POLAR CLOTHING
The question of clothing is one of vital importance to the polar
explorer, and it is a matter concerning which there is a wide
difference of opinion among various authorities. Despite what some
explorers say to the contrary, clothing made from the fur of arctic
animals is the only kind suitable for serious work in these regions.
Many, finding the fur clothing of their own particular expeditions
unsatisfactory for the purposes to which they put it, have drawn
general instead of specific conclusions in regard to the value of fur.
There have been very few who have appreciated the value of fur
clothing. Nansen was one of these, but he was not fortunate enough to
be able to get the real polar furs for use, and therefore found his
wolf-skins not so satisfactory as he had expected.
Schwatka was about the only arctic traveler of the recent past who
appeared to have fully appreciated and to have known how to use fur
clothing properly, and he was perhaps the only one who was an outspoken
and unequivocal advocate of its value.
British explorers seem to have been specially averse to the use of
furs in arctic work, their aversion to this style of clothing being as
pronounced as their antipathy to the Eskimo dog for traction power.
This may perhaps be due to failure to understand the use of these two
essential factors in the successful explorer’s work.
Stefansson is one of the most practical of present-day polar explorers,
and in an interesting article on “Misconceptions about Life in the
Arctic” (“Bulletin American Geographical Society,” January, 1913) he
has the following to say about clothing:
That fur clothing is not suited for Arctic wear is a thesis of some
explorers of high standing. Like many other such beliefs it has its
reasons, but to the mind of the present writer there seems to be
a flaw in the reasoning. The conclusion of these eminent writers
should have been specific rather than general; they should have
concluded that such fur clothing as their particular expedition was
provided with was unsatisfactory for the particular use to which
they put it; they did not have the logical right to condemn fur
clothing in general because such as they had, when used as they
used it, did not give satisfaction.
Most of the fur clothing to which its wearers have objected is made
in temperate lands (such as Norway) by people who are unfamiliar
with the conditions to be met by the garments they are making;
secondly, there is an art of taking care of fur clothing--that
a fur coat rots to pieces on a man’s back in a week is really a
criticism of the man, not the coat, though the coat usually gets
the blame. The whole art is in keeping the garment dry or drying
it when it becomes wet. Explorers of standing have said in print
that this cannot be done, a conclusion with which I do not believe
any man will agree who has been a member of Peary’s expeditions,
Amundsen’s North-West Passage Expedition or Leffingwell and
Mikkelsen’s Arctic Expedition, or in fact of any expedition whose
members have thought it worth their while to see how the Eskimos
take care of their fur clothing.
The writer has had personal experience with “approved fur clothing
for Arctic use” made (in Norway, or Lapland, I believe) for Scott’s
first Antarctic Expedition and the Leffingwell-Mikkelsen Arctic
Expedition. I have been told the deerskin clothing of both these
expeditions was made under the same auspices; at any rate, it was
substantially similar in character. It is easy to understand how an
explorer whose experience was confined to such fur clothing should
conclude it unsuited to Arctic use--or, indeed, to any use whatever
except that of exhibition as curiosities. A description of a
typical garment--a coat given me by Captain Mikkelsen--will suffice.
The coat was made of deerskin whose thickness and length of fur
leads me to think it was taken from an old male deer during, say,
the month of November. The skin was so thick that the coat would
almost stand alone on the floor; it was so stiff that when one
had it on it took considerable muscular effort to bend the arm
to a right angle at the elbow; when one allowed the arms to hang
naturally they stuck out from the body approximately at an angle
of 35 or 40 degrees. The coat was open in front, from the neck
down, some ten or twelve inches and even when buttoned up allowed
the wind to blow in; when the garment had once been put on I could
not get it off without help, although it was several “sizes” too
large for me. On a spring balance (which may indeed not have been
accurate), the coat weighed over ten pounds, or about as much as
a complete double suit of inner and outer garments of well-made
Eskimo fur clothing suitable for any winter weather.
[Illustration: POLAR CLOTHING
Compare the fitness and evident comfort, freedom and convenience
of the fur costumes in this picture with the nondescript rigs of
artificial fabric used by many north and south polar parties]
[Illustration: A “TUG OF WAR” AT 84° N. LAT. AND -55° F.
Note the freedom of motion and complete protection afforded by
the fur rig]
As a contrast to the above “approved” Arctic fur coat, take a coat
such as is worn by the Eskimos of the north coast of America. To
begin with, Eskimos use the skins of old male caribou only for
boot soles or for floor covering in their dwellings; those for
garments are taken in summer, while the hair is short, from young
deer--fawns and yearlings preferably. They are scraped into the
softness of chamois with stone (or iron) scrapers and sewed into
clothes that fit as loosely as our summer suits. The coat is put
on after the manner of a sweater and hangs loose everywhere except
that its hood fits snugly around the face (over the head, in
front of the ears and under the chin). The coat I am wearing this
winter weighs 3½ pounds, and I have another (a trifle too light
for an outer garment and intended for an undershirt) that weighs
2¾ pounds. My 3½-pound coat is actually a warmer garment than the
heavy European coat described above, is soft as velvet and in good
condition after six months’ wear and nine hundred miles of winter
travel. I have seen complete Eskimo winter suits consisting of one
pair of socks, one pair of boots, one pair of drawers, one pair
of trousers, one undershirt, one coat, two pairs of mittens--all
of deerskin--that weigh only 10 pounds in all and yet are warm
enough to keep a man comfortable all day in such cold occupations
as sitting on a snow block fishing with a hook through a hole in
the ice at 40° below zero. Now that deer are getting scarcer on
this part of the coast, however, the Eskimos are forced to use
skins they would not have considered fit for clothing a few years
ago--and still I do not think I have as yet seen a suit that would
weigh as much as the combined weight of one coat and one shirt of
the “approved Arctic clothing.” It goes without saying that the
Leffingwell-Mikkelsen Expedition discarded their European clothing
as soon as they came in contact with the superior Eskimo garments;
the British Antarctic Expedition naturally had to use theirs or
fall back on woolens in the unpeopled lands to which they had gone.
As to the suitability of woolens for Arctic wear: There have been
few expeditions fitted out with such care in every way as was Roald
Amundsen’s _Gjoa_ Expedition, and the finest woolen coats and
underwear I had ever seen were the (Danish?) garments used by them.
From my own experience with a coat from that expedition which came
into my hands and which I used occasionally during the winter of
1906–07 there is this to say: I suppose the Scandinavian “vadmal”
coat would be as fit for service after three years as a deerskin
coat is after one, but the woolen coat is double the weight of
an average deerskin one and not more than half as warm. It makes
a good coat in calm weather, but the wind penetrates it easily.
While it forms a good emergency garment there is little doubt that
any future ventures of Capt. Amundsen’s will depend chiefly upon
garments of the Eskimo type. I have heard that the _Gjoa_ had some
wolfskin clothing that was quite satisfactory for winter use; this,
when well made, doubtless forms a passable substitute for deerskins
and is probably even warmer, pound for pound of weight.
I am fully in sympathy with Stefansson’s views, and have had the same
experience and some of the same nightmare fur clothing that he speaks
of so feelingly.
Stefansson’s Eskimos, however, make their entire clothing of deerskin,
as do the Baffin Land tribes. My Whale Sound Eskimos, either from the
greater severity of their seasons, or on account of the greater number
of fur-bearing animals, or the scarcity of reindeer, use a greater
variety of furs in their costume, and to my mind have evolved a better
costume. Bearskin, in particular for trousers and midwinter boots, I
consider far superior to deerskin, and I have used both.
After over twenty years of experience, I consider the Whale Sound
Eskimo clothing in material, design, and method of wearing the ideal
clothing for polar work. With very slight modifications, I have adopted
it completely for my parties, and I believe that failure to use it is a
deliberate waste of the energies of a party, a handicap to its work,
and a danger to the members.
My personal outfit on my last journey was as follows:
A skin-tight shirt of the finest quality of thin red flannel, something
like a one-piece knit bathing-suit, with a close-fitting hood. This
garment covered body, arms, wrists, neck, head, and came down about
three inches on the thighs. It protected me from any roughness of
the fur clothing and from the unpleasant clammy sensation when
occasionally, in heavy going and constant lifting on the sledges, the
inside of my fur coat became temporarily moist with perspiration. The
warmth of my body kept the flannel shirt always dry. Across the back,
over the kidneys, a second thickness of flannel was sewed to protect
the kidneys from cold and consequent overaction. There were no buttons,
hooks, strings, or fastenings of any kind on this shirt. The above
description is more voluminous than the garment, which would readily go
into an ordinary trousers pocket.
Bearskin trousers, reaching from the top of the pelvic bone to just
below the knee-cap. These trousers were made from the selected skin of
a yearling or two-year-old bear with thin, soft, yet tough, leather,
and thick, soft, almost wool-like fur. Two pieces, carefully cut to
have the grain of the fur running down and the thinner parts to come
in the crotch between the legs, make the trousers. The only seams
are up the inside of each leg, and from the middle of the waist in
front down through the crotch and up to the middle of the waist in the
back. Triangular bits of tanned sealskin at the ends and intersections
of seams reinforce against ripping. At the top of the trousers a
binding of tanned sealskin incloses a thin, strong rawhide line as a
draw-string, by which the trousers are adjusted closely to the wearer’s
body. The bottom of the legs are made just as small as will allow the
feet to go through, and when the trousers are pulled up into place,
they fit the leg closely just below the knee. A band of bearskin about
two inches wide is sewed round the bottom of each leg, which in very
cold, windy weather, in drifting or deep snow, or when the wearer is
in danger of getting into the water, is turned down, and the tops of
the boots are tied firmly over it to make a tight joint. The trousers
are lined with fine, soft red flannel. There are no buttons, hooks,
clips, or fastenings of any kind in these trousers, or any openings.
The cord at the waist is adjusted to the wearer, and by a contraction
of the muscles the trousers can be slid down over the hips to mid-thigh
without loosening it.
I consider this garment perfect for polar work. It is impervious to
cold,--I do not recall ever being chilly for a moment from waist to
knees,--is almost indestructible, gives the wearer perfect freedom
of movement, and possesses the quality, essential in every garment for
polar work, of permitting the fine snow driven in by the wind to be
beaten out with whip-handle or snow-knife.
[Illustration: POLAR CLOTHING
Spring and Summer working costume. Sealskin coat, bearskin trousers,
sealskin boots]
A deerskin hooded coat of selected autumn skins of doe or young buck.
The front and back of the coat are each cut from a single skin, the
front being of lighter weight than the back. The head of the back skin
forms the foundation of the hood. The remainder of the skins furnish
material for the sleeves, which are cut in a way to bring the thinner
parts of the belly skin in the armpits and inner part of the arm.
In length the coat is more a jacket than a coat, the bottom of it
coming only a few inches below the top of the bearskin trousers. It is
shorter on the hips than in front or back, where it cuts to two rounded
points, the one in the back a little longer than the other. In this
way the action of the legs in walking, running, snow-shoeing, climbing
pressure ridges, or lifting on the sledges is entirely unimpeded. The
bottom of the coat must fit closely over the fur of the trousers. Round
the bottom of the coat a binding of tanned sealskin, as at the top
of the trousers, contains a thin, strong rawhide draw-string. A loop
of this projects from the point of the coat behind, and the two ends
from the point in front. By passing these ends back between the legs,
then through the loop and forward again, the bottom of the coat can
be drawn closely into the fur of the trousers, making a tight joint to
keep out driving snow when on the march, or the cold when sleeping. To
make this joint still more close, an inch-wide strip of fur was sewed
round inside the bottom of the coat, just within the draw-string.
At the wrists the sleeves, which should come fully to the hand, are
made just as small as possible and allow the hand to be pushed through
them. On the inside a two-inch-wide band of fur, hair inside, is sewed
like the packing round a piston-rod, to keep this joint tight when
wrist and hands are in motion.
The face-opening in the hood is made just large enough to allow the
hood to be pushed back from the head in calm weather. Around this
opening is a roll of soft bearskin, with only one edge sewed down.
This is partly to protect the face from the wind, partly to serve as a
packing, as at the wrists and bottom, to prevent the entrance of cold
air or the escape of warm.
Worn ordinarily turned down like a coat-collar, in bitter winds, this
bearskin roll can be turned up like a collar to form a wind-guard for
the eyes and face.
In one place--and this is the most essential feature of the coat--it
does not fit closely; that is, about the upper arms. Here the sleeves
are ample in size, and the armholes are large and cut low, so that by
dexterously shifting the coat as far to one side as possible on the
shoulders, first one arm, then the other, can be drawn inside the coat.
The practical application of this is invaluable. If in using the whip
continuously, or repairing a sledge, the hands become numb from extreme
cold or because the mittens are damp, it is easy to draw a hand and arm
within the coat, leaving the mitten in the sleeve, place the numbed
fingers in the opposite armpit--the warmest part of the body, as every
Eskimo knows--until it is thoroughly warmed, then treat the other in
the same way.
In camp, after the evening meal of pemmican, hard-tack, and tea has
been finished and the day’s notes written up, both arms and hands
are drawn inside the coat,--leaving the mittens to plug the sleeve
openings,--where they may rest by the side or be folded across the
chest in warmth and easy position. The coat thus becomes the upper half
of a light, well-fitting one-man sleeping-bag, that is warm and dry and
permits entire freedom of movement.
This coat has no buttons, hooks, toggles, lacings, or fastenings of any
kind, and it gives the maximum of warmth with the minimum of material
and weight. As with the bearskin trousers, drifting snow and the
frost condensation from the breath can be beaten out of these coats
completely.
Deerskin has one disadvantage; if the leather becomes wet and remains
so for a day or two, the fur falls off in patches. The hair is also
rather brittle. For this reason and because I was determined on my last
expedition to remain in the field till the pole was secured, I fitted
each member of my party with a sheepskin coat of the same pattern,
details, and trimmings as the deerskin ones, but using tanned sheepskin
of the kind known in the trade as shearlings.
Specially soft, perfect skins, light of leather and thick and fine
of wool, were selected, and such skins furnish the best substitute
for deerskins that I know. They are extremely strong and durable,
only slightly affected by being wet, and are nearly as warm and only
a little heavier than deerskins. For a late-spring or early-summer
journey they are superior to deerskin. They have one disadvantage: snow
and the condensation of the breath cannot be beaten out of them like
the deerskins.
Hareskin stockings of the thick, soft, fluffy winter pelt of the polar
hare, with the fur turned in, with bottoms made of sealskin, as the
hareskin is too tender for the heavy wear and strain on this part.
Boots of two kinds. A pair made from the leg skin of the polar bear
for the bitter temperature of February and March, and a pair of tanned
sealskin for the milder temperatures of April and later. Both were
soled, with the rough skin about one-eighth of an inch thick from the
back of the oogsook, or square-flipper-seal, both reached nearly to
the knee, and both had at the top a rawhide draw-string which permitted
their being tied air- and water-tight over the flap at the bottom of
the bearskin trousers.
[Illustration: POLAR CLOTHING
Full winter sledging costume. Deerskin coat, bearskin trousers, and
deerskin boots. Have worn this rig with comfort at -73½° F.]
[Illustration: ESKIMO DOGS
The two nearly white dogs on the left are the type North Greenland
Eskimo Dog. This species, direct descendants of the Arctic white wolf,
is registered by the American Kennel Club]
In using this footgear,--which for one who knows how I consider the
best there is, and for one who does not know how is nearly useless,--a
thick, even pad, or cushion, of the fine, soft, dry arctic grass is
arranged in the bottom of the boot, then the stocking is put in very
carefully, and a thin layer of the same grass placed in the bottom of
the stocking. The object of the first layer of grass is to keep the
bottom of the feet warm and to protect them from the sharp corners of
the ice. The second inner layer is to take up any moisture from the
feet rather than have it absorbed by the fur of the stocking.
The grass sole in the boot should last several days; the one in
the stocking may, and perhaps must, be replaced after every march,
particularly if the work is hard.
Inner soles of the skin of deer or sheep or bear may be a substitute
for the grass, though none is equal to it. The fur inner soles are more
easily arranged.
Mittens of both bearskin and deerskin, the former for coldest weather.
Both have palm of sealskin, and when the hand is closed in grasping
whip or upstander, rifle or ice lance, it is completely protected by
the heavier fur. Inner mittens of blanketing and a little dry grass
are used to absorb the moisture from the hands, and these can be
changed after every march. A band of deerskin with fur inside sewed
round the wrists over the pulse helps materially in keeping one warm
when traveling in extreme cold.
In the same way that immersing the wrists in cold water when overheated
will cool one off quickly and safely, so a warm covering for the pulses
assists in keeping one warm. The Eskimos are well acquainted with this
fact.
Long as has been this description, the entire suit weighs only a few
ounces over twelve pounds, essentially the same as the weight of my
winter business suit, underwear, etc., for the latitude of Boston or
Portland, not including the overcoat.
In such a suit a man, seated or curled up in the lee of an ice hummock,
with arms drawn in and face bent on his chest, can weather in comfort
a blizzard at -50 F. In a snow house, on scant rations, such a suit
will conserve a man’s heat and strength equivalent to several days’
rations. Such a suit renders a sleeping-bag superfluous, thus allowing
its equivalent weight of more pemmican to be carried. On sea ice it
is imperative as a matter of safety. In it a man is always ready for
instant action, and if the ice-floe splits beneath him while asleep, he
can escape.