The sun shone a little at the last camp and during perhaps half of this march, but we have faced throughout the march, a strong and searching northeast wind with the temperature below the freezing point.
The glacier west of Cape Fanshawe Martin is an active one; its face ten feet to forty feet high. A detached “floeberg” which I estimated to be one and one-quarter miles long, and one-half mile wide, lies frozen in a hundred yards or so off its face. The face of this “floeberg” would average twenty feet to twenty-eight feet above the water. Two Arctic terns flew over us while we were coming round the Cape.
McClintock Bay, July 14th.—The wind blew continuously and violently at the last camp, and the sun shone occasionally and was shining when we started.
I thought I would try the inside route, i. e. along the tidal crack well into the bay, but an hour’s travelling along the glacier face, brought us to a position where I could overlook the bay, and I saw at once that it was entirely impracticable. The surface of the bay was completely covered with large connecting lakes and wide streams.
The route along the outer edge of the ice-foot was the only way, and to reach this we were obliged to retrace our steps to camp, and were then bothered by two or three lakes, and one large river which forced us well out among the floes with their waist-deep drifts, before we could get around it. In this way we lost three hours.
After this the going was better, and the course fairly direct, the slush and water averaging only about ankle deep. One other river some fifty yards wide, with a pronounced cataract, forced us again out on to the floes.
We have travelled very slowly, however, the dogs’ feet being in terrible condition from the sharp ice and constant wetting. Nearly all are fitted with boots, but still they only limp along. The gray dog was killed here, and fed to the others, together with five of the Jesup Land deerskins which there has been no chance to dry, and which are spoiling. If we don’t reach Cape Alexandra it will mean another dog, as I have no more pemmican. After the first hour to-day, continuous fog.
Disraeli Bay, July 15th.—Another hell-begotten day, or rather night. Dense fog, with the sun shining through it at times, but the land invisible, was the programme at the last camp. While we were getting ready to start, portions of the land showed up, and remained visible for about one hour.
Since then dense fog with the accompaniment during the last four hours of wet snow.
The going after the first two hours was fair over old hummocky ice from which most of the snow has melted, and on which what water there is, is in small pools. In clear weather and able to see ahead, it would be good going.