor-car, and the tackle rigged to hoist it out directly we got
alongside the ice-foot, to which the _Discovery_ had been moored. For
in Barrier Inlet we proposed to place our winter quarters.
I had decided on this inlet because I knew that it was practically the
beginning of King Edward VII Land, and that the actual bare land was
within an easy sledge journey of that place, and it also had the great
advantage of being some ninety miles nearer to the South Pole than any
other spot that could be reached with the ship. A further important
reason was that it would be an easy matter for the ship on its return
to reach this part of the Barrier, whereas King Edward VII Land itself
might quite possibly be unattainable if the season was adverse.
However the best-laid schemes often prove impracticable in polar
exploration, and within a few hours our first plan was found impossible
to fulfil, for the very sufficient reason that the inlet had
disappeared. Great disappointment as this was to us, we were thankful
that the Barrier had broken away before we had made our camp upon it.
The thought of what might have happened made me decide then and there
that, under no circumstances, would I winter on the Barrier, and that
wherever we landed we would secure a solid rock foundation for our
winter home.
We had two strings to our bow and I resolved to use the second and push
forward towards King Edward VII Land. The ship was headed eastward,
again keeping a few hundred yards off the Barrier, for here the cliff
was overhung and a fall of ice would assuredly have been disastrous to
us. Soon, however, I saw that we could not make much easting in this
way, for by 10 A.M. on the 24th we were close to the pack and found
that it was pressed hard against the Barrier edge; and, what was worse,
the whole of the northern pack and bergs at this spot were drifting in
towards the Barrier.
The seriousness of this situation can be realised by the reader if he
imagines that he is in a small boat right under the vertical white
cliffs of Dover; that detached cliffs are moving in from seaward slowly
but surely with resistless power and force, and that it will only be
a question of perhaps an hour or two before the two masses come into
contact, and crush his tiny craft as they meet.
There was nothing for it but to retrace our steps, and by steaming hard
and working in and out of the looser floes, we just managed to pass
the point with barely fifty yards of open water to spare between the
Barrier and the pack.
I breathed more freely when we passed this zone of Immediate danger,
for there were two or three hundred yards of clear water now between
us and the pack, and after skirting along the seaward edge we came to
the high cliff of ice at the westerly end, and passed safely out of the
bay.
[Illustration: "Nimrod" moored off Tabular Bergs. (_See page 14_)]
We then continued to the westward until in the evening the ship's
head was put north and we gained a fairly open sea. It is, however,
remarkable how limited is one's horizon at sea, for although there
appeared to be open water for an indefinite distance we were soon up
against rigid ice again. The fact is that low pack-ice is not visible
at any great distance, and that one cannot trust an appearance of open
water. All night long we tried to penetrate to the east, practically
doubling in our tracks before we were able to pursue the direction we
wished to follow.
By noon on January 25 I found that any hopes I had of a clear run were
vain, and the prospect of reaching King Edward VII Land grew remoter
every ensuing hour. Indeed it seemed impossible to reach the land,
and the shortness of coal, the leaky condition of the ship, and the
necessity of landing all our stores and putting up the hut before the
vessel left us, made the situation an extremely anxious one. I had not
expected to find Barrier Inlet gone, and, at the same time, the way
to King Edward VII Land absolutely blocked by ice, though the latter
condition was not unusual.
I decided to continue to try and make a way to the east for at least
another twenty-four hours, but when we saw the western pack moving
rapidly towards us under the influence of the wind, and that it was
most probable that we should be inextricably caught for days or even
weeks in this great mass, I reluctantly gave orders to turn the ship
and make full speed out of this dangerous situation.
Under the circumstances I could see nothing for it except to steer
for McMurdo Sound and there make our winter quarters, though I would
greatly have preferred to land at King Edward VII Land, because
that region was quite unknown and we could have added greatly to
the geographical knowledge of it. However the forces of these
uncontrollable ice-packs are stronger than human resolution, and a
change of plan was forced upon us.
After more trouble with the ice we worked into clearer water and the
course was set for McMurdo Sound, where we arrived on January 29 to
find that some twenty miles of frozen ice separated us from Hut Point.
I decided to lie off the ice-foot for some days in the hope that Nature
might break up the ice intervening between us and our goal.
So far the voyage had been without accident to any of the staff, but
unfortunately on the 31st Mackintosh was struck in the right eye by
a hook, and the eye had to be removed by Marshall, assisted by the
other two doctors, Michell and Mackay. Keenly as Mackintosh felt the
loss of his eye, his great sorrow was that he would not be able to
remain with us in the Antarctic. He begged to stay, but when Marshall
explained that he might lose the sight of his other eye he accepted his
ill-fortune without demur.
While waiting at the ice I sent a small party--consisting of Adams,
Joyce and Wild--to Hut Point to report on the condition of the hut left
there by the _Discovery_ expedition in 1904, and on their return Adams
reported that the hut was practically clear of snow and the structure
intact.
On February 3 I decided to wait no longer, but to seek for winter
quarters on the east coast of Ross Island; so we started toward Cape
Barne on the look-out for a suitable landing-place. Steaming slowly
north along the coast we saw across the bay a long, low snow slope
connected with the bare rock of Cape Royds, which seemed a suitable
place for winter-quarters.
About eight o'clock I left the ship in a boat, accompanied by Adams and
Wild, and we used the hand-lead at frequent intervals until we came
to fast ice. This covered the whole of the small bay from the corner
of Flagstaff Point (as we afterwards named the seaward cliff at the
southern end of Cape Royds) to Cape Barne to the southward. Close up
to the Point the ice had broken out, leaving a little natural dock
into which we ran the boat, and hundreds of Adelie penguins greeted
Adams and me with hoarse squawks of excitement as we landed. I was soon
satisfied that Cape Royds would be an excellent place at which to land
our stores, and after taking soundings we pulled out towards the ship
which had slowly been coming in. We were pulling along at a good rate
when suddenly a heavy body shot out of the water, struck the seaman who
was pulling stroke, and dropped with a thud to the bottom of the boat.
The arrival was an Adelie penguin, which had doubtless thought it was
jumping on to a rock, and it would be difficult to say whether the bird
or we were the more astonished.
By 10 P.M. on February 3, the _Nimrod_ was moored to the bay ice, and
as soon as she was secured I went ashore accompanied by Professor
David, England, and Dunlop, to choose a place for building the hut, and
up a small valley we soon found an ideal spot for our winter quarters.
The floor of this valley was almost level and covered with a couple of
feet of volcanic earth, and there was room not only for the hut itself,
but also for the stores and for a stable for the ponies. A hill behind
this valley served as an excellent protection from the prevailing
strong south-easterly wind, and a number of seals lying on the bay ice
gave promise of a plentiful supply of fresh meat.
[Illustration: Adelie Penguins at Cape Royds. (_See page 44_)]
With this ideal situation and everything else satisfactory, including
a supply of water from a lake right in front of our valley, I decided
that we had better start to get our gear ashore at once.