Depot Journeys
There was now too little work for eight of us in bringing up stores from the Fram, and it became evident that some of us might be more usefully employed elsewhere. It was therefore decided that four men should bring ashore the little that remained, while the other four went southward to lat. 80deg. S., partly to explore the immediate neighbourhood, and partly to begin the transport of provisions to the south. This arrangement gave us all enough to do. The four who were to continue the work at the station — Wisting, Hassel, Stubberud, and Bjaaland — now had as much as their sledges could carry. The rest of us were busy getting ready. For that matter, everything was prepared in advance, but as yet we had had no experience of a long journey. That was what we were going to get now.
Our departure was fixed for Friday, February 10. On the 9th I went on board to say good-bye, as presumably the Fram would have sailed when we came back. I had so much to thank all these plucky fellows for. I knew it was hard for all of them — almost without exception — to have to leave us now, at the most interesting time, and go out to sea to battle for months with cold and darkness, ice and storms, and then have the same voyage over again the next year when they came to fetch us. It was certainly a hard task, but none of them complained. They had all promised to do their best to promote our common object, and therefore all went about their duty without grumbling. I left written orders with the commander of the Fram, Captain Nilsen. The substance of these orders may be given in a few words: Carry out our plan in the way you may think best. I knew the man I was giving orders to. A more capable and honourable second in command I could never have had. I knew that the Fram was safe in his hands.
Lieutenant Prestrud and I made a trip to the south to find a suitable place for ascending the Barrier on the other side of the bay. The sea-ice was fairly even for this distance; only a few cracks here and there. Farther up the bay there were, curiously enough, long rows of old hummocks. What could this mean? This part was really quite protected from the sea, so that these formations could not be attributed to its action. We hoped to have an opportunity of investigating the conditions more closely later on; there was no time for it now. The shortest and most direct way to the south was the one we were on now. The bay was not wide here. The distance from Framheim to this part of the Barrier was about three miles. The ascent of the Barrier was not difficult; with the exception of a few fissures it was quite easy. It did not take long to get up, except perhaps in the steepest part. The height was 60 feet. It was quite exciting to go up; what should we see at the top? We had never yet had a real uninterrupted view over the Barrier to the south; this was the first time. As it happened, we were not surprised at what we saw when we got up — an endless plain, that was lost in the horizon on the extreme south. Our course, we could see, would take us just along the side of the ridge before mentioned — a capital mark for later journeys. The going was excellent; a thin layer of conveniently loose snow was spread over a hard under-surface, and made it very suitable for skiing. The lie of the ground told us at once that we had the right pattern of ski — the kind for level ground, long and narrow. We had found what we wanted — an ascent for our southern journeys and an open road. This spot was afterwards marked with a flag, and went by the name of "the starting-place." On the way back, as on the way out, we passed large herds of seals, lying asleep. They did not take the least notice of us. If we went up and woke them, they just raised their heads a little, looked at us for a moment, and then rolled over on the other side and went to sleep again. It was very evident that these animals here on the ice have no enemies. They would certainly have set a watch, as their brothers in the North do, if they had had anything to fear.
On this day we used skin clothing for the first time — reindeer-skin clothes of Eskimo cut — but they proved to be too warm. We had the same experience later. In low temperatures these reindeer clothes are beyond comparison the best, but here in the South we did not as a rule have low temperatures on our sledge journeys. On the few occasions when we experienced any cold worth talking about, we were always in skins. When we returned in the evening after our reconnoitring, we had no need of a Turkish bath.
On February 10, at 9.30 a.m., the first expedition left for the South. We were four men, with three sledges and eighteen dogs, six for each sledge. The load amounted to about 550 pounds of provisions per sledge, besides the provisions and outfit for the journey. We could not tell, even approximately, how long the journey would take, as everything was unknown. The chief thing we took on our sledges was dogs' pemmican for the depot, 350 pounds per sledge. We also took a quantity of seal meat cut into steaks, blubber, dried fish, chocolate, margarine, and biscuits. We had ten long bamboo poles, with black flags, to mark the way. The rest of our outfit consisted of two three-man tents, four one-man sleeping-bags, and the necessary cooking utensils.
The dogs were very willing, and we left Framheim at full gallop. Along the Barrier we went well. Going down to the sea-ice we had to pass through a number of big hummocks — a fairly rough surface. Nor was this without consequences; first one sledge, then another, swung round. But no harm was done; we got our gear tested, and that is always an advantage. We also had to pass rather near several large groups of seals, and the temptation was too great. Away went the dogs to one side in full gallop towards the seals. But this time the load was heavy, and they were soon tired of the extra work. In the bay we were in sight of the Fram. The ice had now given way entirely, so that she lay close to the Barrier itself. Our four comrades, who were to stay at home, accompanied us. In the first place, they wanted to see us on our way, and in the second, they would be able to lend us a hand in getting up the Barrier, for we were rather apprehensive that it would cost us a wet shirt. Finally, they were to hunt seals. There was plenty of opportunity here; where-ever one looked there were seals — fat heavy beasts.
I had put the home party under Wisting's command, and given them enough work to do. They were to bring up the remainder of the stores from the ship, and to build a large, roomy pent-house against the western wall of the hut, so that we should not have to go directly on to the ice from the kitchen. We also intended to use this as a carpenter's workshop. But they were not to forget the seal-hunting, early and late. It was important to us to get seals enough to enable us all, men and dogs, to live in plenty. And there were enough to be had. If we ran short of fresh meat in the course of the winter, it would be entirely our own fault.
It was a good thing we had help for the climb. Short as it was, it caused us a good deal of trouble; but we had dogs enough, and by harnessing a sufficient number we got the sledges up. I should like to know what they thought on board. They could see we were already hard put to it to get up here. What would it be like when we had to get on to the plateau? I do not know whether they thought of the old saying: Practice makes perfect.
We halted at the starting-place, where we were to separate from our comrades. None of us was particularly sentimental. An honest shake of the hand, and so "Good-bye." The order of our march was as follows: Prestrud first on ski, to show the direction and encourage the dogs. We always went better with someone going in front. Next came Helmer Hanssen. He kept this place on all our journeys — the leading sledge. I knew him well from our previous work together, and regarded him as the most efficient dog-driver I had met. He carried the standard compass on his sledge and checked Prestrud's direction. After him came Johansen, also with a compass. Lastly, I came, with sledge-meter and compass. I preferred to take the last sledge because it enabled me to see what was happening. However careful one may be, it is impossible to avoid dropping things from sledges in making a journey. If the last man keeps a lookout for such things, great inconvenience may often be avoided. I could mention many rather important things that were dropped in the course of our journeys and picked up again by the last man. The hardest work, of course, falls on the first man. He has to open up the road and drive his dogs forward, while we others have only to follow. All honour, then, to the man who performed this task from the first day to the last — Helmer Hanssen.