South: The Story of Shackleton's Last Expedition, 1914-1917
well-fed and fairly contented party at rest in Peggotty Camp.
Our camp, as I have said, lay on the north side of King Haakon Bay near
the head. Our path towards the whaling-stations led round the seaward
end of the snouted glacier on the east side of the camp and up a
snow-slope that appeared to lead to a pass in the great Allardyce
Range, which runs north-west and south-east and forms the main backbone
of South Georgia. The range dipped opposite the bay into a well-defined
pass from east to west. An ice-sheet covered most of the interior,
filling the valleys and disguising the configurations of the land,
which, indeed, showed only in big rocky ridges, peaks, and nunataks.
When we looked up the pass from Peggotty Camp the country to the left
appeared to offer two easy paths through to the opposite coast, but we
knew that the island was uninhabited at that point (Possession Bay). We
had to turn our attention farther east, and it was impossible from the
camp to learn much of the conditions that would confront us on the
overland journey. I planned to climb to the pass and then be guided by
the configuration of the country in the selection of a route eastward
to Stromness Bay, where the whaling-stations were established in the
minor bays, Leith, Husvik, and Stromness. A range of mountains with
precipitous slopes, forbidding peaks, and large glaciers lay
immediately to the south of King Haakon Bay and seemed to form a
continuation of the main range. Between this secondary range and the
pass above our camp a great snow-upland sloped up to the inland
ice-sheet and reached a rocky ridge that stretched athwart our path and
seemed to bar the way. This ridge was a right-angled offshoot from the
main ridge. Its chief features were four rocky peaks with spaces
between that looked from a distance as though they might prove to be
passes.
The weather was bad on Tuesday, May 16, and we stayed under the boat
nearly all day. The quarters were cramped but gave full protection from
the weather, and we regarded our little cabin with a great deal of
satisfaction. Abundant meals of sea-elephant steak and liver increased
our contentment. McNeish reported during the day that he had seen rats
feeding on the scraps, but this interesting statement was not verified.
One would not expect to find rats at such a spot, but there was a bare
possibility that they had landed from a wreck and managed to survive
the very rigorous conditions.
A fresh west-south-westerly breeze was blowing on the following morning
(Wednesday, May 17), with misty squalls, sleet, and rain. I took
Worsley with me on a pioneer journey to the west with the object of
examining the country to be traversed at the beginning of the overland
journey. We went round the seaward end of the snouted glacier, and
after tramping about a mile over stony ground and snow-coated debris,
we crossed some big ridges of scree and moraines. We found that there
was good going for a sledge as far as the north-east corner of the bay,
but did not get much information regarding the conditions farther on
owing to the view becoming obscured by a snow-squall. We waited a
quarter of an hour for the weather to clear but were forced to turn
back without having seen more of the country. I had satisfied myself,
however, that we could reach a good snow-slope leading apparently to
the inland ice. Worsley reckoned from the chart that the distance from
our camp to Husvik, on an east magnetic course, was seventeen
geographical miles, but we could not expect to follow a direct line.
The carpenter started making a sledge for use on the overland journey.
The materials at his disposal were limited in quantity and scarcely
suitable in quality.
We overhauled our gear on Thursday, May 18; and hauled our sledge to
the lower edge of the snouted glacier. The vehicle proved heavy and
cumbrous. We had to lift it empty over bare patches of rock along the
shore, and I realized that it would be too heavy for three men to
manage amid the snow-plains, glaciers, and peaks of the interior.
Worsley and Crean were coming with me, and after consultation we
decided to leave the sleeping-bags behind us and make the journey in
very light marching order. We would take three days’ provisions for
each man in the form of sledging ration and biscuit. The food was to be
packed in three sacks, so that each member of the party could carry his
own supply. Then we were to take the Primus lamp filled with oil, the
small cooker, the carpenter’s adze (for use as an ice-axe), and the
alpine rope, which made a total length of fifty feet when knotted. We
might have to lower ourselves down steep slopes or cross crevassed
glaciers. The filled lamp would provide six hot meals, which would
consist of sledging ration boiled up with biscuit. There were two boxes
of matches left, one full and the other partially used. We left the
full box with the men at the camp and took the second box, which
contained forty-eight matches. I was unfortunate as regarded footgear,
since I had given away my heavy Burberry boots on the floe, and had now
a comparatively light pair in poor condition. The carpenter assisted me
by putting several screws in the sole of each boot with the object of
providing a grip on the ice. The screws came out of the _James Caird_.
We turned in early that night, but sleep did not come to me. My mind
was busy with the task of the following day. The weather was clear and
the outlook for an early start in the morning was good. We were going
to leave a weak party behind us in the camp. Vincent was still in the
same condition, and he could not march. McNeish was pretty well broken
up. The two men were not capable of managing for themselves and
McCarthy must stay to look after them. He might have a difficult task
if we failed to reach the whaling station. The distance to Husvik,
according to the chart, was no more than seventeen geographical miles
in a direct line, but we had very scanty knowledge of the conditions of
the interior. No man had ever penetrated a mile from the coast of South
Georgia at any point, and the whalers I knew regarded the country as
inaccessible. During that day, while we were walking to the snouted
glacier, we had seen three wild duck flying towards the head of the bay
from the eastward. I hoped that the presence of these birds indicated
tussock-land and not snow-fields and glaciers in the interior, but the
hope was not a very bright one.
We turned out at 2 a.m. on the Friday morning and had our hoosh ready
an hour later. The full moon was shining in a practically cloudless
sky, its rays reflected gloriously from the pinnacles and crevassed ice
of the adjacent glaciers. The huge peaks of the mountains stood in bold
relief against the sky and threw dark shadows on the waters of the
sound. There was no need for delay, and we made a start as soon as we
had eaten our meal. McNeish walked about 200 yds with us; he could do
no more. Then we said good-bye and he turned back to the camp. The
first task was to get round the edge of the snouted glacier, which had
points like fingers projecting towards the sea. The waves were reaching
the points of these fingers, and we had to rush from one recess to
another when the waters receded. We soon reached the east side of the
glacier and noticed its great activity at this point. Changes had
occurred within the preceding twenty-four hours. Some huge pieces had
broken off, and the masses of mud and stone that were being driven
before the advancing ice showed movement. The glacier was like a
gigantic plough driving irresistibly towards the sea.
Lying on the beach beyond the glacier was wreckage that told of many
ill-fated ships. We noticed stanchions of teakwood, liberally carved,
that must have came from ships of the older type; iron-bound timbers
with the iron almost rusted through; battered barrels and all the usual
debris of the ocean. We had difficulties and anxieties of our own, but
as we passed that graveyard of the sea we thought of the many tragedies
written in the wave-worn fragments of lost vessels. We did not pause,
and soon we were ascending a snow-slope heading due east on the last
lap of our long trail.
The snow-surface was disappointing. Two days before we had been able to
move rapidly on hard, packed snow; now we sank over our ankles at each
step and progress was slow. After two hours’ steady climbing we were
2500 ft. above sea-level. The weather continued fine and calm, and as
the ridges drew nearer and the western coast of the island spread out
below, the bright moonlight showed us that the interior was broken
tremendously. High peaks, impassable cliffs, steep snow-slopes, and
sharply descending glaciers were prominent features in all directions,
with stretches of snow-plain over laying the ice-sheet of the interior.
The slope we were ascending mounted to a ridge and our course lay
direct to the top. The moon, which proved a good friend during this
journey, threw a long shadow at one point and told us that the surface
was broken in our path. Warned in time, we avoided a huge hole capable
of swallowing an army. The bay was now about three miles away, and the
continued roaring of a big glacier at the head of the bay came to our
ears. This glacier, which we had noticed during the stay at Peggotty
Camp, seemed to be calving almost continuously.
I had hoped to get a view of the country ahead of us from the top of
the slope, but as the surface became more level beneath our feet, a
thick fog drifted down. The moon became obscured and produced a
diffused light that was more trying than darkness, since it illuminated
the fog without guiding our steps. We roped ourselves together as a
precaution against holes, crevasses, and precipices, and I broke trail
through the soft snow. With almost the full length of the rope between
myself and the last man we were able to steer an approximately straight
course, since, if I veered to the right or the left when marching into
the blank wall of the fog, the last man on the rope could shout a
direction. So, like a ship with its “port,” “starboard,” “steady,” we
tramped through the fog for the next two hours.
Then, as daylight came, the fog thinned and lifted, and from an
elevation of about 3000 ft. we looked down on what seemed to be a huge
frozen lake with its farther shores still obscured by the fog. We
halted there to eat a bit of biscuit while we discussed whether we
would go down and cross the flat surface of the lake, or keep on the
ridge we had already reached. I decided to go down, since the lake lay
on our course. After an hour of comparatively easy travel through the
snow we noticed the thin beginnings of crevasses. Soon they were
increasing in size and showing fractures, indicating that we were
travelling on a glacier. As the daylight brightened the fog dissipated;
the lake could be seen more clearly, but still we could not discover
its east shore. A little later the fog lifted completely, and then we
saw that our lake stretched to the horizon, and realized suddenly that
we were looking down upon the open sea on the east coast of the island.
The slight pulsation at the shore showed that the sea was not even
frozen; it was the bad light that had deceived us. Evidently we were at
the top of Possession Bay, and the island at that point could not be
more than five miles across from the head of King Haakon Bay. Our rough
chart was inaccurate. There was nothing for it but to start up the
glacier again. That was about seven o’clock in the morning, and by nine
o’clock we had more than recovered our lost ground. We regained the
ridge and then struck south-east, for the chart showed that two more