Dress Rehearsal for the Dogs
As the Fram made its way down south in late December 1910, the men of the Norwegian Antarctic Expedition began assessing their sled dogs in earnest and writing about their teams with optimism about their abilities, even expressing a sense of pride about their dogs’ attributes and potential.
On December 20, the day the men first tried the harnesses on their dogs, champion skier Olav Bjaaland (2011) felt motivated and moved to write at length about his team, marveling at how proud and magnificent and courageous they looked wearing their harnesses and bells. Some, he added, were a bit bashful. He seemed to be surprised by the dogs’ exhibiting some of the same emotions and qualities as humans.
The names of Bjaaland’s 12 dogs, as listed in his diary entry, seem well-thought-out and suited to fit their personalities but also reflect Bjaaland’s own sense of belonging, background, and competitive spirit.
Bjaaland’s dogs were as follows:
Knut was described as white with some black speckles. He seemed afraid and tense in his demeanor.
Lap, whom Bjaaland described as extremely distinguished, was black with a tail that sported a white ring around it. He was confident, good looking, and admired by everyone. He displayed pride in his demeanor.
Kvæn, who was Lap’s brother, had a white body and a black head. He was close to his brother Lap and went everywhere with him. Kvæn’s name was Finnish.
Fin was on the small side, black in coloring, and nice looking. He could be abrupt and naughty in his behavior, but he was generally well liked. As indicated by his name, Fin, too, according to Bjaaland, was from the northern land.
Ideal, or Idioten (“Idiot”), which became his name, was a large-sized black dog. He was very dynamic and full of energy and always liked to howl.
Gorki, in Bjaaland’s mind, was Russian and, so, was aptly named. In appearance, he was white and black. In stature, he was believed by Bjaaland to be the most powerful dog on board the ship. And in temperament, said Bjaaland, he matched the grumpiness and intimidating stance of what Bjaaland called a Cossack.
Pus (which can mean “Kitty”) was completely gray in appearance and quiet and calm in his demeanor.
Pan was a red and gray pastoral dog.
Fisken (“The Fish”) was a white dog with a black head. He usually acted as though he were afraid and was quite nervous.
Fridtjof had black spots, an athletic shape, and a quickness and agility to his movements.
Olava was a black dog whose ears hung down the sides of her head. She had a cheerful disposition and an uplifting demeanor.
Dødsengelen (“The Angel of Death”), who was described by Amundsen previously in his diary, was the dog who had earned his name because of his constant illness. He was black in coloring, and persevering in his manner, as he continually worked to recover from his sickness.
Interestingly, Bjaaland did not name his other female dog, Jaala, in this first listing of his dogs as recorded in his diary, but he did write of her later during the expedition in Antarctica.
Ski champ Bjaaland was joined by veteran Polar explorer Hjalmar Johansen in taking the time in late December to analyze his dogs’ demeanors and dispositions and to attempt to define their personalities.
In Johansen’s case, the older expedition member took a slightly more philosophical view of his dogs’ behavior and challenges on board. His diary entry came 2 days before Bjaaland’s, on December 18, and in it Johansen made the effort to describe each of his dogs in detail (Johansen expedition diary).
“Liket”, [which means “The Corpse” or “The Body”], assumed to be the oldest of the dogs on board, has apparently been a boss once in the world, but now it is doing poorly, it’s just skin and bones; but it still has a certain command over one and all; it goes where it wants, lies down where it will; it is not afraid to take food even from the strongest. I believe I saved its life at the beginning of the voyage, because it did not eat at all, and I began to feed it my own feces, which was the only thing it ate for many days, and it recovered to everyone’s amazement.
Then there is “Klöverknegt” [or Klöverknekt, which means “Jack of Clubs”], a black-and-white stout sensible dog. [Johansen would later call him by the shorter name Knegten (or Knægten or Knekten, which translates to “The Jack”.]
“Tigeren”, [which means “The Tiger”], black, is not as bloodthirsty as the name, but is good and rather serious-minded.
“Uroa”, [which means “Always Moving”], yellow-grey, gorgeous fur pelt; unusually lively in its movements; amiable and kind, best friend with Rotta.
“Rotta”, [which means “The Rat”], a black and white one, pretty good fighting-mongrel.
Then I have “Maxim Gorki”, a powerful sturdy [dog] with a face that reminds one a lot of the picture of the Russian writer.
Next comes “Emil” our student, a rather unsuccessful individual with bald patches and a philosophical appearance frail in body but with a stoic spirit. Eats and drinks well.
Then I have two dogs that have recovered astonishingly since we got them on board; they are: “Skalpen” [which means “Scalp”] and “Hellik”. These are inseparable as well, and stick together through thick and thin. Bad fighting-mongrels. “Skalpen” got its name because it was just about scalped when it came on board, [this was done] by the other dogs while they were on the island near Christianssand [Kristiansand]; they were close to killing it, and it was frightened out of its mind and timid and in poor shape at the beginning. It was the same case with “Hellik”, it was hiding behind the bollards astern and it was only just possible to get it to take food. These are now stout both of them, and although they are of the smaller dogs, they are not afraid to challenge such giants as “Adam” and “Lurven” [who are Wisting’s dogs].
Then comes “Dæljen”, an older, sturdy, thickest dog; a good-humored dog without any foolishness, one that, one gathers, is past its formative years and has tried a bit in life.
The last one is “Grim”. It has gotten its name through a lengthy process. It was in the beginning tied up by the entrance down to the engine room, and the engineer Sundbäck, who loves dogs very much, petted it therefore in his passing up and down, in this way they became good friends, and the dog was named “Sundbäck”. [“Sund” also means “Healthy”.] Then it began to get quite bald on its hindquarters, it was rather like a pig rolling in its own filth; we had to wash it with green soap and warm water, so I then christened it “Usundbäck” [which means “Unhealthy”]. As it was balding more and more, it was called “Skallagrimsen” [an Icelandic name]; and when it finally grew hair again, I ended up with the name “Grim” [which means “Ugly”]; it is really not all that ugly, it has a yellow-brown coat; its bitter enemies are Hellik and Skalpen. 1
Curiously, Johansen did not mention his beloved female dog when listing the names of his team. Camilla had been mentioned by him earlier – at the end of August – when she became the first mother to bear puppies on board the ship. And later, during the expedition, he would speak about her many times and describe her achievements at great lengths. But for now, perhaps as a female, she is not included in his list.
These were the dog teams of Bjaaland and Johansen at the end of December 1910, as the Fram neared the Antarctic ice.
Yes, the dogs are a puzzling study, and I have over the years reached the conclusion that if one is to have anything to do with sled dogs and get the best out of them, one must, in their handling [and treatment of them], assume that they are at least as smart as oneself. Because this will be to one’s advantage when the driving and the life on the ice begins. If one has treated them insensitively with untimely beating, so that they do not understand the reason for the beating, one can be certain that such a dog will make trouble in the team, when he gets a chance, and if it gets away from the sled, it will not be easy to catch again. I believe they have a great sense of fairness, and when they are treated well, they will stand by their master in life and death. 2
The intelligence, sense of justice, and loyalty of the dogs were thus summarized by Johansen. The relationship between the two remained to be tested – on both sides. For now, the dogs and the men on the Fram were ready to reach their destination, disembark from the ship, and land on the Antarctic ice.
New Year’s Ice Castle
It was now late December – summertime in the Antarctic region or Austral Summer. Although cold, the days and nights were full of light. The sun remained in the sky 24 h.
By December 30, 1910, the Fram was at 169° 13′ east and 60° south, passing Australia and New Zealand and crossing from the South Atlantic Ocean to the Southern Ocean. The ship would keep on this course to reach between 175°–180° east and 65°–66° south – the vessel’s entry into the waters around Antarctica. The ship was traveling relatively quickly, at 6–7 knots. And its crew hoped to reach the ice by New Year’s Eve (Amundsen Expedition Diary).
December 31 came with a howling gale and a water temperature drop to 0.6º Celsius. Amundsen wished fervently that the strong wind would remain, so that his ship would encounter the ice on the following day – New Year’s Day.
The ship was heading south toward the ice, entering a new geographical region, as its crew and passengers entered a new time and year. Ultimately, Amundsen and his crew hoped that this coming New Year would deliver unto them the ultimate prize – the South Pole.
The first of the year did indeed bring with it the first iceberg – the calved offspring of a glacier and the welcoming gate into the Antarctic. The iceberg was a tabular one which caught the light of the sun. But, soon, a thick mist concealed it. The curtain had been lifted momentarily on this breathtaking vision of purity – it was the first preview of the frozen land ahead, and it was sighted between 2:00 and 3:00 that morning. The crew remained on guard to sight the next frozen sentinel, and the men were rewarded with six more icebergs that appeared to be gracefully old, worn, and weathered.
More icebergs appeared as the ship sailed through heavy fog and thick snowdrift. By the next day, the Fram was surrounded by icebergs – smooth rounded ones and sharp-edged square ones. They were now prevalent and filled the horizon in all directions.
As of 8:00 pm on that day of January 2, 1911, the Fram crossed the Antarctic Circle. Aside from the icebergs around the ship, there was no drifting ice pack to impede their way, and in that, the Fram and its crew were truly fortunate. For, as reported by Amundsen, this was the furthest south that any documented expedition had been without meeting ice pack to obstruct the ship’s way across the sea (Amundsen Expedition Diary).
That same day of January 2 brought more snow, which, in turn, brought the dogs to life (Rønne 2011). The Greenlanders were once more in their element. Most of the dogs became more alert, engaged, and active on deck. The only exceptions were those dogs who were still invalids, especially the ones with sore and bleeding paws – most likely caused by the constantly damp conditions. These unfortunate dogs, according to sail maker Martin Rønne, included Liket, Lazarus, Dødsengelen, and Vulcanus.
The men now began making the necessary preparations to leave their vessel and climb onto the Great Ice Barrier (Ross Ice Shelf) that ringed the Antarctic continent along the Ross Sea. The excitement they must have felt is palpable through their written words scrawled into their journals that day. And the dogs must have sensed the difference in the air, the light, and the feel of this very special geographical place on Earth, not to mention the higher degree of intensity exhibited in the men around them. As animals are sensitive to their surroundings, this deeply silent and visually rich place must have truly filled their senses.
By January 3, more drift ice surrounded the ship as it made its way through the thickest fog yet (Amundsen Expedition Diary). Roald Amundsen gave orders to head southeast toward the Great Ice Barrier, taking a route similar to that which Ernest Shackleton had taken, and later written about, on his Nimrod Antarctic Expedition of 1907–1909 and heading for the small bay within the barrier that Carsten Borchgrevink had found during his Southern Cross British Antarctic Expedition of 1898–1900. The Fram’s luck remained intact, in that the only ice the ship encountered was loose ice formatted in long strips, with open clearings in between – through which the ship could navigate.
The ice held another special significance to the dogs and the men, in that it held seals, and as the ship passed each ice floe, Amundsen’s men would shoot the hapless seal lying on top of it and haul the carcass on board. The old cliché is quite apt here: it was indeed like shooting fish in a barrel. Five seals were killed on January 3, and the seal meat was served to the men and to the dogs, for the very first time, on that day. Amundsen wrote in his diary about the festive atmosphere on board, with the men enjoying a midday dinner meal of tender seal steak followed by an evening supper meal of seal liver. “The dogs have likewise done as well,” wrote Amundsen, describing the sled dogs’ dinner as a generous portion of meat weighing approximately two kilos and a large piece of skin with the fat still on the hide. 3 At first, according to Amundsen, the dogs did not comprehend this drastic change of diet, going from dried fish rations to fresh seal meat. But soon, they overcame their surprise and relished the rare feast and then began looking for another.
The dogs quickly adapted to their new diet, with a vengeance. On this first day that they were served this new meal, they devoured it within minutes, wrote Rønne (2011). Thorvald Nilsen (2011) was happy that his canine population was now receiving real meat rather than dried fish – the fresh meat and blubber, he felt, benefited them, and they were in seventh heaven. Other crewmen wrote about the dogs enjoying seal meat for the first time (Hassel 2011), describing the dogs as gorging themselves on the food (Hansen 2011; Gjertsen 2011), and taking part in the festive celebration (Prestrud 2011). The dogs alone ate 200 kg in that first meal – or one small seal. Amundsen feared losing control of the dogs and so slowed down the feeding. He had gotten enough fresh meat to last the men and dogs for several days, and he made a note to feed the dogs incrementally, as he did not want to overfeed them before they were placed in their harnesses and put to work on the Antarctic ice. Plus, he commented, now they were all “thick and fat.” 4 Always the strategist, Amundsen was already planning ahead regarding how these large seals would keep the dogs well-fed throughout the winter on the Antarctic continent.
As the previous 4 months of the 5-month journey had basically been a roller coaster ride for both the men and the dogs on board the Fram, it was now with a great sense of calmness and exhilaration that Amundsen, his crew, and the sled dogs surveyed the loose ice that surrounded them. Amundsen wrote of the fruits that the ice offered up to them – its stabilizing effect on the ship, the fresh drinking water it yielded, and – most importantly to Amundsen – the fresh meat it proffered. He was filled with a sense of peace and euphoria. “How can [I] describe the incredible feeling of well-being that [has] come over us …” he wrote. 5 Perhaps, too, the sight of this seal-laden ice brought back memories of the Belgica to Amundsen – of Dr. Frederick Cook and himself saving the sickly crew and of Amundsen’s seeking sanity through seal meat. Perhaps now he projected that very same happiness onto his dogs as well.
An avid student of the experiences and results of previous expeditions, Amundsen was at his best here. Selecting an eastward route in order to obtain a relatively ice-free entry into the south, Amundsen pursued this course of travel using both engine and sails and targeted the little bay in the barrier that everyone else, except Borchgrevink, had avoided. Already, he could see the whales at play among the ice as he approached the Bay of Whales on January 4 and the midnight sun appearing in all its glory on January 5. The sun emanated a brilliance of light, and a refreshingly dry warmth, in the clear Antarctic cold, so much so that the dogs enjoyed lying on the deck underneath the sun’s rays (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Rønne 2011).
By the 6th, Amundsen was on cloud nine. He had been called up in the wee hours of the night to assess the now ice-filled sea surface and had been met by a dazzling sight. The sun and the ice on the horizon made the scene look magical, he said, but the sun was obstructing his view, and the ice was thick here, so Amundsen needed to decide on a course of action. He decided to plow right through the pack, to use the Fram as an ice cutter. Indeed, the Fram broke through the ice handily, heaving it aside and pushing it forward along its way. The Fram cleared the pack ice impressively, and the ship, crew, and dogs were well on their way to making history.
Our dogs all are overly fed. Today they could not eat their meat rations. They are now – almost without exception – all big, round and fat. I dare say that they are now at the height of power and liveliness, and they will mature to perform fine work. Now that all the danger of sickness appears to be over, I must confess that our transportation of these dogs over a distance of 16,000 nautical miles. in all sorts of weather and all kinds of temperatures, is not only a complete success, but also shows particularly good and considerate care. To the many who were convinced that the expedition would become [one of] animal abuse from beginning to end, [this is] a reminder. I wish I had these tender persons under my ministrations. Hypocrites, they are. [Extreme expletive]! I dare say confidently that the animals love us. And not alone because of the plenty of food that they have been given at all times, but also – and especially, I believe, because of the loving care. I have with my own eyes seen people spare some of their meal rations to feed to their dogs, when they could see [the dogs] had a health problem. Only because they loved them so much. Follow their example, my ladies and gentlemen, animal protectors.” 6
Interestingly, this is one of the few paragraphs in Amundsen’s diary that sounds positively gushing, complete with dramatic exclamations and exclamation marks. Indeed, the subtext of this text exudes a feeling of jubilation. Could it be that Amundsen was that much relieved that he was actually able to pull off this coup? Most likely, yes. Naturally, his arrival at the ice, and the beauty that he encountered there, also boosted his spirits and contributed to his crowing about his success. One might ask, though, to whom did Amundsen refer when he talked about these “tender persons” and “animal protectors” who cried “animal abuse”? Was it Robert Falcon Scott? Clements R. Markham? The English? Or did individuals within his own camp criticize him for his use of dogs? These are interesting questions. The claims he made about the dogs loving him and his men were most likely very true, for most dogs are known to bond with their people completely and dedicate their lives to them. And, as evidenced by the diary entries, some of the crewmembers had developed close relationships with the dogs. But Amundsen did not mention here, in this lengthy diatribe, the many times of difficulty for the dogs during this journey, and most definitely he did not mention the numerous times that the dogs received a literal – not metaphorical – flagellation from Amundsen himself. No, at this time of seeming success, Amundsen was simply self-satisfied.
He also had a few words for another form of animal life newly encountered in these regions: the penguins, who came to greet the Fram as the ship sailed across the water. Writing of the curiosity the penguins displayed when spying the strange ship sailing in the midst of their familiar waters, Amundsen described the humorous sounds they made, and the way in which they exhibited their interest, adding that, in the end, the poor small creatures would pay a heavy price for the interest they showed in the men. And, so, true to his words, they did.
Meanwhile, members of another animal species were giving their lives as well, to both the men and the dogs. On board the ship, dead seals were everywhere, their bodies being carved for the meat and blubber they provided and their blood and matter washing all over the deck (Rønne 2011). The dogs’ portions of the seal meat had by now been doubled to 4 kg each, with the dogs collectively consuming two to two-and-a-half seals per meal (Gjertsen 2011). According to first mate Hjalmar Fredrik Gjertsen, with these increased rations of seal meat, and the dogs’ increasing appetite for the meat, came an increased appetite of the flesh, with the dogs exhibiting a new, heightened sense of wildness, and fighting frequently. They had already gained weight, appearing round and plump, with big bellies. The ship’s deck, then, bore the remnants of both the dead seals’ bodies and the dogs’ seal feasts. According to Rønne, in addition to feeding the seals to the crew and the dogs during these first days on the Antarctic waters, the seal carcasses were also to be frozen and stored for sustenance on the ice once the expedition landed.
The Fram came out of the ice at 70° south and 180° W.E. and entered into the Ross Sea, which fortunately was ice-free, on January 7 (Amundsen Expedition Diary). Two days later, the vessel was heading toward the vivid blue portion of the sky underneath which Amundsen believed the Great Ice Barrier lay in waiting for him.
There was a frenzied amount of activity on board, which must have included the dogs, who most likely were looking over the ship’s deck and out onto their new horizons. The dog house – the large tent that would serve as the canine residence on the ice – was pulled out of storage and brought down to the afterdeck, as were the dog harnesses and sledding equipment (Prestrud 2011; Rønne 2011).
With the observation of an increased number of whales in the vicinity on the following day of the 10th came an increased anticipation of reaching the barrier. And, true enough, on January 11, the Fram and her crew came face-to-face with the Great Ice Barrier – the 200-foot-tall snow and ice wall that surrounded the Ross Sea portion of the Antarctic continent and spanned the area west to east from McMurdo Sound to King Edward VII Land. It was Helmer Hanssen, the expedition’s expert dog-team driver, who first spotted the barrier while on lookout in the Fram’s crow’s nest. Soon after, the ship arrived at the barrier at 78° S latitude and 69° 40′ W longitude (Amundsen Expedition Diary).
The barrier stood very high, with a sheer 90° steep edge, and created searing reflections of the sun which shone like nowhere else in the world. Combined with the various glorious colors emanating from the barrier that ranged from blue to pink, the famous barrier was a magical sight. Amundsen, however, was not impressed. He had read so much about it; he wrote in his diary that he now greeted it as if it were an old friend (Amundsen Expedition Diary).
Amundsen and his Fram made their way eastward to the large concealed bay he knew would be hidden away there within the barrier. It was the Bay of Whales, the southernmost inlet in the barrier. Scott had ignored it, thinking it was unsuitable for landing. Shackleton had denounced it, claiming it was an unstable slab of ice that would crumple beneath anyone who attempted to use it as a base. James Clark Ross, who first sighted it in 1841, had been unable to approach it with his sailing ships the Erebus and the Terror. But Carsten Borchgrevink had embraced it and had indeed landed there, using it as the springboard to climb up to the barrier. Amundsen would now make it the Norwegian expedition’s home (Amundsen Expedition Diary). Johansen was accurate when he wrote of this landing spot in his diary: “One maintains however, that this barrier is ice that is not connected to the land, thus in a way drift ice [i.e., floating ice].” 7
Traveling slowly, calmly, and quietly eastward along the majestic barrier, which towered vertically above them to the starboard side (right) of the ship, Amundsen’s crew surveyed the area from the crow’s nest and the main deck. They reached King Edward VII Land and turned back (Amundsen Expedition Diary).
After 3 days of shuttling back and forth between the western and eastern ends of the ice barrier, as well as the western and eastern corners of the bay itself that indented into the barrier, Amundsen decided on the southeast corner of the bay to anchor the Fram, not far away from a valley on which to build the expedition’s home base.
Thus, on January 14, 1911, the Fram finally paused in its circumnavigating travels to make the Bay of Whales its new home. Amundsen and a few members of his crew – Thorvald Nilsen, Kristian Prestrud, and Jørgen Stubberud – took their first steps onto the portion of the barrier where they would build their camp base. They found a gradually sloping access to the barrier from the bay, as well as the shortest distance between the bay and the barrier.
It was an ideal site for Amundsen. Strategically, it was more southerly than Scott’s base at McMurdo. Logistically, the entire area was teeming with seal life to feed the men and dogs during their duration here. And the location looked solid and safe to Amundsen, who fervently believed that below this bay’s ice, there was terra firma. “Land, land and after land forms this bay,” he wrote in his diary. 8 He was mistaken, for there was only water, but the ice at that time was indeed thick and strong enough to support them. Since then, this part of the Ross Ice Shelf has broken away – one of the many consequences of climate change and global warming. But in January 1911, despite the relative risk of making this floating ice his base camp, it suited him. Amundsen felt that all these good circumstances had been created for him by the cosmos. He felt at home.
All the while, during the ship’s cruise along the ice barrier, the men had taken every opportunity to continue hunting seal – shooting seal being the more accurate term. The unsuspecting seals lay on their patches of ice along the ice shore, completely trusting the humans who passed by them, never suspecting what was coming, as they had never seen humans before. Amundsen (Expedition Diary) was amused to watch Nilsen shoot at and miss a seal, falling through the snow as the seal made his escape.
The penguins, too, continued to come up to see what all the commotion was – this vessel carrying these strange living beings. While mooring the Fram to the ice, Amundsen observed a group of ten penguins approaching the crewmen and closely watching as they dug holes into the ice to situate the anchors. This time, the penguins were given a reprieve.
One imagines what the dogs on the ship must have thought, looking out at this brave new wildlife for the first time.
As of January 15, the crew and dogs on the Fram were able to gaze out at the beauty of the barrier and anticipate what life might hold for them over the next 12 months of residence on that immense frozen space. Amundsen took these first few moments to admire the aesthetics of this special place before proceeding to the work at hand, describing its colors and quietness and qualities of being a “fairyland.” 9 But top-of-mind for him was putting the dogs to work. “One of the most difficult problems of the expedition was solved – that of conveying our draught animals in sound condition to the field of operations,” he wrote in his book The South Pole. “We had taken 97 dogs on board at Christiansand [Kristiansand]; the number had now increased to 116, and practically all of these would be fit to serve in the final march to the South” (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 169).
Amundsen had successfully brought 116 dogs to Antarctica. And the sled dogs had successfully endured a grueling 5-month sea journey. Both the men and the dogs would now leave their historical mark on this icy land.
Dog Chart: The 116 Dogs Who Arrived in Antarctica, on the Fram, in January 1911
The names of the 116 dogs of the Norwegian Antarctic Expedition – 93 adults and 23 puppies – who landed at the Great Ice Barrier in Antarctica on January 14, 1911, are:
The 93 Adults –
Fix (also Fiks)
Lasse (also Lassesen)
Snuppesen (also Fru Snuppesen – “Mrs. Snuppesen”, and Snuppa; also nicknamed “Amalie with the ball”)
Rasmus
Jens
Ola
Tor (also Thor)
Odin
Uranus
Neptune
Katinka (also Tinka)
Mylius
Ring
Zanko
Hök
Togo (also Tago)
Hai (also Haika)
Rap
Helge
Bone (also Bona)
Lolla (also Lola)
Obersten (“The Colonel”)
Majoren (“The Major”)
Suggen
Arne
Adam
Brun (“Brown”)
Lurven (also Lurvaroff)
Per
Hans
Bella (also Bolla)
Tomm (also Tom)
Mikkel
Ræven (“The Fox,” also Reven and Ravn)
Mas-Mas (also Masmas and Mass-Mass)
Else (also Elisa)
Svartflekken (“The Black Spot”)
Peary (after the American explorer Robert Peary)
Svarten (“Blackie”)
Suvarow (also Suvarov and Suvaron)
Ajax
Karenius
Sauen (“The Sheep”)
Schwartz
Lucy (also Lussi and Lussie)
Sara (also Sarikken)
Skøiern (also Skøieren)
Mons
Ulven (“The Wolf,” also Ulv)
Camilla (also Kamilla)
Liket (“The Corpse”)
Vulcanus (“Vulcan,” also Vulkanus)
Gråen (also Graaen and Gråenon)
Klöverknegt/Knegten (“Jack of Clubs”/“The Jack,” also Klöverknekt/Knekten, and Knægten)
Tigeren (“The Tiger”)
Uroa (“Always Moving”)
Rotta (“The Rat”)
Maxim Gorki (after the Russian writer Maxim Gorky)
Emil
Skalpen (“The Scalp,” also Skalperert; also known as Skelettet – “The Skeleton”)
Hellik
Dæljen
Grim (“Ugly”)
Cook (also Kock, after the American explorer Frederick Cook)
Lazarus
Samson
Kvæn (also Kvajn and Kven, a Finnish/Sami name)
Lap (also Lapp, a Sami name)
Pan
Gorki (after a Russian)
Pus (“Kitty,” also Puss)
Jaala (“Heart,” also Jåla,)
Olava
Frithjof (also Fridtjof)
Idioten (“The Idiot,” also Ideal)
Knut
Fisken (“The Fish”)
Finn (also Fin)
Dødsengelen (“The Angel of Death”)
Knud
Ulrik
Kaisa (also Kajsa, formerly Ingeborg, Gjeita)
Jakob (also Jacob and Jakop)
Isak (also Isaac)
Nigger [sic] (also Niger)
Jeppe
Busaren (also Beiseren)
Bjørn (“The Bear”)
Fuchs
Rex
Hviten (“The White”)
Ester (also Esther)
Aja
The 23 Puppies –
Kamillo (also Camillo, after his mother Camilla/Kamilla)
Funcho (also Funko and Funoko, after birthplace Funchal, born to Maren)
Madeiro (after birthplace Madeira, born to Maren)
Lillegut/Smaaen (also Småen, “The Little One,” “Little Boy,” or “The Small One,” possibly Katinka’s)
Kaisagutten (also Kaisegutten, “Kaisa’s Boy”, most likely after his mother Kaisa)
Sydkorset (“Southern Cross,” most likely after the ship Southern Cross in the British Antarctic Expedition of 1898–1900, headed by the Norwegian Carsten Borchgrevink, whom Amundsen greatly admired – possibly born to Bella)
Storm (born during a storm at sea, to Else)
Lussi (also Lucie and Lucy, referred to by Lindstrøm and Amundsen as miss f.f. and Miss A.A., most likely the only female puppy to be allowed to live on the Fram , and most likely born to Lucy)
Pasato (possibly born to Sara)
Tiril (possibly born to Olava)
Lyn (“Lightning,” possibly born to Ester)
Sara’s, Eva’s, Olava’s, Camilla’s, and Lolla’s remaining 12 puppies
These were the 116 dogs who reached Antarctica on the Fram with Roald Amundsen in January 1911 and paved the way toward the discovery of the South Pole.
Notes on Original Material and Unpublished Sources
- 1.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 18 December 1910, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:2
- 2.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 18 December 1910, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:2
- 3.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 3 January 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 4.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 3 January 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 5.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 3 January 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 6.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 6 January 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 7.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 27 September 1910, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:2
- 8.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 14 January 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 9.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 15 January 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549