The Worst Journey in the World (75 page)

But then the snow stopped, the wind went down, and the mountain tops
appeared in all their glorious beauty. We were in the middle of a perfect
summer afternoon, with a warm sun beating on the rocks as we walked round
to Pram Point. There were many seals here already, and it was clear that
the place would form a jolly nursery this year, for there must have been
a lot of movement on the Barrier and the sea-ice was seamed with pressure
ridges up to twenty feet in height. The hollows were buckled until the
sea water came up and formed frozen ponds which would thaw later into
lovely baths. Sheltered from the wind the children could chase their
ridiculous tails to their hearts' content: their mothers would lie and
sleep, awakening every now and then to scratch themselves with their long
finger-nails. Not quite yet, but they were not far away: Lappy, one of
our dogs who always looked more like a spaniel than anything else, heard
one under the ice and started to burrow down to him!

Nearly three weeks later I paid several more visits to this delightful
place. It was thick with seals, big seals and little seals, hairy seals
and woolly seals: every day added appreciably to the number of babies,
and to the baaings and bleatings which made the place sound like a great
sheepfold. In every case where I approached, the mothers opened their
mouths and bellowed at me to keep away, but they did not come for me
though I actually stroked one baby. Often when the mother bellowed the
little one would also open his mouth, producing just the ghost of a
bellow: not because he seemed afraid of us, but rather because he
thought it was the right thing to do: as indeed it probably was. One old
cow was marked with hoops all round her body, like an advertisement of
Michelin tyres: only the hoops were but an inch apart from one another,
and seemed to be formed by darker and longer bands of hair: probably
something to do with the summer moult. Two cows, which scrambled out of
the same hole one after the other, were fighting, the hinder one biting
the other savagely as she made an ungainly entrance. The first was not in
calf, the aggressor, however, was: this may have had something to do with
it. They were both much cut about and bleeding.

A seal is never so pretty as when he is a baby. With his grey woolly
coat, which he keeps for a fortnight, his comparatively long flippers and
tail, and his big dark eyes, he looks very clean and pussy-like. I
watched one running round and round after his tail, putting his flipper
under his head as a pillow, and scratching himself, seemingly as happy as
possible: yet it was pretty cold with some wind.

Little is known of the lighter side of a Weddell's life. It seems
probable that their courtship is a ponderous affair. About October 26
Atkinson found an embryo of about a fortnight old, which is an
interesting stage, and this was preserved with many others we found, but
all of them were too old to be of any real value. I think there is a good
deal of variation in the size of the calves at birth. There is certainly
much difference between the care of individual mothers, some of which are
most concerned when you approach, while others take little notice or lop
away from you, leaving their calf to look after itself, or to find
another mother. Sometimes they are none too careful not to roll or lie on
their calves.

One afternoon I drove a bull seal towards a cow with a calf. The cow went
for him bald-headed, with open mouth, bellowing and most disturbed. The
bull defended himself as best he might but absolutely refused to take the
offensive. The calf imitated his mother as best he could.

Meanwhile Atkinson and Dimitri took some mule-fodder and dog-biscuit to a
point twelve miles south of Corner Camp. They started on October 14 with
the two dog-teams and found a most terrible surface on the Barrier, the
sledges sometimes sinking as far as the 'fore-and-afters'; the minimum
temperatures the first two nights were -39° and -25°; strong blizzard at
Corner Camp; a lie-up for a day and a half, before they could push on in
wind and drift and lay the depôt. The dogs ran back from Corner Camp to
Hut Point on October 19, a distance of thirty miles. Three miles from
Corner Camp three dogs of Atkinson's team fell into a crevasse, one of
them falling right down to the length of his harness. The rest of the
team, however, pulled on, and dragged the three dogs out as they went.
Atkinson lost his driving-stick, which was left standing in the snow and
served to mark a place to be avoided. Altogether a rather lucky escape:
two men out alone with two dog-teams are somewhat helpless in case of
emergency.

On October 25 Dimitri and I started to take a further depôt out to Corner
Camp with the two dog-teams, pulling about 600 lbs. each. We found a much
better surface than that experienced by Atkinson; in places really smooth
and hard. "It is good to be out again in such weather, and it has been a
very pleasant day." The minimum was only -24° that night, and we reached
Corner Camp on the afternoon of the next day, following the old tracks
where possible, and halting occasionally to hunt when we lost them. "Here
we made the depôt and the dogs had a rest of 3½ hours, and two biscuits.
It was quaint to see them waiting for more food, for they knew they had
not had their full whack."
^[270]

There was plenty of evidence that the Barrier had moved a long way during
the last year. It had buckled up the sea-ice at Pram Point; there were at
least three new and well-marked undulations before reaching Corner Camp;
and the camp itself had moved visibly, judged by the bearings and
sketches we possessed. I believe the annual movement had not been less
than half a mile.

Corner Camp is a well-known trap for blizzards on the line of their exit
at Cape Crozier, and it was clouding up, the barometer falling, and the
temperature rising rapidly. "So we decided to come back some way, and
have in the end come right back to the Biscuit Depôt, since it looked
very threatening to the east. Here the temperature is lower (-15°) and it
is clearing. Ross Island has been largely obscured, but the clouds are
opening on Terror. We had a very good run and the dogs pulled splendidly,
making light work of it: 29 miles for the day, half of it with loaded
sledges! Lappy's feet are bleeding a good bit, owing to the snow balling
in between his toes where the hair is unusually long. Bullet, who is fat
and did not pull, celebrated his arrival in camp by going for Bielchik
who had pulled splendidly all day! There is much mirage, and Observation
Hill and Castle Rock are reversed."
^[271]
We reached Hut Point the next
day. Lappy's feet were still bad, and Dimitri wrapped him in his
windproof blouse and strapped him on to the sledge. All went well until
we got on to the sea-ice, when Lappy escaped and arrived an easy first.

Dog-driving is the devil! Before I started, my language would not have
shamed a Sunday School, and now—if it were not Sunday I would tell you
more about it. It takes all kinds to make a world and a dog-team. We had
aristocrats like Osman, and Bolsheviks like Krisravitza, and lunatics
like Hol-hol. The present-day employer of labour might stand amazed when
he saw a crowd of prospective workmen go mad with joy at the sight of
their driver approaching them with a harness in his hands. The most
ardent trade unionist might boil with rage at the sight of eleven or
thirteen huskies dragging a heavy load, including their idle master, over
the floe with every appearance of intense joy. But truth to tell there
were signs that they were getting rather sick of it, and within a few
days we were to learn that dogs can chuck their paws in as well as many
another. They had their king, of course: Osman was that. They combined
readily and with immense effect against any companion who did not pull
his weight, or against one who pulled too much. Dyk was unpopular among
them, for when the team of which he was a member was halted he
constantly whined and tugged at his harness in his eagerness to go on:
this did not allow the rest of the team to rest, and they were
justifiably resentful. Sometimes a team got a down upon a dog without our
being able to discover their doggy reason. In any case we had to watch
carefully to prevent them carrying out their intentions, their method of
punishment always being the same and ending, if unchecked, in what they
probably called justice, and we called murder.

I have referred to the crusts on the Barrier, where the snow lies in
layers with an air-space, perhaps a quarter of an inch, or more, between
them. These will subside as you pass over them, giving the inexperienced
polar traveller some nasty moments until he learns that they are not
crevasses. But the dogs thought they were rabbits, and pounced, time
after time. There was a little dog called Mukaka, who got dragged under
the sledge in one of the mad penguin rushes the dog-teams made when we
were landing stores from the Terra Nova: his back was hurt and afterwards
he died. "He is paired with a fat, lazy and very greedy black dog, Noogis
by name, and in every march this sprightly little Mukaka will once or
twice notice that Noogis is not pulling and will jump over the trace,
bite Noogis like a snap, and be back again in his own place before the
fat dog knows what has happened."
^[272]

Then there was Stareek (which is the Russian for old man, starouka being
old woman). "He is quite a ridiculous 'old man,' and quite the nicest,
quietest, cleverest old dog I have ever come across. He looks in face as
though he knew all the wickedness of all the world and all its cares, and
as if he were bored to death by them."
^[273]
He was the leader of Wilson's
team on the Depôt Journey, but decided that he was not going out again.
Thereafter when he thought there was no one looking he walked naturally;
but if he saw you looking at him he immediately had a frost-bitten paw,
limped painfully over the snow, and looked so pitiful that only brutes
like us could think of putting him to pull a sledge. We tried but he
refused to work, and his final victory was complete.

One more story: Dimitri is telling us how a "funny old Stareek" at Sydney
came and objected to his treatment of the dogs (which were more than half
wolves and would eat you without provocation). "He says to me, 'You not
whip'—I say, 'What ho!' He go and fetch Mr. Meares—he try put me in
choky. Then he go to Anton—give Anton cigarette and match—he say—'How
old that horse?' pointing to Hackenschmidt—Anton say, very young—he not
believe—he go try see Hackenschmidt's teeth—and old Starouka too—and
Hackenschmidt he draw back and he rush forward and bite old Stareek
twice, and he fall backwards over case—and ole woman pick him up. He
very white beard which went so—I not see him again."

From my own diary

Sleep after toyle, port after stormie seas,
Ease after warre, death after life, does greatly please.
SPENSER,
The Faerie Queen.

October 28. Hut Point.
A beautiful day. We finished digging out the
stable for the mules this morning and brought in some blubber this
afternoon. The Bluff has its cap on, but otherwise the sky is nearly
clear: there is a little cumulus between White Island and the Bluff, the
first I have seen this year on the Barrier. It is most noticeable how
much snow has disappeared off the rocks and shingle here.

October 29. Hut Point.
The mule party, under Wright, consisting of
Gran, Nelson, Crean, Hooper, Williamson, Keohane and Lashly, left Cape
Evans at 10.30 and arrived here at 5 P.M. after a good march in perfect
weather. They leave Debenham and Archer at the hut, and I am afraid it
will be dull work for them the next three months. Archer turned out early
and made some cakes which they have brought with them. They camped for
lunch seven miles from Cape Evans.

This is the start of the Search Journey. Everything which forethought can
do has been done, and to a point twelve miles south of Corner Camp the
mules will be travelling light owing to the depôts which have been laid.
The barometer has been falling the last few days and is now low, while
the Bluff is overcast. Yet it does not look like blizzard to come. Two
Adélie penguins, the first, came to Cape Evans yesterday, and a skua was
seen there on the 24th: so summer is really here.

October 30. Hut Point.
It is now 8 P.M., and the mules are just off,
looking very fit, keeping well together, and giving no trouble at the
start. Their leaders turned in this afternoon, and to-night begins the
new routine of night marching, just the same as last year. It did look
thick on the Barrier this afternoon, and it was quite a question whether
it was advisable for them to start. But it is rolling away now, being
apparently only fog, which is now disappearing before some wind, or
perhaps because the sun is losing its power. I think they will have a
good march.

November 2
, 5 A.M.
Biscuit Depôt.
Atkinson, Dimitri and I, with two
dog-teams, left Hut Point last night at 8.30. We have had a coldish
night's run, -21° when we left after lunch, -17° now. The surface was
very heavy for the dogs, there being a soft coating of snow over
everything since we last came this way, due no doubt to the foggy days we
have been having lately. The sledge-meter makes it nearly 16 miles.

The mule party has two days' start on us, and their programme is to do
twelve miles a day to One Ton Depôt. Their tracks are fairly clear, but
there has been some drift from the east since they passed. We picked up
our cairns well. We are pretty wet, having been running nearly all the
way.

November 3.
Early morning. 14½ miles. We are here at Corner Camp, but
not without a struggle. We left the Biscuit Depôt at 6.30 P.M. yesterday,
and it is now 4 A.M. The last six miles took us four hours, which is very
bad going for dogs, and we have all been running most of the way. The
surface was very bad, crusty and also soft: it was blowing with some low
drift, and overcast and snowing. We followed the drifted-up mule tracks
with difficulty and are lucky to have got so far. The temperature has
been a constant zero.