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OHYAT: Philia III
Feb. 19th, 2012 07:11 amAtch and Dimitri had been at Hut Point since the 13th, and were planning to take the dogsleds out to meet the returning Polar Party in about a week. There had been a blizzard threatening for the last couple of days, but the weather to the south was clear. Everything was going according to plan. But then, ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO TODAY . . .
Tom Crean had walked thirty-five miles in eighteen hours, stopping once to eat some of his provisions. Half an hour after he arrived, the blizzard broke, which ruled out any immediate rescue. In the meantime he rested and ate while they waited for the weather to clear, and filled the others in on the party's journey and his solo trek across the ice.
MEANWHILE, the Polar Party had finally reached the bottom of the Beardmore Glacier, with all its troubles, and were looking forward to a warmer, flatter, smoother home stretch across the Barrier, on full rations. 'Yesterday' they'd found the remains of Shambles Camp, where the ponies had been slaughtered in December, and had feasted on the remaining meat, then caught up on their sleep,and spent half the next day rearranging stores and sledges. Scott's only major concern was for the surface:
At 3.30 a.m. on February 19 Crean arrived with the astounding news that Lieutenant Evans, still alive but at his last gasp, was lying out near Corner Camp, and that Lashly was nursing him; that the Last Supporting Party had consisted of three men only, a possibility which had never been considered; and that they had left Scott, travelling rapidly and making good averages, only 148 geographical miles from the Pole. Scott was so well advanced that it seemed that he would be home much earlier than had been anticipated.– Apsley Cherry-Garrard, The Worst Journey in the World
Tom Crean had walked thirty-five miles in eighteen hours, stopping once to eat some of his provisions. Half an hour after he arrived, the blizzard broke, which ruled out any immediate rescue. In the meantime he rested and ate while they waited for the weather to clear, and filled the others in on the party's journey and his solo trek across the ice.
MEANWHILE, the Polar Party had finally reached the bottom of the Beardmore Glacier, with all its troubles, and were looking forward to a warmer, flatter, smoother home stretch across the Barrier, on full rations. 'Yesterday' they'd found the remains of Shambles Camp, where the ponies had been slaughtered in December, and had feasted on the remaining meat, then caught up on their sleep,and spent half the next day rearranging stores and sledges. Scott's only major concern was for the surface:
We have struggled out 4.6 miles in a short day over a really terrible surface—it has been like pulling over desert sand, not the least glide in the world. If this goes on we shall have a bad time, but I sincerely trust it is only the result of this windless area close to the coast and that, as we are making steadily outwards, we shall shortly escape it. It is perhaps premature to be anxious about covering distance. In all other respects things are improving. ... I wonder what is in store for us, with some little alarm at the lateness of the season.– R.F. Scott
