We returned to camp for our cameras and came back with Nielsen, then Garwood set forward down the hill to investigate the Hecla Hook rocks of the nunatak, whilst Nielsen and I went north up the snow-slope. We had not more than a mile to go before reaching the top of the highest snow-dome in the watershed area between the glacier systems draining west to Dickson Bay, south-east to Wybe Jans Water, and south to Klaas Billen Bay. Whether the glacier to the north bent ultimately west to Dickson Bay or round to the head of East Fjord of Wijde Bay could not be determined, for it was soon lost beneath a roof of cloud. The fulmar petrels that came flying over could have told us. The range of hills across the north was now clear. There were indications of a valley between our plateau and them, and of a pass leading over to it from a bay of the eastern valley. Unfortunately my photographs of this important view, like all others taken by me on roller film this year, failed. How I now regret not to have carried some good glass plates to this point! Only blind notes remain. There was a peak of nearly 4000 feet, 30° west of north, and another due north about six miles away. Connected with them were many more of smaller dimensions. West of the peak first mentioned the land dropped below the cloud-level, which was from 500 to a 1000 feet beneath our feet. All in the Dickson Bay direction was hidden under piled masses of cloud.
It was a fascinating and tantalising view. One more day’s march would have solved for certain, instead of merely by inference, the whole question of the topography of this icy area. Any one of the peaks ahead would have commanded views towards Wijde Bay, Hinloopen Strait, and Wybe Jans Water. But with Svensen hors de combat we were helpless. To leave camp for a whole day was impossible, seeing that, in this featureless white wilderness, if fog came on, we should never find it again, whilst, without us, the men left behind could not steer their way to the coast. I thought, however, that it might be possible to return by a new route, descending first down the east valley and then working round to the south; so we went back to the tents and asked Svensen whether, if we dragged his sledge, he could follow on his own feet homeward. He eagerly jumped at the suggestion; the stuff was packed and off we started uphill to the point of our first view at the head of the east valley. Svensen shuffled along on his ski well enough, though with a sorry countenance. When he found us going uphill he protested that that could not be the way back and that we were going east instead of south. Arrived at the top and seeing the valley he became mutinous, said if we went down there we should all leave our bones in this horrible land, and generally protested with all his might. Nielsen joined his protests, on the ground that, Svensen being the sort of man he was and apparently ill as well as terrified, we should probably soon find ourselves obliged to drag him along on a sledge, and that, while he could manage to walk, it was best to get him in the direction of the coast, so that, if ultimately he had to be carried, it might be over as few miles as possible. In fact, we were cornered; there was nothing for it but to turn coastward.
Before doing so we took one more long gaze over the great glacier and away to the remote hills that look down on Wybe Jans Water. One of them must be Mount Edlund, another the White Mountain near Heley’s Sound; but it was impossible to identify them. These were the peaks climbed by Nordenskiöld and his party in 1864. As they were the only people who have ever gazed inland over this same sea of ice, I here insert an abbreviated translation of their account.[4]
“On August 21, 1864, the weather became so fine that we returned to land in order to climb Mount Edlund. We landed at the edge of the glacier, which ends without a cliff. Parallel with the shore, at a distance of about a thousand yards, there extends a broad bank of moraine, beyond which comes the glacier itself. Its lowest part consists of a mounded ice-field, here and there split by crevasses, for the most part filled with water. The ascent was easy, and we soon reached the lowest plateau of the mountain. A grass-slope followed, becoming steeper higher up and ending near the upper plateau in a hyperite cliff faced by four-edged columns. This cliff was at least fifty feet high, and vertical; but the rocks were firm, and could easily be climbed. Thus we reached the top.
“The view fully came up to our expectations. North-westward, far as the eye could reach, spread endless hills and plains of snow, only broken here and there by occasional mountain peaks standing more or less free. Among these, several remote mountains, probably surrounding the southern shore of Wijde Bay, deserve mention. Further round in the north-east a row of peaks stood up against the horizon. Mount Chydenius was the most northerly and highest of these great mountains.[5] We overlooked the whole of Wybe Jans Water from Whale’s Point and Whale’s Head to its inmost recess near the White Mountain. Many mountains surrounded by ice reared themselves in the west. The view over Hinloopen Strait was hindered by thick mist, which appeared to lie only over this depression and its bordering hills, as so often happens.
“In order to follow up the mountain ridge extending towards the north-west, and to learn whether an expedition over the snow fields involved difficulties, we went from the summit farther into the interior of the land, which lay almost at the same height as the peak. It was quite level and covered with hard, frozen snow, on which walking was as easy as on a floor. This plain of snow appeared to stretch away to Mount Chydenius, so that that peak would be easy to reach for the purposes of a triangulation. We went as far as a distant small hill of snow [apparently the Mount Svanberg of the map] without any new experiences, except that fresh peaks kept constantly appearing above the snow; we accordingly decided to return.
“The shortest way back to the ship led down a rather steep ice-stream flowing between two hills from the place where we stood to the same broad, level glacier over which we had come in the ascent. The true source of the latter was, in fact, this ice-stream which flows down from the inland ice. We stood for a time at its edge, telescope in hand, discussing whether it would be possible to descend by this apparently easy way, or whether we must go round by the longer route, somewhat dangerous as it was by reason of the hyperite cliff. A young “Balsfjording,” who carried our instruments, and had certainly climbed many a mountain near his home, but probably never been on a glacier, looked at us with wondering eyes when we asked him his opinion. His expression seemed to say, “How can any one be in doubt about so obvious a matter?” Without a word, he sprang down the ice-slope, theodolite in hand, to our great terror, for we feared that, as usual, the glacier would be broken by crevasses, and difficult to cross. Our anxiety did not last long before we saw him come to a halt, and just in time, for, on coming nearer, we found that a great schrund was immediately before him. We crept to its edge and looked down into the weird, bottomless depth, whose walls were azure-blue cliffs of ice, here and there covered with white icicles like stalactites. Lower down everything was lost in a dark-blue gloom. This crevasse stretched almost the whole way across the glacier, so that a long detour had to be made before it could be crossed. Later on we encountered a great number of such crevasses, some of which we turned, others jumped over, others again crossed by ice-bridges. Not till we reached the main stream of the glacier did the crevasses come to an end and the descent became quick and easy.”
On returning to the coast they took a boat and rowed to the mouth of Heley’s Sound, some three miles north of which they landed in a little bay and set up their tent. Next day, August 22, was again fine, so they set forth to make the ascent of the neighbouring White Mountain.
“We wandered first over the great moraine, which the glacier has cast down before itself, then climbed the gently sloping ice-field. This proved to be unexpectedly fatiguing and disagreeable work. The surface consisted of thawed and refrozen snow, covered with a crust of faggot-like formation, which frequently broke up under our tread, so that the foot sank into the soft snow beneath and was with difficulty withdrawn through the icecrust, whose sharp edges cut into the boots. The top of the mountain, hidden at first by the humps of the glacier, came into view after an hour’s ascent, but was still far away. We had several hours of work over snow of similar character before we reached the summit, a small plateau covered with powdery snow a foot deep upon hard ice.
“The view from this point is perhaps the finest to be found on Spitsbergen. In the east, about sixty miles away, we saw a high mountain land with two peaks higher than the rest. [This was Wiches Land.] Between it and Spitsbergen lay a sea covered with great, continuous icefloes, obviously impenetrable by a ship.… In the north-east and north, far as the eye could reach, appeared the hills of North-East Land and Hinloopen Strait, with the strait itself and its islands apparently surrounded by water free of ice. Nordenskiöld recognised Mount Lovén, ascended by him in 1861.… The interior was likewise displayed before our eyes, a boundless immeasurable waste of snow, out of which here and there some mass of rock jutted forth, dark in contrast with the blinding white surroundings. Only further away, west and north-west, were there any connected ranges of mountains. The whole west and north coasts of Wybe Jans Water were in sight, and the northern part of Barents Land, whose extreme point consists of a much crevassed snow-mountain ending steeply in the sea.”