The Home of the Blizzard: Being the Story of the Australasian Antarctic Expedition, 1911-1914Mawson, Douglas, Sir
History
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)
While Ninnis rested before we made a start, Mertz and I re-arranged the
sledges and their loads. A third sledge was no longer necessary, so the
one usually driven by Ninnis, which had been damaged, was discarded and
all the gear was divided between the other two sledges in nearly equal
amounts. When the work was completed, the rear sledge carried an extra
weight of fifty pounds. As, however, both food for men and dogs were to
come from it, we reckoned that this superadded load would soon diminish.
On we went, during the afternoon, up a steep ascent. Crevasses were
so numerous that we took measures to vent them. Some were as much as a
hundred feet in width, filled with snow; others were great open holes
or like huge cauldrons. Close to the windward edge of some of the latter
high ramps of neve with bluff faces on the windward side stood up like
monoliths reaching twenty-five feet in maximum height.
In the evening a field of neve was reached and we felt more placid after
the anxiety of the preceding hours.
During the passage of a snow-filled valley a dull, booming sound like
the noise of far-distant cannon was heard. It was evidently connected
with the subsidence of large areas of the surface crust. Apparently
large cavities had formed beneath the snow and the weight of ourselves
and the sledges caused the crust to sink and the air to be expelled.
The sun appeared late in the day and, as it was almost calm, the last
few hours of marching were very pleasant. At midnight we camped at an
altitude of one thousand nine hundred feet.
A light east-south-east wind was blowing as the sledges started away
eastward on the morning of December 14. The weather was sunny and the
temperature registered 21 degrees F.
Mertz and I were happy to know that Ninnis had slept well and was
feeling much better.
Our march was interrupted at noon by a latitude observation, after which
Mertz went ahead on skis singing his student songs. The dogs rose to the
occasion and pulled eagerly and well. Everything was for once in harmony
and the time was at hand when we should turn our faces homewards.
Mertz was well in advance of us when I noticed him hold up his ski-stick
and then go on. This was a signal for something unusual so, as I
approached the vicinity, I looked out for crevasses or some other
explanation of his action. As a matter of fact crevasses were not
expected, since we were on a smooth surface of neve well to the
southward of the broken coastal slopes. On reaching the spot where Mertz
had signalled and seeing no sign of any irregularity, I jumped on to
the sledge, got out the book of tables and commenced to figure out the
latitude observation taken on that day. Glancing at the ground a moment
after, I noticed the faint indication of a crevasse. It was but one of
many hundred similar ones we had crossed and had no specially dangerous
appearance, but still I turned quickly round, called out a warning word
to Ninnis and then dismissed it from my thoughts.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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