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OHYAT: More Seeds are Planted
Dec. 31st, 2011 08:01 amIt's the last day of 2011! (How did that happen?)
On the last day of 1911, the two remaining teams of the Southern Party were on the polar plateau, which had levelled off on average from the top of the Beardmore Glacier, but was far from flat: they were pulling their sledges over wide undulations and in some places deep pits which were thought to indicate submerged mountains. Scott's team, consisting of himself, Bill Wilson, Titus Oates, and Taff Evans, was doing fairly well; Teddy Evans, Birdie Bowers, Tom Crean, and William Lashly were not. Some of them had been manhauling since the motor sledges broke down, about a month longer than the rest. Their sledge was also not pulling as easily as the others'.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO TODAY, they only put in a half march. The seamen (Taff Evans, Lashly, and Crean) then set about converting the 12-foot sledges they'd been pulling into 10ft ones. At some point in this process Taff cut his hand, but didn't let on about it. The others sat in Scott's tent, which had been freshly fitted with a second layer for warmth, and did odd jobs. They also established a depot here with rations for the returning parties, and at this depot Teddy's party was ordered to leave their skis and ski kit. This sounds counterintuitive at first, but they'd been encountering surfaces for which skis were not appropriate, and it saved them a lot of weight – in fact, the next day they outpaced Scott's team. Of course, things rarely go as one expects ... but when your irascible leader is getting more and more tightly wound, you don't bring this up.
MEANWHILE, the First Returning Party was making their way steadily back to Cape Evans. A complication arose when Pat Keohane, who'd been complaining of indigestion since Christmas, was diagnosed with dysentery. You know what's a lot of not very much fun at all? Dysentery! Especially in the middle of a frozen nowhere with only your own legs to get you home.
On the last day of 1911, the two remaining teams of the Southern Party were on the polar plateau, which had levelled off on average from the top of the Beardmore Glacier, but was far from flat: they were pulling their sledges over wide undulations and in some places deep pits which were thought to indicate submerged mountains. Scott's team, consisting of himself, Bill Wilson, Titus Oates, and Taff Evans, was doing fairly well; Teddy Evans, Birdie Bowers, Tom Crean, and William Lashly were not. Some of them had been manhauling since the motor sledges broke down, about a month longer than the rest. Their sledge was also not pulling as easily as the others'.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO TODAY, they only put in a half march. The seamen (Taff Evans, Lashly, and Crean) then set about converting the 12-foot sledges they'd been pulling into 10ft ones. At some point in this process Taff cut his hand, but didn't let on about it. The others sat in Scott's tent, which had been freshly fitted with a second layer for warmth, and did odd jobs. They also established a depot here with rations for the returning parties, and at this depot Teddy's party was ordered to leave their skis and ski kit. This sounds counterintuitive at first, but they'd been encountering surfaces for which skis were not appropriate, and it saved them a lot of weight – in fact, the next day they outpaced Scott's team. Of course, things rarely go as one expects ... but when your irascible leader is getting more and more tightly wound, you don't bring this up.
Scott's own diary of this first fortnight on the plateau shows the immense shove of the man: he was getting every inch out of the miles, every ounce out of his companions. Also he was in a hurry, he always was. That blizzard which had delayed him just before the Gateway, and the resulting surfaces which had delayed him in the lower reaches of the glacier! One can feel the averages running through his brain: so many miles to-day: so many more to-morrow. When shall we come to an end of this pressure? Can we go straight or must we go more west? And then the great undulating waves with troughs eight miles wide, and the buried mountains, causing whirlpools in the ice – how immense, and how annoying. The monotonous march: the necessity to keep the mind concentrated to steer amongst disturbances: the relief of a steady plod when the disturbances cease for a time: then more pressure and more crevasses. Always slog on, slog on. Always a fraction of a mile more....Apsley Cherry-Garrard, The Worst Journey in the World
MEANWHILE, the First Returning Party was making their way steadily back to Cape Evans. A complication arose when Pat Keohane, who'd been complaining of indigestion since Christmas, was diagnosed with dysentery. You know what's a lot of not very much fun at all? Dysentery! Especially in the middle of a frozen nowhere with only your own legs to get you home.
