RACE TO THE SOUTH POLE
Have long been fascinated with this. Perhaps because I spent a few months in Siberia and have thus experienced cold. Scott, et al, was unlucky though: the year they set out saw the coldest conditions for decades. Apparently, this was entirely due to El Nino , the southern equator's subtropical jet stream. It was particularly extreme the year Scott and his comrades set out. I don't know too much about El Nino, other than that it creates shifting tides of ice around the Pole. Have been reading excerpts from his diaries. Here are some highlights:
January 6th: We are now further south than I belive any man has been before us. There appears to be no sign of the Norweigans.
January 10th: Yesterday we stayed in our sleeping bags all day, as the weather was so bad - a blizzard - that we could not go out. Today we continued our march, and covered six miles. We cannot be more than about 97 miles from the Pole. But can we keep this up for seven days more? We are dragging our own sledges, and none of us ever had such hard work before.
January 13th: I am sure we shall do it now.
January 16th: This afternoon Bowers saw something ahead which we thought looked like a pile of stones. When we got nearer we saw that it was a flag tied to a sledge, together with tracks made by sledges and dogs, many dogs. We fear the Norweigans have forestalled us and are first at the Pole.
January 17th: -54. Oates, Evans, and Bowers all with severe frostbite. Great God! This is an awful place, and it is terrible for us to have laboured to get to it without the reward of being the first.
January 18th: We have found the Norweigan's camp. They have taken 21 days less than us to reach the Pole. We have planted our poor sad flags. We now face 800 miles of solid dragging, and goodbye to our dreams. It will be a wearisome return.
February 17th: Yesterday Evans collapsed and we had to make camp. This morning he said he felt better and could go on. But he marched for a while then stopped to tie his boots while we went on. When we went back we found him kneeling in the snow with a wild look in his eyes. He died soon after midnight.
March 5th. -40. Oates in constant pain. His toes are black and gangrene is setting in. God help us, we can't keep on with this pulling, that is certain. Among ourselves we are unendingly cheerful but what each man feels in his heart I can only guess.
March 20th: We cannot leave the tent, the blizzard is too strong. My foot is a problem. Amuptation is a certainty.
March 29th: It seems a pity, but I do not think that I can write more.
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Fascinating and horrendous. Good writing, too. Loved "our poor sad flags" and "unendingly cheerful but what each man feels in his heart...". If ever I feel tired/fed up/cold/keen to get in bed/the bath, I shall think about this. It must have been wretched and appalling. Largely his own bad decisions though, that created the nightmarish situation. Had he taken dogs instead of ponies (cf Amundsen), they might have lived.
Have long been fascinated with this. Perhaps because I spent a few months in Siberia and have thus experienced cold. Scott, et al, was unlucky though: the year they set out saw the coldest conditions for decades. Apparently, this was entirely due to El Nino , the southern equator's subtropical jet stream. It was particularly extreme the year Scott and his comrades set out. I don't know too much about El Nino, other than that it creates shifting tides of ice around the Pole. Have been reading excerpts from his diaries. Here are some highlights:
January 6th: We are now further south than I belive any man has been before us. There appears to be no sign of the Norweigans.
January 10th: Yesterday we stayed in our sleeping bags all day, as the weather was so bad - a blizzard - that we could not go out. Today we continued our march, and covered six miles. We cannot be more than about 97 miles from the Pole. But can we keep this up for seven days more? We are dragging our own sledges, and none of us ever had such hard work before.
January 13th: I am sure we shall do it now.
January 16th: This afternoon Bowers saw something ahead which we thought looked like a pile of stones. When we got nearer we saw that it was a flag tied to a sledge, together with tracks made by sledges and dogs, many dogs. We fear the Norweigans have forestalled us and are first at the Pole.
January 17th: -54. Oates, Evans, and Bowers all with severe frostbite. Great God! This is an awful place, and it is terrible for us to have laboured to get to it without the reward of being the first.
January 18th: We have found the Norweigan's camp. They have taken 21 days less than us to reach the Pole. We have planted our poor sad flags. We now face 800 miles of solid dragging, and goodbye to our dreams. It will be a wearisome return.
February 17th: Yesterday Evans collapsed and we had to make camp. This morning he said he felt better and could go on. But he marched for a while then stopped to tie his boots while we went on. When we went back we found him kneeling in the snow with a wild look in his eyes. He died soon after midnight.
March 5th. -40. Oates in constant pain. His toes are black and gangrene is setting in. God help us, we can't keep on with this pulling, that is certain. Among ourselves we are unendingly cheerful but what each man feels in his heart I can only guess.
March 20th: We cannot leave the tent, the blizzard is too strong. My foot is a problem. Amuptation is a certainty.
March 29th: It seems a pity, but I do not think that I can write more.
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Fascinating and horrendous. Good writing, too. Loved "our poor sad flags" and "unendingly cheerful but what each man feels in his heart...". If ever I feel tired/fed up/cold/keen to get in bed/the bath, I shall think about this. It must have been wretched and appalling. Largely his own bad decisions though, that created the nightmarish situation. Had he taken dogs instead of ponies (cf Amundsen), they might have lived.
