Next we tried the Canadian snowshoes, and found them easy enough to work, but very clumsy compared with the ski. We afterwards learnt that our principal trouble with the latter was caused by the unsuitability of our footgear. We had been told to wear large fur boots of the kind called Finnsku, with hay packed in them. They may be well enough if you know how to pack them, and if they are of the right dimensions. Ours were wrong every way. It was only when we gave them up and took to our ordinary Swiss climbing-boots that we became really comfortable as well as firm on our feet. To this important question of footgear reference will also be made hereafter.
If the weather had been fine, or the least chance of a view could have been discerned, we should have delayed to repeat the ascent of De Geer Peak. Luck, however, was against us. As De Geer’s account of his climb is buried, for English readers, in a Swedish scientific publication,[1] a translation of it is here inserted:
“On the morning of August 2, 1882, I set forth from the coast, in company with Lund and the ship’s boy, on an expedition up the little valley bordering the north side of Nordenskiöld Glacier. The bottom of this valley, with its small hills and little lakes, resembled some unwooded tract of Sweden.… Arrived at the head of the valley, we put on the rope and struck across the first side glacier. We had now reached the inland ice and were about 600 metres above sea-level. As there was no time for a long expedition over the ice, we decided to climb the mountain near at hand. The only plants found on its slope were some mosses and lichens. Of birds we only saw one fulmar petrel, which came flying over the inland ice. The top of the mountain was covered with old hard-packed snow. Its altitude according to the barometer was over 1200 metres above the sea. It is therefore, after Hornsunds Tind, the highest mountain hitherto measured in Spitsbergen, though there appear to be other mountains in its neighbourhood at least as high.
“The view was remarkably comprehensive. In the south-west was a long stretch of Ice Fjord’s south coast. In clear weather it would probably have been possible to see both the mouth of the fjord and Mount Nordenskiöld, the high mountain west of Advent Bay which Nathorst afterwards climbed. We had an uninterrupted view over a great part of the broken hill-country west of Klaas Billen Bay, which appears to be devoid of big glaciers. Eastward the inland ice stretched away from the foot of the mountain, spreading out its gently undulating surface away to a remote mountain group, situated between N. 69½° E. and N. 101° E., probably identical with the range marked on the map ending westward in Mount Edlund, near Wybe Jans Water. Yet further away appeared a sunlit streak, and beyond that again a line of mountains, certainly very remote. These were quite clear and distinct for a long time till clouds covered them up. Perhaps they lie along the west coast of Barents Land.… In the north-east the interior of the ice was covered with clouds, so that Mount Chydenius could not be seen, which otherwise would probably have been visible. Most striking was the view to the north-west, in which direction we recognised, on first arriving at the top, a large piece of water, doubtless the West Fjord of Wijde Bay. Its innermost part lay in the direction between N. 39° W. and N. 27½° W., and was only hidden for a short distance by a mountain (the compass deviation is assumed to have been N. 14° W.).[2] Between us and Wijde Bay no mountains were seen, but only big, apparently level glaciers, filling the bottom of the great valley and seeming to form an ice-divide. It is worth mention that no ice was seen in the blue waters of Wijde Bay, although unbroken sea-ice is reported to have invested at least the western part of Spitsbergen’s north coast throughout the whole summer.
“When we first arrived on the top I took some photographs and observed a number of angles, besides making some sketches, but little by little our peak became enveloped in clouds which swept over from the inland ice. We waited four hours on the top, hoping it would clear, but the weather only became thicker and a wind sprang up, so that we were compelled to begin the descent. We followed the south-west ridge, which is certainly the best route for the ascent, in case this point of view should be revisited as a station of the proposed meridian-arc measurement. The return to the tent was made by the afore-mentioned valley.”
From this description it appears that the part of the country we intended to traverse was hidden from De Geer by clouds. We had no information whatever, therefore, as to the lie of the land or the direction in which we should steer. Next morning was somewhat clearer. The Terrier range on the further side of the glacier was disclosed, as well as some snowy domes inland, apparently very remote, but really not far off. The glacier was perceived to trend back in a direction somewhat east of north, and to widen out greatly. It seemed as though this were a true sheet of inland ice of the Greenland sort. We set forward hopefully in a clear interval, so laying our course as to keep up the glacier’s right side.
During the first hour Garwood’s snowshoes gave him great trouble, for he had chosen the Canadian pair. When he had changed them with Nielsen for ski, of which unfortunately we had only three pairs with us, and after a series of halts for readjustments, we got fairly under way. It was a steady uphill pull for about three hours. The fog soon came down, denser than ever, and lasted the rest of the day. Only by the resistance of the sledges could the steepness of the slope be inferred. There was absolutely nothing to be seen. It is hard for any one who has not experienced it to conceive the absolute invisibility of everything in the rather dazzling light that pervades a fog upon snow. The effect is thus described by Mr. Peary, writing about Greenland:[3]
“Not only was there no object to be seen, but in the entire sphere of vision there was no difference in intensity of light. My feet and snowshoes were sharp and clear as silhouettes, and I was sensible of contact with the snow at every step. Yet, as far as my eyes gave me evidence to the contrary, I was walking upon nothing. The space between my snowshoes was as light as the zenith. The opaque light which filled the sphere of vision might come from below as well as above. A curious mental as well as physical strain resulted from this blindness with wide-open eyes, and sometimes we were obliged to stop and await a change.”
Of course, in such a vague illumination there are no shadows. The light comes equally from everywhere. To keep a straight course requires continual attention. The compass must be referred to continually.