The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places (80 page)

IN EXTREMIS

Robert Falcon Scott

(1868–1912)

Scott was chosen to lead the 1900–4 British National Antarctic Expedition. Its considerable achievements seemed to vindicate the choice of a naval officer more noted
for integrity and courage than any polar experience and, following Shackleton’s near success, in 1910 Scott again sailed south intending to combine a busy scientific programme with a
successful bid for the South Pole. On 17 January 1912 he and four others duly reached the Pole, indeed they sighted a real pole and it bore a Norwegian flag; Amundsen had got there 34 days ahead of
them. Bitterly disappointed, soon overtaken by scurvy and bad weather, and still dragging sledges laden with geological specimens, they trudged back. The tragedy which then unfolded eclipsed even
Amundsen’s achievement and won them an immortality beyond the dreams of any explorer.

T
hursday, January 23
There is no doubt Evans is a good deal run down – his fingers are badly blistered and his nose is rather
seriously congested with frequent frost bites. He is very much annoyed with himself, which is not a good sign. I think Wilson, Bowers and I are as fit as possible under the circumstances. Oates
gets cold feet. One way and another, I shall be glad to get off the summit! We are only about 13 miles from our “Degree and half” Depot and should get there to-morrow. The weather seems
to be breaking up. Pray God we have something of a track to follow to the Three Degree Depot – once we pick that up we ought to be right.
Wednesday, January 24
Lunch Temp.
–8°. Things beginning to look a litde serious. A strong wind at the start has developed into a full blizzard at lunch, and we have had to get into our sleeping-bags. It was a bad march,
but we covered 7 miles. At first Evans, and then Wilson went ahead to scout for tracks. Bowers guided the sledge alone for the first hour, then both Oates and he remained alongside it; they had a
fearful time trying to make the pace between the soft patches. At 12.30 the sun coming ahead made it impossible to see the tracks further, and we had to stop. By this time the gale was at its
height and we had the dickens of a time getting up the tent, cold fingers all round. We are only 7 miles from our depot, but I made sure we should be there to-night. This is the second full gale
since we left the Pole. I don’t like the look of it. Is the weather breaking up? If so, God help us, with the tremendous summit journey and scant food. Wilson and Bowers are my standby. I
don’t like the easy way in which Oates and Evans get frostbitten.

Scott’s team pictured at the South Pole. From
Scott’s Last Expedition,
London, 1913.

Thursday, January 25
Temp. Lunch – 11°, Temp, night –16°. Thank God we found our Half Degree Depot. After lying in our bags yesterday afternoon and
all night, we debated breakfast; decided to have it later and go without lunch. At the time the gale seemed as bad as ever, but during breakfast the sun showed and there was light enough to see the
old track. It was a long and terribly cold job digging out our sledge and breaking camp, but we got through and on the march without sail, all pulling. This was about 11, and at about 2.30, to our
joy, we saw the red depot flag. We had lunch and left with 9½ days’ provisions, still following the track – marched till 8 and covered over 5 miles, over 12 in the day. Only 89
miles (geogr.) to the next depot, but it’s time we cleared off this plateau. We are not without ailments: Oates suffers from a very cold foot; Evans’ fingers and nose are in a bad
state, and to-night Wilson is suffering tortures from his eyes. Bowers and I are the only members of the party without troubles just at present. The weather still looks unsettled, and I fear a
succession of blizzards at this time of year; the wind is strong from the south and this afternoon has been very helpful with the full sail. Needless to say I shall sleep much better with our
provision bag full again. The only real anxiety now is the finding of the Three Degree Depot. The tracks seem as good as ever so far; sometimes for 30 or 40 yards we lose them under drifts, but
then they reappear quite clearly raised above the surface. If the light is good there is not the least difficulty in following. Blizzards are our bug-bear, not only stopping our marches, but the
cold damp air takes it out of us.

Wednesday, February 14
Lunch Temp. 0°; Supper Temp. –1°. A fine day with wind on and off down the glacier, and we have done a fairly good march. We started
a little late and pulled on down the moraine. At first I thought of going right, but soon, luckily, changed my mind and decided to follow the curving lines of the moraines. This course had brought
us well out on the glacier. Started on crampons; one hour after, hoisted sail; the combined efforts produced only slow speed, partly due to the sandy snowdrifts similar to those on summit, partly
to our torn sledge runners. At lunch these were scraped and sand-papered. After lunch we got on snow, with ice only occasionally showing through. A poor start, but the gradient and wind improving,
we did 6½ miles before night camp.

There is no getting away from the fact that we are not going strong. Probably none of us: Wilson’s leg still troubles him and he doesn’t like to trust himself on ski; but the worst
case is Evans, who is giving us serious anxiety. This morning he suddenly disclosed a huge blister on his foot. It delayed us on the march, when he had to have his crampon readjusted. Sometimes I
fear he is going from bad to worse, but I trust he will pick up again when we come to steady work on ski like this afternoon. He is hungry and so is Wilson. We can’t risk opening out our food
again, and as cook at present I am serving something under full allowance. We are inclined to get slack and slow with our camping arrangements, and small delays increase. I have talked of the
matter to-night and hope for improvement. We cannot do distance without the ponies. The next depot some 30 miles away and nearly 3 days’ food in hand.

Thursday, February 15
R. 29. Lunch Temp. –10°; Supper Temp. –4°. 13.5 miles. Again we are running short of provision. We don’t know our distance
from the depôt, but imagine about 20 miles. Heavy march – did 13¾ (geo.). We are pulling for food and not very strong evidently. In the afternoon it was overcast; land blotted
out for a considerable interval. We have reduced food, also sleep; feeling rather done. Trust 1½ days or 2 at most will see us at depot.

Friday, February 16
12.5 m. Lunch Temp. –6.1°; Supper Temp. –7°. A rather trying position. Evans has nearly broken down in brain, we think. He is
absolutely changed from his normal self-reliant self. This morning and this afternoon he stopped the march on some trivial excuse. We are on short rations with not very short food; spin out till
to-morrow night. We cannot be more than 10 or 12 miles from the depot, but the weather is all against us. After lunch we were enveloped in a snow sheet, land just looming. Memory should hold the
events of a very troublesome march with more troubles ahead. Perhaps all will be well if we can get to our depot to-morrow fairly early, but it is anxious work with the sick man. But it’s no
use meeting troubles half way, and our sleep is all too short to write more.

Saturday, February 17
A very terrible day. Evans looked a little better after a good sleep, and declared, as he always did, that he was quite well. He started in his
place on the traces, but half an hour later worked his ski shoes adrift, and had to leave the sledge. The surface was awful, the soft recently fallen snow clogging the ski and runners at every
step, the sledge groaning, the sky overcast, and the land hazy. We stopped after about one hour, and Evans came up again, but very slowly. Half an hour later he dropped out again on the same plea.
He asked Bowers to lend him a piece of string. I cautioned him to come on as quickly as he could, and he answered cheerfully as I thought. We had to push on, and the remainder of us were forced to
pull very hard, sweating heavily. Abreast the Monument Rock we stopped, and seeing Evans a long way astern, I camped for lunch. There was no alarm at first, and we prepared tea and our own meal,
consuming the latter. After lunch, and Evans still not appearing, we looked out, to see him still afar off. By this time we were alarmed, and all four started back on ski. I was first to reach the
poor man and shocked at his appearance; he was on his knees with clothing disarranged, hands uncovered and frostbitten, and a wild look in his eyes. Asked what was the matter, he replied with a
slow speech that he didn’t know, but thought he must have fainted. We got him on his feet, but after two or three steps he sank down again. He showed every sign of complete collapse. Wilson,
Bowers, and I went back for the sledge, whilst Oates remained with him. When we returned he was practically unconscious, and when we got him into the tent quite comatose. He died quietly at 12.30
a.m. On discussing the symptoms we think he began to get weaker just before we reached the Pole, and that his downward path was accelerated first by the shock of his frostbitten fingers, and later
by falls during rough travelling on the glacier, further by his loss of all confidence in himself. Wilson thinks it certain he must have injured his brain by a fall. It is a terrible thing to lose
a companion in this way, but calm reflection shows that there could not have been a better ending to the terrible anxieties of the past week. Discussion of the situation at lunch yesterday shows us
what a desperate pass we were in with a sick man on our hands at such a distance from home.

At 1 a.m. we packed up and came down over the pressure ridges, finding our depot easily.

Tuesday, February 21
R. 35. Lunch Temp. 9½ °; Supper Temp. –11°. Gloomy and overcast when we started; a good deal warmer. The marching almost as bad
as yesterday. Heavy toiling all day, inspiring gloomiest thoughts at times. Rays of comfort when we picked up tracks and cairns. At lunch we seemed to have missed the way, but an hour or two after
we passed the last pony walls, and since, we struck a tent ring, ending the march actually on our old pony-tracks. There is a critical spot here with a long stretch between cairns. If we can tide
that over we get on the regular cairn route, and with luck should stick to it; but everything depends on the weather. We never won a march of 8½ miles with greater difficulty, but we
can’t go on like this. We are drawing away from the land and perhaps may get better things in a day or two. I devoutly hope so.

Wednesday, February 22
R. 36. Supper Temp. –2°. There is little doubt we are in for a rotten critical time going home, and the lateness of the season may make
it really serious. Shortly after starting to-day the wind grew very fresh from the S.E. with strong surface drift. We lost the faint track immediately, though covering ground fairly rapidly. Lunch
came without sight of the cairn we had hoped to pass. In the afternoon, Bowers being sure we were too far to the west, steered out. Result, we have passed another pony camp without seeing it.
Looking at the map to-night there is no doubt we are too far to the east. With clear weather we ought to be able to correct the mistake, but will the weather get clear? It’s a gloomy
position, more especially as one sees the same difficulty returning even when we have corrected the error. The wind is dying down to-night and the sky clearing in the south, which is hopeful.
Meanwhile it is satisfactory to note that such untoward events fail to damp the spirit of the party. To-night we had a pony hoosh so excellent and filling that one feels really strong and vigorous
again.

Friday, March 2
Lunch. Misfortunes rarely come singly. We marched to the (Middle Barrier) depot fairly easily yesterday afternoon, and since that have suffered three distinct blows which
have placed us in a bad position. First we found a shortage of oil; with most rigid economy it can scarce carry us to the next depot on this surface (71 miles away). Second, Titus Oates disclosed
his feet, the toes showing very bad indeed, evidently bitten by the late temperatures. The third blow came in the night, when the wind, which we had hailed with some joy, brought dark overcast
weather. It fell below –40° in the night, and this morning it took 1½ hours to get our foot gear on, but we got away before eight. We lost cairn and tracks together and made as
steady as we could N. by W., but have seen nothing. Worse was to come – the surface is simply awful. In spite of strong wind and full sail we have only done 5½ miles. We are in a
very
queer street since there is no doubt we cannot do the extra marches and feel the cold horribly.

Saturday, March 3
Lunch. We picked up the track again yesterday, finding ourselves to the eastward. Did close on 10 miles and things looked a trifle better; but this morning the outlook
is blacker than ever. Started well and with good breeze; for an hour made good headway; then the surface grew awful beyond words. The wind drew forward; every circumstance was against us. After
4½ hours things so bad that we camped, having covered 4½ miles. (R. 46.) One cannot consider this a fault of our own – certainly we were pulling hard this morning – it was
more than three parts surface which held us back – the wind at strongest, powerless to move the sledge. When the light is good it is easy to see the reason. The surface, lately a very good
hard one, is coated with a thin layer of woolly crystals, formed by radiation no doubt. These are too firmly fixed to be removed by the wind and cause impossible friction on the runners. God help
us, we can’t keep up this pulling, that is certain. Amongst ourselves we are unendingly cheerful, but what each man feels in his heart I can only guess. Pulling on foot gear in the morning is
getting slower and slower, therefore every day more dangerous.