OHYAT: Hard Pulling

A most damnably dismal day.         
         – R.F. Scott


The ponies had been shot at the bottom of the glacier, and the dogs sent home shortly after they began their climb, so the men were under their own power now, carrying the loads that had formerly been distributed across the animals. They weren't to have a nice ramp-up either: the blizzard which had kept them penned in their tents for four days had deposited a huge (and unseasonable) amount of fresh, fluffy, sticky snow on the whole lower portion of the glacier valley, and it was through this – and uphill – that they had to drag their 800-lb sledges. Without skis they sank to their knees or higher, and the sledges themselves often sank the entire depth of the runners in the snow, so the crossbars ploughed through it rather than gliding overtop. The previous days had been hard, but today was the hardest.

ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO TODAY, Birdie Bowers wrote:

... the sledges sank in over twelve inches, and all the gear, as well as the thwartship pieces, were acting as breaks. The tugs and heaves we enjoyed, and the number of times we had to get out of our ski to upright the sledge, were trifles compared with the strenuous exertion of every muscle and nerve to keep the wretched drag from stopping when once under weigh; and then it would stick, and all the starting operations had to be gone through afresh. We did perhaps half a mile in the forenoon. Anticipating a better surface in the afternoon we got a shock. Teddy [Evans] led off half an hour earlier to pilot a way, and Captain Scott tried some fake with his spare runners [he lashed them under the sledge to prevent the cross-pieces ploughing the snow] that involved about an hour's work. We had to continually turn our runners up to scrape the ice off them, for in these temperatures they are liable to get warm and melt the snow on them, and that freezes into knobs of ice which act like sandpaper or spikes on a pair of skates. We bust off second full of hope having done so well in the forenoon, but pride goeth [before a fall]. We stuck ten yards from the camp, and nine hours later found us little more than half a mile on. I have never seen a sledge sink so. I have never pulled so hard, or so nearly crushed my inside into my backbone by the everlasting jerking with all my strength on the canvas band round my unfortunate tummy. We were all in the same boat however.

But pictures are worth a thousand words, and for today, thanks to The Man Himself (Capt. Scott), we have pictures! The one at the top of this entry is Birdie's team trying to get 'under weigh' after lunch – you can see how deep their legs are in the snow. Scott's sledge is being worked on, to the right. But one of my favourite pictures from the whole expedition is this:


It's the same team, a little later. Cherry and Birdie in front, Tom Crean and Pat Keohane behind, with Bill and someone else helping to push. It's a shame you can't see it bigger because you really get a sense of the energy when you see the motion blur on the two leading figures ...

It's definitely something to keep in mind as the night grows late and I'm getting tired of chasing lines around a screen. My job is really not that hard ...