Winter was coming fast and night shadows of cruel dark purple added to the natural gloom of Hut Point and its environments. Wilson was the one man amongst us who profited most from our sojourn here. In spite of bad light and almost frozen fingers he managed to make an astonishing collection of sketches, portraying the autumn scenes near this corner of Ross Isle. How sinister and relentless the western mountains looked, how cold and unforgiving the foothills, and how ashy gray the sullen icefoots that girt this sad, frozen land.
There was, of course, no privacy in the crowded hut-space, and when evening came it was sometimes rather a relief to get away to some sheltered corner and look out over the Sound. The twilight shades and colours were beautiful in a sad sort of way, but the stillness was awful. Whenever the wind fell light new ice would form which seemed to crack and be churned up with every cat's-paw of wind. The currents and tidal streams would slowly carry these pancakes of ice up and down the Strait until the weather was calm enough and cold enough to cement them together till they formed floes, which in their turn froze fast into great white icefields strong enough to bear us and any weights we liked to take along. One often turned in, confident that a passage could be made over the frozen sea to Glacier Tongue at least, but in the morning everything would be changed and absolutely no ice would be visible floating in the sea. When Taylor's party had rested a little at Hut Point they threw in their lot with the rest of us and made occasional trips out on the silent Barrier as far as Corner Camp, to add sledge loads of provisions now and again to the stores already depoted there in readiness for the southern sledge journey, on which we built our hopes for ultimate triumph.
Eight of us went out for a week's sledging on March 16, but the temperatures were now becoming too low to be pleasant and touching 40 degrees or so below zero. What tried us more than anything else was thick weather and the fearfully bad light on days when no landmarks were visible to guide us to the depot. Our sleeping-bags also were frozen and uncomfortable, thick rime collecting on the insides of our tents which every puff of wind would shake down in a shower of ice. When sitting round on our rolled-up sleeping-bags at meal times we could not help our heads and shoulders brushing off patches of this frost rime, which soon accumulated in the fur of the sleeping-bags and made life at night a clammy misery. The surfaces were very heavy, and dragging even light sledges when returning from the depot proved a laborious business.
This autumn time gave a series of gales and strong winds with scarcely ever more than a few hours of calm or gentle breeze, sandwiched in between. Sometimes we used ski, but there are occasions when ski are quite useless, owing to snow binding in great clogs underneath them. The Norwegians use different kinds of paraffin wax and compositions of tar and other ingredients for overcoming this difficulty. Gran had brought from Christiania the best of these compositions, nevertheless there were days when whatever we put on we had difficulty with ski and had to cast them aside. There were people who preferred foot-slogging to ski at any time, and there were certainly days when teams on foot would literally dance round men pulling on ski. In the light of experience, however, the expert ski-runner has enormous advantage over the "foot-slogger," however good an athlete.
What strikes me here is the dreadful similarity in weather condition, wind, temperature, etc., surface and visibility to that which culminated in the great disaster of our expedition and resulted in poor Scott's death exactly a year later. Here is a day taken haphazard from my diary:
"From Corner Camp to Hut Point:
"March 18, 1911.—Called the hands at 6.15 and after a fine warming breakfast started off on ski. The light was simply awful and the surface very bad, but we did six miles, then lunched. After lunch carried on with a strong wind blowing, but after very heavy dragging we were forced to camp when only nine and a half miles had been laid between us—we really couldn't see ten yards. Just after we camped the wind increased to about force 6, alternately freshening up and dying away, and a good deal of snow fell. Temperature 32.5 below zero."
One year later Scott was facing weather conditions and surfaces almost identical, but the difference lay in that he had marched more than sixteen hundred miles, was short of food, and his party were suffering from the tragic loss of two of their companions and the intense disappointment of having made this great sledge journey for their country's honour to find that all their efforts had been in vain, and that they had been anticipated by men who had borne thither the flag of another nation.
When Scott found that we sledgers were getting temperatures as low as minus forty he decided to discontinue sledging rather than risk anything in the nature of severe frostbite assailing the party and rendering them unfit for further work, for it must be remembered that we had already been away from our base ten weeks, that many of us had never sledged before, and that the depot journey was partly undertaken to give us sledging experience and to point out what improvements could be made in our clothing and equipment.
The first and second weeks in April brought the ice changes that we had so long awaited, and after one or two false starts two teams set out from Hut Point on April 11 to make their way across the fifteen miles of sea ice to Cape Evans.