Tuesday 11th April 1911, The Ice Changes We Have So Long Awaited

Sketch Map Of
McMurdo Sound

The first and second weeks in April brought the ice changes that we had so long awaited, and after one or two false starts two teams set out from Hut Point on April 11 to make their way across the fifteen miles of sea ice to Cape Evans.

This turned out to be a somewhat hazardous journey, since it had to be made in the half light with overcast weather and hard wind. Scott took charge of one tent and had with him Bowers, Griffith Taylor, and Petty Officer Evans, while I had in my party Wright, Debenham, Gran, and Crean. The seven who remained at Hut Point in charge of dogs and ponies helped us out a league or so for the first part of our journey.

The route led first up the steep ice slope over­hanging Hut Point, and then to the summit of the ridge, which is best described as the Castle Rock promontory.

Our sojourn at Hut Point had given us plenty of chance to learn the easier snow roads and the least dangerous, and Scott chose the way close eastward of Castle Rock to a position four miles beyond it, which his first expedition had named Hutton Cliffs. From Castle Rock onward the way took us to the westward of two conical hills which were well-known landmarks―a hitherto untrodden route―but the going was by no means bad. Bitingly cold for faces and finger-tips, still, no weights to impede us. We camped for lunch after covering seven miles, for the light was bad, but it improved surprisingly whilst we were eating our meal.

Accordingly, we put on our crampons about 3 p.m. and struck camp, securely packing the two green tents on the sledges, and casting a careful eye round the loads, tightened a strap here, hitched there, and then led by Scott we made a careful descent to the precipitous edge of the ice cap which overlays the promontory.

We got well down to a part that seemed to overhang the sea and, to our delight, found good solid-looking ice-sheet below us which certainly extended as far as Glacier Tongue.

The drop here was twenty-five feet or so and Taylor and I were lowered over the cornice in an Alpine rope, then Wright and then the sledges, after that the remainder of the party, An ash-pole was driven into the snow and the last few members sent down in a bowline at one end of the rope whilst we below eased them down with the other part. The two parts of the Alpine rope working round the pole cut deeply into the overhanging snow and brought a shower of ice crystals pouring over the head and shoulders of whoever was sitting in the bowline.

It was a good piece of work getting everything down safely, and I admired Scott’s decision to go over; a more nervous man would have fought shy because, once down on the sea ice there was little chance of our getting back and we had got to fight our way forward to Cape Evans somehow.

When Taylor and I first got down we were greeted with a weird and

wonderful sight: constant drifts of snow had formed a great overhang and the ice cliff was wreathed in a mass of snowy curtains and folds which took all manner of fantastic turns and shapes.

A fresh wind was blowing continuously that made it most unpleasant for those above, and it was a relief to us all when the last man was passed down in safety, it was Scott himself.

We quickly harnessed up again and swung out over the sea ice towards Glacier Tongue, the cliffs of which stood out in a hard, white line to the north­ward, a couple of miles away, Arrived at the Tongue, Bowers and I clambered up a ten-foot cliff face by standing on Wright’s and Crean’s shoulders. We then reached down and hauled up the sledges and the others, harnessed up again, and proceeded to cross the Glacier, which was full of small crevasses.

We reached the northern side of it and went down an easy snow slope to the sea ice beyond. As far as one could see this ice continued right up to and around Cape Evans, seven miles away to the N.W. It was now 6.30 p.m.;

Scott halted us and discussed our readiness to make a night march into the winter quarters. There was not one dissentient voice, and we gladly started off at 8 o’clock for a night march to our snug and comfortable hut, picturing to our­selves a supper of all things luxurious.

Our feet seemed suddenly to have taken wings, but, alas, the supper was not to be, for thick weather set in, and when, by 10 o’clock the wind was blowing hard and it was pitch dark, Scott suddenly decided to camp under the shelter of Little Razorback Island, where by that time we had arrived. We passed a filthy night here, for the snow on the sea ice was saturated with brine and, in no time, our sleeping-bags became wet and sticky.