My own pony somehow got through with his sledge to
the other side, and every moment I expected the ground to fall below us
and a chasm to swallow us up. The others had to be unharnessed and led
out. The only set of snow-shoes was then put on to Bowers' big pony and
he went back and drew the stranded sledges out. Beyond we pitched our
camp.
On February 3-4 we marched for ten miles to Camp 6. In the last five
miles we crossed several crevasses, our first; and I heard Oates ask some
one what they looked like. "Black as hell," he said, but we saw no more
just now, for this march carried us beyond the line of pressure which
runs between White Island and Cape Crozier. This halt was called Corner
Camp, as we turned here and marched due south. Corner Camp will be heard
of again and again in this story: it is thirty miles from Hut Point.
By 4 P.M. it was blowing our first Barrier blizzard. We were to find out
afterwards that a Corner Camp blizzard blows nearly as often as a Hut
Point wind. The Bluff seems to be the breeding-place for these
disturbances, which pour out towards the sea by way of Cape Crozier.
Corner Camp is in the direct line between the two.
One summer blizzard is much like another. The temperature, never very
low, rises, and you are not cold in the tent. Sometimes a blizzard is a
very welcome rest: after weeks of hard pulling, dragging yourself awake
each morning, feeling as though you had only just gone to sleep, with
the mental strain perhaps which work among crevasses entails, it is most
pleasant to be put to bed for two or three days.
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