Chapter 9 - MIDWINTER AND ITS WORK
The Home of the Blizzard
By Douglas Mawson
Preface
Chapters:
1 - The Problem
and Preparations |
2 - The Last
Days of Hobart and the Voyage to Macquarie Island |
3 - From Macquarie
Island to Adelie Land |
4 - New Lands
| 5 - First
Days in Adelie Land |
6 - Autumn
Prospects |
7 - The Blizzard |
8 - Domestic
Life | 9
- Midwinter and its Work |
10 - The
Preparation of Sledging Equipment |
11 - Spring
Exploits |
12 - Across King George V Land |
13 - Toil
and Tribulation |
14 -
The Quest of the South Magnetic Pole
| 15
- Eastward Over the Sea-Ice |
16 - Horn
Bluff and Penguin Point |
17 - With
Stillwell's and Bickerton's Parties |
18 - The
Ship's Story |
19 - The
Western Base - Establishment and Early Adventures |
20 - The
Western base - Winter and Spring |
21 - The
Western Base - Blocked on the Shelf-Ice |
22 - The
Western base - Linking up with Kaiser Wilhelm II Land
| 23 - A
Second Winter |
24 - Nearing
the End |
25 - Life on Macquarie Island |
26 - A Land
of Storm and Mist |
27- Through
Another Year |
28 - The
Homeward Cruise
Appendices:
2 - Scientific Work
| 3 - An Historical
Summary | 4
- Glossary |
5 - Medical Reports |
6 - Finance
| 7 - Equipment
Summary (2 pages) of the
Australian Antarctic Expedition
| The
Men of the Expedition
CHAPTER IX
MIDWINTER AND
ITS WORK
With the advent of the fateful Ides of March,
winter ii had practically set in, and work outside had a chequered
career. When a few calm hours intervened between two blizzards
a general rush was made to continue some long-standing job.
Often all that could be done was to clear the field for action,
that is, dig away large accumulations of snow. Then the furies
would break loose again, and once more we would play the waiting
game, meanwhile concerning ourselves with more sedentary occupations.
There was a familiar cry when, for some meteorological reason,
the wind would relapse into fierce gusts and then suddenly stop,
to be succeeded by intense stillness. ``Dead calm, up with the
wireless masts!'' Every one hastily dashed for his burberrys,
and soon a crowd of muffled figures would emerge through the
veranda exit, dragging ropes, blocks, picks, and shovels. There
was no time to be lost.
So the erection of the wireless
masts began in earnest on April 4, continued feverishly till
the end of the month, suffered a long period of partial cessation
during May and June, was revived in July and August, and, by
September 1, two masts, each consisting of a lower-mast and
top-mast, had been raised and stayed, while between them stretched
the aerial. For four weeks messages were sent out, and many
of them were caught by Macquarie Island. Nothing was heard in
Adelie Land, although, between certain hours, regular watches
were kept at the receiver. The aerial was about sixty-five feet
from the ground, and it was resolved to increase its height
by erecting the top-gallant masts; but before anything considerable
could be done, a terrific gust of wind on October 13 broke three
wire-stays, and down came the mast, broken and splintered by
the fall. That is a brief resume of the fortunes of the ``wireless''
during the first year.
During February and March there
were various other operations of more immediate importance which
prevented concentration of our workers on the erection of the
masts. There were many odd jobs to finish about the Hut, the
Magnetograph House and Absolute Hut were ``under way,'' the
air-tractor sledge had to be efficiently housed, and all these
and many other things could be done in weather during which
it was out of question to hoist a mast into position. At first
we were fastidious and waited for a calm, but later, as we grew
more impatient, a top-mast was actually hauled up in a wind
of thirty miles per hour, with gusts of higher velocity. Such
work would sometimes be interrupted by a more furious outbreak,
when all ropes would be secured and everything made as ship-shape
as possible.
On March 15 the following note was made:
``The wind was on the cool side just after breakfast. A few
loads of wireless equipment were sledged up to the rocks at
the back of the Hut, and by the time several masts were carried
to the same place we began to warm to the work. One of Hannam's
coils of frozen rope (one hundred and twenty fathoms) had become
kinked and tangled, so we dragged it up the ice-slope, straightened
it out and coiled it up again. Several `dead men' to hold the
stays were sunk into ice-holes, and, during the afternoon, one
mast was dragged into position by a willing crowd. Rocks were
sledged to and packed around the `dead men' in the holes to
make them compact. Towards sundown snow clouds filled the northern
sky and a blizzard sprang up which is now doing sixty miles
per hour. We philosophically expect another week cooped up in
the Hut.''
It took a long time to establish the twenty
good anchorages necessary for the masts. Within a radius of
eighty yards from the centre, ice-holes were dug, cairns of
heavy boulders were built and rocky prominences dynamited off
to secure an efficient holding for the stout ``strops'' of rope.
April 24 was a typical day: ``We spent the morning fixing up
`strops' for the wireless masts. The wind was blowing strongly
in fifty- to sixty-mile gusts with drift, but most of the fellows
`stuck at it' all day. It was cold work on the hands and feet.
Handling picks and shovels predisposes to frost-bite. Several
charges of dynamite were fired in one hole wherein a mast will
be stepped.''
Each mast, of oregon timber, was in four
sections. The lowest section was ten inches square and tapered
upwards to the small royal mast at a prospective height of one
hundred and twenty feet. At an early stage it was realized that
we could not expect to erect more than three sections. Round
the steel caps at each doubling a good deal of fitting had to
be done, and Bickerton, in such occupation, spent many hours
aloft throughout the year. Fumbling with bulky mitts, handling
hammers and spanners, and manipulating nuts and bolts with bare
hands, while suspended in a boatswain's chair in the wind, the
man up the mast had a difficult and miserable task. Bickerton
was the hero of all such endeavours. Hannam directed the other
workers who steadied the stays, cleared or made fast the ropes,
pulled and stood by the hauling tackle and so forth.
One day the man on the top-mast dislodged a heavy engineering
hammer which he thought secure. No warning was given, as he
did not notice that it had fallen. It whizzed down and buried
itself in the snow, just grazing the heads of Close and Hodgeman.
The ropes securing the aerial and running through various
blocks were in constant danger of chafing during the frequent
hurricanes, from their proximity to the mast and stays, or from
friction on the sharp edges of the blocks. Unknown to us, this
had happened to a strong, new manilla rope by which Murphy was
being hauled to the top of the lower-mast. It gave way, and,
but for another rope close by, which he seized to break his
fall, an accident might have ensued.
Frost-bites were
common. There were so many occasions when one had to stand for
a long time gripping a rope, pulling or maintaining a steady
strain, that fingers would promptly become numb and feet unbearably
cold. The usual restorative was to stamp about and beat the
chest with the hands--an old sailor's trick. Attempting to climb
to a block on the top-gallant mast one day, McLean had all his
fingers frost-bitten at the same time.
In May the weather
was atrocious, and in June building the Astronomical Hut and
digging ice-shafts on the glacier absorbed a good many hands.
In July, despite the enthusiasm and preparation for sledging,
much was done. On August 10 the long looked-for top-mast of
the southern mast became a reality:
``We were early astir--about
7 A.M.--while the pink coloration of dawn was stealing over
the peaceful Barrier. For once, after months, it was perfectly
still. We hurried about making preparations--hauled Bickerton
up to the cross-trees and awaited the moment when we should
raise the top-mast. We pulled it up half-way and Bickerton affixed
a pin in its centre, above which two stays were to be attached.
Suddenly, down came the wind in terrific gusts and, after securing
the stays, the job had to be given up.... We were just about
to have
lunch when the wind ceased as suddenly as it had
begun. We all sallied out once more, and, this time, completed
the job, though for a while the top-mast was in imminent peril
of being blown away by a
sharp northerly gust.''
Next day the aerial was hoisted in a wind of
sixty miles per hour, but the strain was so severe on the block,
upwind, that it carried away. Fortunately the insulators of
the aerial were entangled by the stays in their fall to ground,
otherwise some one may have been hurt, as there were a dozen
men almost directly below.
Six days after this accident,
August 17, the top-mast halliard of the down-wind mast frayed
through, and as a stronger block was to be affixed for the aerial,
some one had to climb up to wire it in position. Bickerton improvized
a pair of climbing irons, and, after some preliminary practice,
ascended in fine style.
Finally, by September 30, the
aerial was at such a height as to give hope that long-distance
messages might be despatched. There was a certain amount of
suppressed excitement on the evening of that day when the engine
started and gradually got up speed in the dynamo. The sharp
note of the spark rose in accompanying crescendo and, when it
had reached its highest pitch, Hannam struck off a message to
the world at large. No response came after several nights of
signalling, and, since sledging had usurped every other interest,
the novelty soon wore off.
``Atmospherics''--discharges
of atmospheric electricity--and discharges from the drift-snow
were heard in the wireless receiver.
While messages were
being sent, induction effects were noted in metallic objects
around the Hut. A cook at the stove was the first to discover
this phenomenon, and then every one conceived a mania for ``drawing''
sparks. A rather stimulating experience--the more so as it usually
happened unexpectedly and accidentally--was to brush one's head
against one of the numerous coils of flexible metal gas-piping
festooned about the place. Sparks immediately jumped the interval
with startling effect.
October 13, the day when the mast
blew down, was known in wireless circles as Black Sunday. All
had worked keenly to make the ``wireless'' a success, and the
final event was considered to be a public misfortune. However,
the honours were to be retrieved during the following year.
It fell to the lot of most of the Staff that they developed
an interest in terrestrial magnetism. For one thing every man
had carried boulders to the great stockade surrounding the Magnetograph
House. Then, too, recorders were regularly needed to assist
the magnetician in the absolute Hut. There, if the temperature
were not too low and the observations not too lengthy, the recorder
stepped out into the blizzard with the conviction that he had
learned something of value, and, when he sat down to dinner
that night, it was with a genial sense of his own altruism.
In his diary he would write it all up for his own edification.
It would be on this wise: The Earth's magnetic force, which
is the active agent in maintaining the compass-needle in the
magnetic meridian** at any particular spot, acts, not as is
popularly supposed, in a horizontal plane, but at a certain
angle of inclination with the Earth's surface. The nearer the
magnetic poles the more nearly vertical does the freely suspended
needle become. At the South Magnetic Pole it assumes a vertical
position with the south end downwards; at the North Magnetic
Pole it stands on its other end. At the intermediate positions
near the equator the whole force is exerted, swinging the needle
in the horizontal plane, and in such regions ordinary ships'
compasses pivoted to move freely only in a horizontal plane
give the greatest satisfaction. On approaching the magnetic
poles, compasses become sluggish, for the horizontal deflecting
force falls off rapidly. The force, acting in a vertical direction,
tending to make the needle dip, correspondingly increases, but
is of no value for navigation purposes. However, in the scientific
discussion of terrestrial magnetism, both the horizontal and
vertical components as well as the absolute value of the total
force are important, and the determination of these ``elements''
is the work of the magnetician. Affecting the average values
of the ``magnetic elements'' at any one spot on the Earth's
surface are regular diurnal oscillations, apparent only by the
application of very delicate methods of observation: also there
are sudden large irregular movements referred to as magnetic
storms; the latter are always specially noticeable when unusually
bright auroral phenomena are in progress.
** The magnetic
meridian is the straight line joining the North and South Magnetic
Poles and passing through the spot in question.
The observations
made in the ``Absolute Hut'', carried out at frequent intervals
and on each occasion occupying two men for several hours together,
are necessary to obtain standard values as a check upon the
graphic record of the self-recording instruments which run day
and night in the ``Magnetograph House''.
But this is
another story. Three hours, sitting writing figures in a temperature
of -15 degrees F., is no joke. The magnetician is not so badly
off, because he is moving about, though he often has to stop
and warm his fingers, handling the cold metal.
The Magnetograph
House had by far the most formidable name. The Hut, though it
symbolized our all in all, sounded very insignificant unless
it were repeated with just the right intonation. The Absolute
Hut had a superadded dignity. The Hangar, in passing, scarcely
seemed to have a right to a capital H. The Transit House, on
the and other hand, was the only dangerous rival to the first
mentioned. But what's in a name?
If the Magnetograph
House had been advertised, it would have been described as ``two
minutes from the Hut.'' This can easily be understood, for the
magnetician after leaving home is speedily blown over a few
hillocks and sastrugi, and, coming to an ice-flat about one
hundred and fifty yards wide, swiftly slides over it, alighting
at the snow-packed door of his house. The outside porch is just
roomy enough for a man to slip off burberrys and crampons. The
latter are full of steel spikes, and being capable of upsetting
magnetic equilibrium, are left outside. Walking in soft finnesko,
the magnetician opens an inner door, to be at once accosted
by darkness, made more intense after the white glare of the
snow. His eyes grow accustomed to the blackness, and he gropes
his way to a large box almost concealing the feeble glimmer
of a lamp. The lamp is the source of the light, projected on
to small mirrors attached to the magnetic needles of three variometers.
A ray of light is reflected from the mirrors for several feet
on to a slit, past which revolves sensitized photographic paper
folded on a drum moving by clockwork. The slightest movements
of the suspended needles are greatly magnified, and, when the
paper is removed and developed in a dark-room, a series of intricate
curves denoting declination, horizontal intensity and vertical
force, are exquisitely traced. Every day the magnetician attends
to the lamp and changes papers; also at prearranged times he
tests his ``scale values'' or takes a ``quick run.''
To obtain results as free as possible from the local] attraction
of the rocks in the neighbourhood, Webb resolved to take several
sets of observations on the ice-sheet. In order to make the
determinations it was necessary to excavate a cave in the glacier.
This was done about three-quarters of a mile south of the Hut
in working shifts of two men. A fine cavern was hewn out, and
there full sets of magnetic observations were taken under ideal
conditions.
On sledging journeys the ``dip'' and declination
were both ascertained at many stations, around and up to within
less than half a degree of the South Magnetic Pole.
While
the wind rushed by at a maddening pace and stars flashed like
jewels in a black sky, a glow of pale yellow light overspread
the north-east horizon--the aurora. A rim of dark, stratus cloud
was often visible below the light which brightened and diffused
till it curved as a low arc across the sky. It was eerie to
watch the contour of the arc break, die away into a delicate
pallor and reillumine in a travelling riband. Soon a long ray,
as from a searchlight, flashed above one end, and then a row
of vertical streamers ran out from the arc, probing upwards
into the outer darkness. The streamers waxed and waned, died
away to be replaced and then faded into the starlight. The arc
lost its radiance, divided in patchy fragments, and all was
dark once more.
This would be repeated again in a few
hours and irregularly throughout the night, but with scenic
changes behind the great sombre pall of the sky. North-west,
northeast, and south-east it would elusively appear in nebulous
blotches, flitting about to end finally in long bright strands
in the zenith, crossing the path of the ``milky way.''
By the observer, who wrote down his exact observations in
the meteorological log, this was called a ``quiet night.''
At times the light was nimble, flinging itself about in
rich waves, warming to dazzling yellow-green and rose. These
were the nights when ``curtains'' hung festooned in the heavens,
alive, rippling, dancing to the lilt of lightning music. Up
from the horizon they would mount, forming a vortex overhead,
soundless within the silence of the ether.
A ``brilliant display,'' we would say, and the
observer would be kept busy following the track of the evanescent
rays.
Powerless, one was in the spell of an all-enfolding
wonder. The vast, solitary snow-land, cold-white under the sparkling
star-gems; lustrous in the radiance of the southern lights;furrowed
beneath the icy sweep of the wind. We had come to probe its
mystery, we had hoped to reduce it to terms of science, but
there was always the ``indefinable'' which held aloof, yet riveted
our souls.
The aurora was always with us, and almost
without exception could be seen on a dark, driftless night.
The nature of the aurora polaris has not yet been finally demonstrated,
though it is generally agreed to be a discharge of electricity
occurring in the upper, more rarefied atmosphere. The luminous
phenomena are very similar to those seen when a current of electricity
is passed through a vacuum tube.
One receives a distinct
impression of nearness, watching the shimmering edges of the
``curtains''in the zenith, but all measurements indicate that
they never descend nearer than a few miles above the land-surface.
Careful records were taken to establish a relation between
magnetic storms and aurorae, and a good deal of evidence was
amassed to support the fact that auroral exhibitions correspond
with periods of great magnetic disturbance. The displays in
Adelie Land were found to be more active than those which occur
in higher latitudes in the Ross Sea.
An occupation which
helped to introduce variety in our life was the digging of ice-shafts.
For the purpose of making observations upon its structure and
temperature various excavations were made in the sea-ice, in
the ice of the glacier, and in that of the freshwater lakes.
The work was always popular. Even a whole day's labour with
a pick and shovel at the bottom of an ice-hole never seemed
laborious. It was all so novel.
A calm morning in June,
the sky is clear and the north ablaze with the colours of sunrise--or
is it sunset? The air is delicious, and a cool waft comes down
the glacier. A deep ultramarine, shading up into a soft purple
hue, blends in a colour-scheme with the lilac plateau. Two men
crunch along in spiked boots over snow mounds and polished sastrugi
to the harbour-ice. The sea to the north is glazed with freezing
spicules, and over it sweep the petrels--our only living companions
of the winter. It is all an inspiration; while hewing out chunks
of ice and shovelling them away is the acute pleasure of movement,
exercise.
The men measure out an area six feet by three
feet, and take a preliminary temperature of the surface-ice
by inserting a thermometer in a drilled hole. Then the ice begins
to fly, and it is not long before they are down one foot. Nevertheless
it would surprise those acquainted only with fresh water ice
to find how tough, sticky and intractable is sea-ice. It is
always well to work on a definite plan, channelling in various
directions, and then removing the intervening lumps by a few
rough sweeps of the pick. At a depth of one foot, another temperature
is taken, and some large samples of the ice laid by for the
examination of their crystalline structure. This is repeated
at two feet, and so on, until the whole thickness is pierced
to the sea-water beneath. At three feet brine may begin to trickle
into the hole, and this increases in amount until the worker
is in a puddle. The leakage takes place, if not along cracks,
through capillary channels, which are everywhere present 1n
sea-ice.
It is interesting to note the temperature gradually
rise during the descent. At the surface the ice is chilled to
the air-temperature, say -10 degrees F., and it rises in a steep
gradient to approximately 28 degrees F.; close to the freezing-point
of sea water. The sea-ice in the boat-harbour varied in thickness
during the winter between
five and seven feet.
In contrast with sea-ice, the ice of a glacier
is a marvel of prismatic colour and glassy brilliance. This
is more noticeable near the surface when the sun is shining.
Deep down in a shaft, or in an ice-cavern, the sapphire reflection
gives to the human face quite a ghastly pallor.
During
the high winds it was always easy to dispose of the fragments
of ice in the earlier stages of sinking a shaft. To be rid of
them, all that was necessary was to throw a shovelful vertically
upwards towards the lee-side of the hole, the wind then did
the rest. Away the chips would scatter, tinkling over the surface
of the glacier. Of course, when two men were at work, each took
it in turns to go below, and the one above, to keep warm, would
impatiently pace up and down. Nevertheless, so cold would he
become at times that a heated colloquy would arise between them
on the subject of working overtime. When the shaft had
attained depth, both were kept busy. The man at the pit's mouth
lowered a bucket on a rope to receive the ice and, in hauling
it up, handicapped with clumsy mitts, he had to be careful not
to drop it on his companion's head.
The structural composition
of ice is a study in itself. To the cursory glance a piece of
glacier-ice appears homogeneous, but when dissected in detail
it is found to be formed of many crystalline, interlocking grains,
ranging in size from a fraction of an inch to several inches
in diameter. A grain-size of a half to one inch is perhaps commonest
in Antarctic glacier-ice.
The history of Antarctic glacier-ice
commences with the showers of snow that fall upon the plateau.
The snow particles may be blown for hundreds of miles before
they finally come to rest and consolidate. The consolidated
snow is called neve, the grains of which are one-twenty-fifth
to one hundredth of an inch in diameter, and, en masse, present
a dazzling white appearance on account of the air spaces which
occupy one-third to one-half of the whole. In time, under the
influence of a heavy load of accumulated layers of neve, the
grains run together and the air spaces are eliminated. The final
result is clear, transparent ice, of a more or less sapphire-blue
colour when seen in large blocks. It contains only occasional
air-bubbles, and the size of the grains is much increased.
Lake-ice, freezing from the surface downwards, is built
up of long parallel prisms, like the cells of a honey-comb on
a large scale. In a lakelet near the Hut this was beautifully
demonstrated. In some places cracks and fissures filled with
snow-dust traversed the body of the ice, and in other places
long strings of beaded air-bubbles had become entangled in the
process of freezing. To lie down on the clear surface and gaze
``through the looking-glass'' to the rocky bottom, twenty feet
below, was a glimpse into ``Wonderland.''
In the case
of sea-ice, the simple prismatic structure is complicated owing
to the presence of saline matter dissolved in the sea water.
The saline tracts between the prisms produce a milky or opalescent
appearance. The prisms are of fresh water ice, for in freezing
the brine is rejected and forced to occupy the interstices of
the prisms. Water of good drinking quality can be obtained by
allowing sea water ice to thaw partially. The brine, of lower
freezing-point, flows away, leaving only fresh water ice behind.
In this way blocks of sea-ice exposed to the sun's rays are
relieved of their salty constituents, and crumble into pellucid
gravel when disturbed.
A popular subject commanding general
interest, apart from the devoted attention of specialists, was
zoological collecting. Seals and birds were made the prey of
every one, and dredging through the sea-ice in
winter and
spring was always a possible diversion.
It was a splendid
sight to watch the birds sailing in the high winds of Adelie
Land. In winds of fifty to seventy miles per hour, when with
good crampons one had to stagger warily along the ice-foot,
the snow petrels and Antarctic petrels were in their element.
Wheeling, swinging, sinking, planing and soaring, they were
radiant with life--the wild spirits of the tempest. Even in
moderate drift, when through swirling snow the vistas of sea
whitened under the flail of the wind, one suddenly caught the
silver flash of wings and a snow petrel glided past.
But most memorable of all were certain winter mornings of unexpected
calm, when ruddy clouds tessellated the northern sky and were
mirrored in the freezing sea. Then the petrels would be en fete,
flying over from the east following the line of the Barrier,
winding round the icy coves, darting across the jutting points
and ever onward in their long migration. In the summer they
flew for weeks from the west--a never-ending string of snow,
silver-grey and Antarctic petrels, and Cape pigeons. The silver-grey
petrels and Cape pigeons were only abroad during that season
and were accompanied by skua gulls, giant petrels, Wilson petrels,
and penguins. The penguins remained in Adelie Land for the longest
period--almost six months, the skua gulls and giant petrels
for five months, and the rest for a shorter period--the tolerable
season of midsummer.
Birds that haunt the wide oceans
all make use of the soaring principle in flight, some much more
than others. The beautiful sliding sweep of the albatross is
the most familiar example. With wings outspread, it is a miniature
aeroplane requiring no engines, for the wind itself supplies
the power. A slight movement of the tail-feathers and wing-tips
controls its balance with nice precision. Birds employing this
method of flight find their home in the zone of continuous steady
winds which blow across the broad wastes of the southern seas.
Many petrels on the wing were shot during the winter. Laseron,
who prepared the skins of our Adelie Land collection, determined,
in the case of a number of specimens, the ratio of weight to
horizontal area exposed to the wind. This subject is one which
has lately exercised the curiosity of aviators. The ratios are
those evolved by nature, and, as such, should be wellnigh perfect.
Below is appended a table of the results obtained.
WEIGHT
OF CERTAIN ANTARCTIC BIRDS IN RELATION TO WING AREAS
(Stated in pounds per square foot of wing surface)
Each
is the mean of several determinations by Laseron
Giant petrel | 3.5 |
Albatross | 2.4 |
Antarctic petrel | 2.1 |
Skua gull | 1.6 |
Snow petrel | 1.1 |
Wilson petrel | 0.6 |
Values from a book of reference quoted for comparison
Bat | 0.1 |
Sparrow | 0.4 |
Wild goose | 1.7 |
During the winter, for a long period, no seals
ventured ashore, though a few were seen swimming in the bay.
The force of the wind was so formidable that even a heavy seal,
exposed in the open, broadside-on, would be literally blown
into the water. This fact was actually observed out on the harbour-ice.
A Weddell seal made twelve attempts to land on a low projecting
shelf--an easy feat under ordinary circumstances. The wind was
in the region of eighty-five miles per hour, and every time
the clumsy, ponderous creature secured its first hold, back
it would be tumbled. Once it managed to raise itself on to the
flat surface, and, after a breathing spell, commenced to shuffle
towards the shelter of some pinnacles on one side of the harbour.
Immediately its broad flank was turned to the wind it was rolled
over, hung for a few seconds on the brink, and then splashed
into the sea. On the other hand, during the spring, a few more
ambitious seals won their way ashore in high winds; but they
did not remain long in the piercing cold, moving uneasily from
place to place in search of protecting hummocks and finally
taking to the water in despair. Often a few hours of calm weather
was the signal for half a dozen animals to land. The wind sooner
or later sprang up and drove them back to their warmer element.
Under the generic name, seal, are included the true or hair
seals and the sea-bears or fur seals. Of these the fur seals
are sub-polar in distribution, inhabiting the cold temperate
waters of both hemispheres, but never living amongst the polar
ice. The southern coast of Australia and the sub-antarctic islands
were their favourite haunts, but the ruthless slaughter of the
early days practically exterminated them. From Macquarie Island,
for example, several hundred thousand skins were taken in a
few years, and of late not a single specimen has been seen.
Closely related to the fur seals are the much larger animals
popularly known as sea-lions. These still exist in great numbers
in south temperate waters. Both are distinguished from the hair
seals by one obvious characteristic: their method of propulsion
on land is by a ``lolloping'' motion, in which the front and
hind flippers are used alternately. The hair seals move by a
caterpillar-like shuffle, making little or no use of their flippers;
and so, the terminal parts of their flippers are not bent outwards
as they are in the fur seals and sea-lions.
Of the hair
seals there are five varieties to be recognized in the far South.
The Weddell seals, with their mottled-grey coats, are the commonest.
They haunt the coasts of Antarctica and are seldom found at
any distance from them. Large specimens of this species reach
nine and a half feet in length.
The crab-eater seal,
a smaller animal, lives mostly on the pack-ice. Lying on a piece
of floe in the sunshine it has a glistening, silver-grey skin--another
distinguishing mark being its small, handsome head and short,
thin neck. Small crustaceans form its principal food.
The Ross seal, another inhabitant of the pack-ice, is short
and bulky, varying from a pale yellowish-green on the under
side to a dark greenish-brown on the back. Its neck is ample
and bloated, and when distended in excitement reminds one of
a pouter-pigeon. This rare seal appears to subsist mainly on
squid and jelly-fish.
The sea-leopard, the only predacious
member of the seal family, has an elongated agile body and a
large head with massive jaws. In general it has a mottled skin,
darker towards the back. It lives on fish, penguins and seals.
Early in April, Hurley and McLean were the first to obtain proof
that the sea-leopard preyed on other seals. Among the broken
floe-ice close beneath the ice-cliffs to the west of Winter
Quarters, the wind was driving the dead body of a Weddell seal
which swept past them, a few yards distant, to the open water.
Then it was that a sea-leopard was observed tearing off and
swallowing great pieces of flesh and blubber from the carcase.
The last variety of hair seal, the sea elephant,
varies considerably from the preceding. Reference has already
been made to the species earlier in the narrative. The habitat
of these monstrous animals ranges over the cold, south-temperate
seas; sea elephants are but occasional visitors to the ice-bound
regions. Although they have been exterminated in many other
places, one of their most populous resorts at the present day
is Macquarie Island.
In the case of all the hair seals
a layer of blubber several inches in thickness invests the body
beneath the skin and acts as a conserver of warmth. They are
largely of value for the oil produced by rendering down the
blubber. The pelts are used for leather.
The operation
of skinning seals for specimens, in low temperatures and in
the inevitable wind, was never unduly protracted. We were satisfied
merely to strip off the skin, leaving much blubber still adhering
to it. In this rough condition it was taken into the work-room
of the Hut to be cleaned. The blubber froze, and then had the
consistency of hard soap and was readily severed from the pelt.
It was found that there exuded amongst the frozen blubber a
thin oil which remained liquid when collected and exposed to
low temperatures. This oil was used to lubricate the anemometer
and other instruments exposed outside.
The main part
of the biological work lay in the marine collections. Hunter
with the small hand-dredge brought up abundant samples of life
from depths ranging to fifty fathoms. In water shallower than
ten fathoms the variety of specimens was not great, including
seaweeds up to eighteen or more feet in length, a couple of
forms of starfish, various small mollusca, two or three varieties
of fish, several sea-spiders, hydroids and lace corals, and,
in great profusion, worms and small crustaceans. In deeper waters
the life became much richer, so that examples of almost every
known class of marine animals were represented.
Early
in June the sea bottom in depths less than ten fathoms had become
so coated with ice that dredging in shallow water was suspended.
Floating or swimming freely were examples of pteropods,
worms, crustaceans, ostracods, and jelly-fish. These were easily
taken in the hand-net.
In those regions where ice and
water are intermingled, the temperature of the water varies
very slightly in summer and winter, remaining approximately
at freezing-point. In summer the tendency to heating is neutralized
by a solution of some of the ice, and in winter the cold is
absorbed in the production of a surface layer of ice. This constancy
of the sea's temperature is favourable to organic life. On land
there is a wide range in temperature, and only the meagre mosses
and lichens, and the forms of insect life which live among them
can exist, because they have developed the capacity of suspending
animation during the winter. The fresh-water lakelets were found
to be inhabited by low forms of life, mainly microscopic. Among
these were diatoms, algae£e, protozoa, rotifera, and bacteria.
The last-named were investigated by McLean and were found
to be manifold in distribution. Besides those from the intestines
of animals and birds, cultures were successfully made from the
following natural sources: lichen soil, moss soil, morainic
mud, guano, ice and snow. The results may open some new problems
in bacteriology.
Of recent years much attention has been
given to the study of parasites--parasitology. Parasites may
be external, on the skin; internal, in the alimentary canal;
or resident, in the corpuscles of the blood. In tropical countries,
where there is great promiscuity of life, one is led to expect
their almost universal presence. But in polar regions, where
infection and intimate co-habitation for long periods are not
the rule, while the climate is not favourable to organic existence,
one would be surprised to find them in any great number. The
fact remains that internal parasites were found in the intestine
of every animal and fish examined, and in all the birds except
the Wilson petrel. External parasites were present on every
species of bird and seal, though individuals were often free
of them. This was so in the case of the Adelie penguins. It
is a demonstration
of the protective warmth of the feathers
that Emperor penguins may harbour insect parasites in great
numbers. It is only less wonderful than the fact that they are
able to rear their young during the Antarctic winter. A large
number of blood-slides were prepared and stained for examination
for blood-parasites.
Searching for ``fleas'' amongst
the feathers of birds and the hair of seals, or examining the
viscera for ``worms ''is neither of them a pleasant occupation.
To be really successful, the enthusiasm of the specialist is
necessary. Hunter allowed no opportunities to pass and secured
a fine collection of parasites.
Amongst other work, McLean
carried out monthly observations on six men, determining the
colour-index and haemoglobin value of their blood over a period
of ten months. The results showed a distinct and upward rise
above the normal.
Among societies privileged to see the
daily paper and to whom diversity and change are as the breath
of life, the weather is apt to be tabooed as a subject of conversation.
But even the most versatile may suddenly find themselves stripped
of ideas, ignominiously reduced to the obvious topic. To us,
instead of being a mere prelude to more serious matters, or
the last resort of a feeble intellect, it was the all-engrossing
theme. The man with the latest hare-brained theory of the causation
of the wind was accorded a full hearing. The lightning
calculator who estimated the annual tonnage of drift-snow sweeping
off Adelie Land was received as a futurist and thinker. Discussion
was always free, and the subject was never thrashed out. Evidence
on the great topic accumulated day by day and month by month;
yet there was no one without an innate hope that winter would
bring calm weather or that spring-time, at least, must be propitious.
Meanwhile the meteorologist accepted things as he found
them, supplied the daily facts of wind-mileage and direction,
amount of drift, temperature and so forth, which were immediately
seized by more vivacious minds and made the basis of daring
speculations.
The daily facts were increased by the construction
of a new instrument known as the puffometer. It was entirely
a home-made contrivance, designed to measure the speed of heavy
gusts of wind. A small aluminium sphere was arranged to blow
out at the end of a light cord exerting tension on a calibrated
spring. The pull was transferred to a lever carrying a pencil,
which travelled across a disk of carbonized paper. The disk,
moving by clockwork, made a complete revolution every hour.
The recording parts of the instrument were enclosed in a snow-proof
box in which there was a small aperture on the leeward side,
through which ran the cord attachment of the sphere. This may
give a rough idea of the apparatus employed to measure the momentary
velocity of the cyclonic gusts. The idea is not an original
one, having been previously applied for use on kites.
It was not always possible to use the puffometer in the
strongest gusts because these were often transient, occurring
unexpectedly or during the night; while it took a little time
to get the instrument into running order. Even in daylight,
with the landscape clear of drift, it was a time-absorbing and
difficult task to secure a record.
Two men start from
the Hut with iron crampons and a full complement of clothes
and mitts. Outside they find themselves in a rushing torrent
of air, pulsating with mighty gust-waves. Lowered from the estate
of upright manhood, they humbly crawl, or make a series of crouching
sprints between the gusts. Over the scattered boulders to the
east of the Hut, across a patch of polished snow they push to
the first low ridge, and there they stop for breath. Up on the
side of ``Annie Hill,'' in the local phrase, the tide sweeps
by with fiendish strength, and among the jagged rocks the man
clutching the puffometer-box has a few desperate falls. At last
both clamber slowly to an eminence where a long steel pipe has
been erected. To the top of this the puffometer is hauled by
means of a pulley and line. At the same time the aluminium sphere
is released, and out it floats in the wind tugging at the spring.
The puffometer was left out for an hour at a time, and separate
gusts up to one hundred and fifty and one hundred and eighty
miles per hour were commonly indicated. I remember the final
fate of this invention. While helping to mount it one day, the
wind picked me up clear of the ground and dashed myself and
the instrument on some rocks several yards away. The latter
was badly damaged, but thick clothing saved me from serious
injury.
The wind velocity and wind direction charts
for Midwinter's Day,
when the steady south-by-east gale was
broken after noon by a
welcome lull--the wind veering the
while all round the compass.
The average velocity for
the day 66.9 miles per hour, and the
maximum of the average
hourly velocities, ninety-six miles.
The steadiness of the temperature was a subject
for debate. The stronger the wind blew, the less variation did
the thermometer show. Over a period of several days there might
be a range of only four or five degrees. Ordinarily, this might
be expected of an insular climate, but in our case it depended
upon the fact that the wind
remained steady from the interior
of the vast frigid continent. The air which flowed over the
Hut had all passed through the same temperature-cycle. The atmosphere
of the interior, where the plateau stood at an elevation of,
say, eight thousand feet, might have a temperature -45 degrees
F. As the air flowed northwards over Adelie Land to the sea,
it would rise slowly in temperature owing to the increased barometric
pressure consequent on the descending gradient of the plateau.
At sea-level the temperature of the river of air would be, approximately,
- 20 degrees F.
Such a rise in temperature due to compression
is a well-known phenomenon, referred to as the Foehn effect.
The compression of the atmosphere during the gusts affected
the air temperature so considerably that, coincident with their
passage, the mercury column could often be seen rising and falling
through several degrees. The uniform conditions experienced
during steady high winds were not only expressed by the slight
variation in the temperature, but often in a remarkably even
barometric curve. Thus on July 11 the wind-velocity for twenty-four
hours was, throughout, seventy miles per hour; the temperature
remaining within a few degrees of -21 degrees F., and the barometric
curve did not show as much range as one-twentieth of an inch.
In attending to the many instruments and in gathering the
voluminous meteorological data, Madigan had his hands very full.
Throughout two years he carried on the work capably and thoroughly.
It was difficult to keep the instruments free from the penetrating
snow and in good running order. The Robinson anemometer was
perhaps the greatest source of worry. Repairs and readjustments
were unavoidable, as the instrument was constantly working at
high pressure. In order that these might be carried out efficiently,
the whole apparatus had to be carried down to the Hut. Here,
Bickerton and Correll were continually in consultation with
the meteorologist on the latest breakdown. Cups were blown off
several times, and one was lost and replaced with difficulty.
Most aggravating of all was a habit the clocks developed of
stopping during the colder spells. The old fashioned method
of boiling them was found of assistance, but it was discovered
that the best treatment was to put them through successive baths
of benzene and alcohol.
The most chronic sufferer throughout
the vicissitudes of temperature was the clock belonging to Bage's
tide-gauge. Every sleeper in the Hut who was sensitive to ticking
knew and reviled that clock. So often was it subjected to warm,
curative treatment in various resting-places that it was hunted
from pillar to post. A radical operation by Correll--the insertion
of an extra spring--became necessary at last. Correll,
when not engaged designing electroscopes, improving sledge-meters
and perfecting theodolites, was something of a specialist in
clocks. His advice on the subject of refractory time-pieces
was freely asked and cheerfully given. By perseverance and unlimited
patience, the tide-gauge down on the harbour-ice was induced
to supply a good series of unbroken records.
The tide-gauge
The rise and fall of the tide is coincident with the movements of a perpendicular wire to which the Float is attached. The Wheel is revolved, and through wire connections (indicated above) displaces vertically the Pen. This traces a record on paper folded on the drum which is driven by clockwork. In all weathers, the box was enveloped in drift-proof canvas.
Antarctica is a world of colour, brilliant and
intensely pure. The chaste whiteness of the snow and the velvet
blackness of the rocks belong to days of snowy nimbus enshrouding
the horizon. When the sky has broken into cloudlets of fleece,
their edges are painted pale orange, fading or richly glowing
if the sun is low. In the high sun they are rainbow-rimmed.
The clouds have opened into rifts and the sun is setting
in the north-west. The widening spaces in the zenith are azure,
and low in the north they are emerald. Scenic changes are swift.
Above the mounting plateau a lofty arch of clear sky has risen,
flanked by roseate clouds. Far down in the south it is tinged
with indigo and ultramarine, washed with royal purple paling
onwards into cold violet and greyish-blue.
Soon the north
is unveiled. The liquid globe of sun has departed, but his glory
still remains. Down from the zenith his colours descend through
greenish-blue, yellowish-green, straw-yellow, light terra-cotta
to a diffuse brick-red; each reflected in the dull sheen of
freezing sea. Out on the infinite horizon float icebergs in
a mirage of mobile gold. The Barrier, curving to east and west,
is a wall of delicate pink overlaid with a wondrous mauve--the
rising plateau. A cold picture--yet it awakens the throb of
inborn divinity.
Despite contrary predictions, there
were some enjoyable days in June. Occupation had to be strenuous,
making the blood run hot, otherwise the wind was apt to be chill.
So the Transit House was founded, and there were many volunteers
to assist Bage in carrying the tons of stones which formed its
permanent base. The nearest large collection of boulders was
twenty yards away, on the edge of a moraine, but these after
a while became exhausted. Plenty of rocks actually showed above
the surface, but the majority were frozen-in, and, when of suitable
size, could only be moved by a heavy crowbar. Some of the men,
therefore, dislodged the rocks, while others carried them.
When Bage was wondering how long the supply would last,
Ninnis and Mertz came to the rescue with sledges and dog-teams.
Boxes were piled on to the sledges and away the teams went,
careering across the ice-flat towards the Magnetograph House
close to which there were many heaps of stones, wind-swept and
easily displaced. Soon a regular service was plying to the foundations,
and, at the same time, the dogs were being trained. This occupation
was continued, weather permitting, for several weeks before
Midwinter's Day. Thus the drivers gained experience, while the
animals, with a wholesome dread of the whip, became more responsive
to commands. Eagerly the huskies strained at their traces with
excited yelps. The heavily laden sledges would break out and
start off with increasing speed over the rough ice. The drivers,
running at full speed, jumped on the racing loads--Mertz in
the lead shouting some quaint yodel song; Ninnis, perhaps, just
behind upbraiding a laggard dog.
Midwinter's Day! For
once, the weather rose to the occasion and calmed during the
few hours of the twilight-day. It was a jovial occasion, and
we celebrated it with the uproarious delight of a community
of eighteen young men unfettered by small conventions. The sun
was returning, and we were glad of it. Already we were dreaming
of spring and sledging, summer and sledging, the ship and home.
It was the turn of the tide, and the future seemed to be sketched
in firm, sure outline. While the rest explored all the ice-caves
and the whole extent of our small rocky ``selection,'' Hannam
and Bickerton shouldered the domestic responsibilities. Their
menu du diner to us was a marvel of gorgeous delicacies. After
the toasts and speeches came a musical and dramatic programme,
punctuated by choice gramophone records and rowdy student choruses.
The washing-up was completed by all hands at midnight. Outside,
the wind was not to be outdone; it surpassed itself with an
unusual burst of ninety-five miles per hour.
Menu du Diner
Escoffier potage a la
Reine
Noisettes de Phoque | Claret
Haricot Verts |
Tintara
Champignons en Sauce Antarctique |
Pingouin
a la Terre Adelie | Burgundy
Petits Pois a la Menthe | Chauvenet
Pommes Nouvelle | 1898
|
Asperges au Beurre Fondu |
Plum Pudding Union Jack | Port
Pate de Groseilles | Kopke
|
Desserts |
Cafe
---------------0------------
During dinner the Blizzard will render the usual
accompaniment--the
Tempest. For Ever and Ever etc.
MIDWINTER'S DAY MENU AT THE MAIN BASE,
ADELIE LAND, 1912
CHAPTER X - THE PREPARATION OF SLEDGING EQUIPMENT