The Home of the Blizzard: Being the Story of the Australasian Antarctic Expedition, 1911-1914Mawson, Douglas, Sir
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The Home of the Blizzard: Being the Story of the Australasian Antarctic Expedition, 1911-1914
Mawson, Douglas, Sir
Antarctica -- Discovery and exploration; Australasian Antarctic Expedition (1911-1914)
It was a great relief to be in a strong room, with solid walls of ice,
in place of the cramped tent flapping violently in the wind. Inside, the
silence was profound; the blizzard was banished. Aladdin's Cave it
was dubbed--a truly magical world of glassy facets and scintillating
crystals.
Shelves were chipped out at a moment's notice for primus stove, spirit
bottle, matches, kerosene and other oddments. At one side a small hole
was cut to communicate with a narrow fissure which provided ventilation
without allowing the entrance of drift snow. Whatever daylight there was
filtered through the roof and walls without hindrance. A small crevasse
opened near at hand and was a natural receptacle for rubbish. The purest
ice for cooking could be immediately hacked from the walls without the
inconvenience of having to don one's burberrys and go outside for it.
Finally, one neatly disposed of spare clothes by moistening the corner
of each garment and pressing it against the wall for a few seconds,
where it would remain hanging until required. The place, in fact, was
simply replete with conveniences. We thoroughly enjoyed the night's
rest in Aladdin's Cave, notwithstanding alarming cracks proceeding
occasionally from the crevasses around.
Madigan and Ninnis dug a shelter for the dogs, which spent their time
curled up so as to expose as little surface as possible to the biting
wind. Their thick coats did not adhere to a snow surface, but readily
became frozen down to ice, so that an ice-axe would have to be used to
chip them free.
On August 13, though there was a steady, strong wind blowing, we
continued our advance to the south. The dogs hated to face wind, but, on
the whole, did better than expected. In the afternoon, when only eight
miles south of Winter Quarters and at an altitude of two thousand feet,
dark and lowering clouds formed overhead, and I decided to give up any
idea of going farther out, for the time being. We had provisions for
a few days only, and there was every indication of thick, drifting
weather, during which, in the crevassed ice of that vicinity, it would
not be advisable to travel.
After depoting a pick, shovel and some pemmican, we started back,
thinking it might be possible to reach the Hut the same night. However,
driven by a strong wind over a polished, slippery surface split into
small crevasses, down a grade which steepened quickly, we required to
have all our senses vigilant. Two of the dogs remained in harness and
the rest were allowed to run loose ahead. These two strained every
effort to catch up to their companions.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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