Since we were running across the line of cleavage when
the dogs went down, it was to be expected that we should be crossing the
crevasses at right angles, and not be travelling, as actually happened,
parallel to, or along them. While we were getting him up the sixty odd
feet to which we had lowered him he kept muttering: "I wonder why this is
running the way it is--you expect to find them at right angles," and
when down the crevasse he wanted to go off exploring, but we managed to
persuade him that the snow-ledge upon which he was standing was utterly
unsafe, and indeed we could see the nothingness below through the blue
holes in the shelf. Another regret was that we had no thermometer: the
temperature of the inside of the Barrier is of great interest and a
fairly reliable record of the average temperature throughout the year
might have been obtained when so far down into it. Altogether we could
congratulate ourselves on a fortunate ending to a nasty business. We
expected several more miles of crevasses, and the wind was getting up,
driving the surface drift like smoke over the ground, with a very black
sky to the south. We pitched the tent, had a good meal and mended the dog
harness which had been ruthlessly cut in clearing the dogs. Luckily we
found no more crevasses for it was now blowing hard, and rescue work
would have been difficult, and we pushed on as far as possible that
night, doing eleven miles after lunch, and sixteen for the day.
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