OHYAT: Further Forestalled

The answer to yesterday's closing question, as anyone who's got a feel for how things are going so far can tell you, is: 'Of course the weather won't break! Don't be silly!' There was a brief lull in the storm overnight, but it was apparently just toying with them.

ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO TODAY(-ish depending which time zone you're in):

The storm continues and the situation is now serious. One small feed remains for the ponies after to-day, so that we must either march to-morrow or sacrifice the animals. That is not the worst; with the help of the dogs we could get on, without doubt. The serious part is that we have this morning started our summer rations, that is to say, the food calculated from the Glacier depot has been begun. The first supporting party can only go on a fortnight from this date and so forth. The storm shows no sign of abatement and its character is as unpleasant as ever. ... I can find no sign of an end, and all of us agree that it is utterly impossible to move. Resignation to misfortune is the only attitude, but not an easy one to adopt. It seems undeserved where plans were well laid and so nearly crowned with a first success. I cannot see that any plan would be altered if it were to do again, the margin for bad weather was ample according to all experience, and this stormy December – our finest month – is a thing that the most cautious organiser might not have been prepared to encounter. It is very evil to lie here in a wet sleeping-bag and think of the pity of it, whilst with no break in the overcast sky things go steadily from bad to worse ... There cannot be good cheer in the camp in such weather, but it is ready to break out again. In the brief spell of hope last night one heard laughter.

Capt. Scott, 7 Dec 1911

Cherry wrote that 'The sailors began to debate who was the Jonah. They said he was the cameras.' He notes that on 7 Dec the high temperature was 35.5°F – that's just short of 2°C in the modern world.

[O]ur bags were like sponges. The huge drifts had covered everything, including most of the tent, the pony walls and sledges. At intervals we dug our way out and dug up the wretched ponies, and got them on to the top again.

Cherry-Garrard, the Worst Journey in the World

This dreadful blizzard was a terrific blow to Oates. He of all men set himself to better the ponies' state during the bad weather. ... The cutting wind whirling the sleet round the ponies gave them a very sorry time, but whenever one peeped out of the tent door there was Oates, wet to the skin, trying to keep life in his charges. I think the poor soldier suffered as much as the ponies. He had felt that every time he re-entered his tent (which was also Captain Scott's) that he took in more wet snow and helped to increase the general discomfort. ... [H]e stopped out, and kept his vigil crouching behind a drifted-up pony wall.

Teddy Evans, South With Scott

The next day dawned no better, but the wind dropped at around lunchtime, so they set about moving their tents at least, because they 'had been reduced to the smallest volume by the gradual pressure of snow. The old sites are deep pits with hollowed-in wet centres. The re-setting of the tent has at least given us comfort, especially since the wind has dropped.' (Scott) Then they dug their sledges out from under four feet of snow, and had a trial run with one of them – a party of four men on ski could pull four men on the sledge, but anyone trying to walk about without ski sank up to his knees or further. Nevertheless, by 11pm, the blizzard seemed to have broken and instead it was merely snowing (and back below freezing, at that!) so it was decided they would make a go of it the next day. Scott wrote, 'There is good cheer in the camp to-night in the prospect of action.' Cherry recorded in his journal, 'We are all sitting around now after some tea – it is much better than getting into the bags. ... I have swopped the Little Minister with Silas Wright for Dante's Inferno!'