Life on the Ice
When Camilla had borne her four children in mid-April and Bella had borne her two puppies later that month, they had brought new life onto a continent where that life was rare and precious. Aside from the native penguins, birds, and seals, other wildlife rarely developed on this terrain, and the continent rarely proved to be fertile ground for other propagating species. Yet here they were, these canines and their offspring, young life growing on an alien land that could just as well have been an alien planet. Indeed, these dogs were at the exact opposite end of the earth from the native land from whence they had come, just as Roald Amundsen and his men were at the exact opposite Pole from the Pole they had originally set off to reach.
The females persisted in providing new progeny for this “family” of pioneering human and canine expedition members residing on the continent of Antarctica. And Else was one of those females. A member of Sverre Hassel’s team and already a mother who had borne her solitary son, Storm, during the November storm on the ship, she now bore eight puppies on the Antarctic continent. The newborns came on June 27, 1911, and she nursed them instinctively in the −51° Celsius cold, with a reminiscently familiar strong wind blowing from the east. Unfortunately, however, even on this alien Antarctic ice shelf, “woman was not wanted,” and so her six female puppies were killed. But this time, they were not thrown into the ocean. In fact, Amundsen seems to have taken some devilish delight in describing how he had devised their demise. On the day following their birth, after reporting in his diary that he would keep the two males born (Amundsen Expedition Diary), he wrote: “The remaining – ladies – are willingly received by ‘Else”s cavaliers, for breakfast. It seems that these newborns taste wonderfully delicious.” 1 On the following day, he followed up on the dogs’ digestive progress: “All ‘Else”s are now consumed. Her cavaliers could not let the delicacy be.” 2
Sverre Hassel (2011) also wrote about the demise of Else’s female puppies, reporting that four females were killed by his own hands and that one female was probably eaten by another dog. Thus, Hassel’s account, which he wrote on July 2, differs from Amundsen’s account in that he reports that one of the female puppies – not all of the females – was eaten and that there were five females killed and three males kept. Hjalmar Johansen (Johansen Expedition Diary) in turn reported that some of Else’s puppies who died – most likely the females – were “caught by the large male dogs.” 3
In the middle of the darkest time [of winter], Hassel came in one morning and announced that Else had eight puppies. Six of these were ladies, so their fate was sealed at once; they were killed and given to their elder relations, who appreciated them highly. It could hardly be seen that they chewed them at all; they went down practically whole. There could be no doubt of their approval, as the next day the other two had also disappeared.
Such was the precariousness of new life on this frozen land.
The cold took yet another life. By July 2, Oscar Wisting’s Bella was left with only one puppy, according to Johansen (Johansen Expedition Diary). Most likely, her second puppy, who had been born in April, had also frozen to death.
It was a wonder, then, that Johansen’s Camilla had been able to keep all four of her puppies alive in the below freezing temperatures – possibly there was some wisdom in her repeatedly moving her young ones from place to place when they were first born. But here she was, with four healthy, hearty kids – Stormogulen and his three siblings.
Contemplating Camilla’s four puppies and Bella’s one remaining pup, Johansen marveled how these five newborns had been able to stay alive in the bitter cold and how they seemed to thrive and grow well. They were going to be “magnificent animals,” he wrote, and would be “unusually hardy,” having survived Antarctic winter conditions and having been “raised under such [severe] circumstances.” 5
As the months of June and July came, there were more females readying themselves to give birth in the harsh winter conditions and to care for their newborns in this seemingly inhospitable land.
“Now Helmer’s [Hanssen’s] ‘Lolla’ has given birth to 5 puppies and it will be a question, if she can take care of them,” mused Johansen. “We have no other place to house them than in the dog tent, and the only thing we can do is to give the bitches an empty case with wood shavings, straw and paper, when they are waiting for their delivery [i.e., birthing event], and it will be a hard one in 50-degree cold. But it is remarkable, how much they can endure, these uniquely hardy animals – at any rate, uniquely hardy to be domestic animals.” 6
Lolla, who was now expecting, was the mother who, while still expecting her own puppies on board the ship, had nursed poor weak Eva’s puppy when he had toppled down upon her from his case during the rolling high seas of October. It seemed that these mothers and their offspring were tenacious embracers of life, whether amidst the stormy seas on board a rolling ship or in the freezing cold and snowy ice on the frozen Antarctic continent.
Johansen gave much thought to the sled dogs, to their survival, and to their challenges, not just while they were pulling the sleds, but also in their everyday living conditions – on the sea and on the ice. He attempted to learn from the accidents or tragedies that befell the dogs, commenting on their actions and their fates and constantly trying to gain a grasp on some of their reasoning and psyche.
(Here I must note that “Uroa” and “Rotta” disappeared the other day from the camp. The latter came [back] alone after 3 days gone but then disappeared again and returned with “Uroa” 1 day later. Then Uroa was brownish-red on one side of his handsome coat; they had probably been hunting for seals. But I think it’s strange that they can kill these large seals, which are found here.) 7
Amundsen, too, had been keeping track of Uroa’s and Rotta’s comings and goings but recorded the timetable differently, as well as expressed some exasperation, writing on May 26: “2 of J’s dogs disappeared yesterday. The one ‘Rotta’ came back in the night, but the other ‘Uroa’ is not yet returned. What can they chase after now in the black night?” 8 A few days later, he followed up with this entry: “‘Uroa’ J’s dog came back after 4 days absence. It was bloody & exhausted. Must have found a seal on the ice and together with his friend ‘Rotta’ finished off with it.” 9
The assumption made by both men was that Uroa and Rotta had gone off on a 4-day excursion of seal hunting. Amundsen’s report was tinged with a trace of perturbation, while Johansen’s was laced with surprise. Neither of them, however, knew the true story. It would not be revealed for another 2 months. And only then would Johansen realize the full extent and strength of Uroa and Rotta’s friendship. But for now, during that first half of winter, he and Amundsen contented themselves with believing that the two inseparable friends had been hunting together and with maintaining their perception that Uroa’s and Rotta’s stomachs had ruled their activities.
The Dog-Less Leader
Amundsen, meanwhile, was having a change of heart about his own dogs and his ability to rule them on the road. As it turned out, his rectal sore was not healing as quickly as he had hoped. He had recently begun applying a topical treatment in addition to the daily enema, he reported on May 27, as the discomfort and pain had continued unceasingly since the second depot tour (Amundsen Expedition Diary). Surely the extreme cold must not have helped in a recovery process. Amundsen had been suffering from this ailment for over 3 months now. Johansen observed Amundsen’s impaired state and commented on it as well in his diary on June 6, saying that the boss was the only one of the men not doing well, because of his wound, in spite of the strict diet and careful digestive routine he was keeping (Johansen Expedition Diary). Amundsen had been diligent in his food intake and outtake, had applied healing remedies, and, as of June 3, had the added benefit of a newly installed steam bath to provide additional therapy – he had christened the underground steam bath, in fact, being the first man to use it before anyone else had the pleasure. It seemed, however, that he was still feeling poorly and that his rectal injury had become debilitating (Amundsen Expedition Diary).
Thus, Amundsen decided that he would not drive his own dog sled in the springtime, during the actual trek to the South Pole. He made this decision as a result of the negative effects of his continued physical suffering, citing, in his diary, his painful ailment as the reason for not driving his own dogs to his coveted goal (Amundsen expedition diary). Most likely, however, Amundsen also recognized the severe limitations to his ability to drive dogs – the second depot tour had been a testament to that failure. Nonetheless, he made this announcement in his June 9 diary entry. Amundsen now assigned himself to be the lead forerunner – to ski in front of the caravan of dog sleds – and assigned his own dog team to Kristian Prestrud, who would now drive Amundsen’s dogs during the South Pole journey. For this reason, on June 9, Prestrud began looking after Amundsen’s dogs along with Amundsen, so as to familiarize himself with them and so as to let them become accustomed to the new arrangement.
Over the next 2 days, Prestrud (2011) diligently began to assume the responsibility of taking care of Amundsen’s dogs. But Lasse, Fix, Snuppesen, Uranus, Neptune, and the others were not on as friendly terms with Prestrud as they were with their old captain Amundsen. Meanwhile, Prestrud’s own former teammates, including Lazarus, Samson, Kaisa, and Ulrik, all of whom he had long ago given over to the other men during the three depot tours, still followed him around and responded to him as their primary friend. Prestrud’s diary entry of June 11 reflects a preference to have his old dogs back. Most likely, Prestrud appealed to Amundsen about this – the question, then, would be, what would happen with Amundsen’s dogs.
Prestrud’s appeal – as, seemingly, he made one – must have worked. On June 14, the new arrangement changed yet again. Instead of giving his dogs to Prestrud, Amundsen now distributed his dogs out to the men, who each adopted some of Amundsen’s dogs as part of their teams. Prestrud then received back his own dogs who had previously gone to the other men and thus now had his original team back together again. The alteration caused additional work for the men, who had to revise the harnesses for the sleds, but Amundsen felt it would all work out eventually (Amundsen expedition diary). Prestrud was relieved with the new arrangements, writing on June 17 that he now had his old team back with him and that the reunion was joyful for both himself and for the dogs (Prestrud 2011). Prestrud’s team now took over the dog tent formerly inhabited by Amundsen’s dog team, which was now dissolved as a sled team. He reported that Amundsen’s dogs were scattered haphazardly about the camp. Thus, the closely knit family that had resided together since the days of the ship, when they had cohabitated on the bridge, now was disbanded, and the family members dispersed among the other teams.
Olav Bjaaland reported receiving Amundsen’s dogs Knud and Fuchs (which he apparently spelled Fuko) as new members of his dog team and returning Prestrud’s dogs Ulrik and Nigger [sic] (which he also apparently spelled Niger) back to Prestrud, on June 16 (Bjaaland 2011).
Two days later, on the 18th, Johansen also reported receiving two dogs from Amundsen and returning two dogs, whom he had previously borrowed, to Prestrud. Amundsen’s Uranus and Neptune would now run on Johansen’s sled, while Prestrud’s Samson and Lazarus would run on Prestrud’s sled. Uranus was the singing dog, who liked to sing to Lasse. Samson was the dog Johansen had borrowed on the second depot tour. “The boss has now decided to be forerunner during the tour; he does not think he can be so well enough to contend with the heavy loads and all the dogs,” wrote Johansen that day, explaining that Prestrud, who had begun taking care of Amundsen’s dogs, had since then replaced them with his own from the ship and had now swapped out Amundsen’s dogs for his dogs. “Thus, he has received from me Samson and Lazarus, while I have received instead Uranus and Neptune.” 10
This interchanging game of musical dogs did not end here. Amundsen next gave his beloved “trio” – Lasse, Fix, and Snuppesen – to Oscar Wisting, who was proving to be Amundsen’s right-hand man (Amundsen expedition diary). Even a month later, on July 22, while these three dogs were working with Wisting, they still followed Amundsen around camp. Wisting, however, would now drive Amundsen’s favorite dogs as part of his sled team on their quest for the South Pole.
Mysterious Disappearances
During this wintertime of preparations and fine-tuning, the expedition experienced two more mysterious disappearances among the dog population. A dog from Jørgen Stubberud’s team went missing for 5 days but fortunately returned again, “just as fat and round,” reported Amundsen on June 8. The dog “probably had not been hungry during its absence,” he added. 11 On the other hand, Wisting’s dog Tomm (Tom), who was reported missing by Amundsen on July 9, had disappeared 2 weeks prior (on June 25) and, as of July 9, still had not returned (Amundsen expedition diary). The men were not certain what had happened to him.
Tied by the common bond of caring for the dogs and preparing for the main sledding journey, the men of the Norwegian Antarctic Expedition functioned as a harmonious family unit. Amundsen’s diary entries of June 3, 16, 14, and 18, as well as May 6, respectively, touch upon the different aspects of the men’s activities and conversations during this time. They passed the time debating whether the ground they stood on, at Framheim, in the Bay of Whales, was actual land or ancient ice. Most of them, except Prestrud, believed it was land – Prestrud, with time, would be proven correct. The men also discussed the advantages of dark-colored tents to take during the sledding journey, in order to rest the eyes and absorb the sun’s rays. They voted on Cloetta as the official sledding chocolate. And, for fun, they played darts at night and a guess-the-temperature game in the morning (Amundsen Expedition Diary). It seems they worked and played as a cohesive unit. As further fun and sport, the men also dueled with whip handles to determine the best type to use on the dogs, as described by Amundsen in his book The South Pole (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 360–361). These whip-handle duels were comical for the men but, alas, very serious and painful business for the dogs, for they would later be used on the canines to significant effect.
Amundsen wrote of the cooperation between his companions during this golden time, and the expedition members worked earnestly to prepare for the sled tour to the Pole. Photos were taken, mostly by Prestrud, of the men at work in the underground rooms, now known by such names as the “Crystal Palace,” where Johansen painstakingly packed the provisions – “Not a millimeter” could be squandered, wrote Amundsen 12 – and the “Carpenters’ Union” (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 359), where Bjaaland and Stubberud expertly planed and shaved down the sleds and cases so that they would weigh much less on the South Pole trip. Holidays were honored, birthdays commemorated, and anniversaries celebrated. Adolf Lindstrøm continued to conjure gourmet gastronomical delights. And everyone partook of the hot steam bath.
It is when one gives a “confirmation”, as we call it, that the handle breaks. A confirmation is generally held when some sinner or other has gone wrong and refuses to obey. It consists in taking the first opportunity, when the sledge stops, of going in among the dogs, taking out the defiant one, and laying into him with the handle. These confirmations, if they occur frequently, may use up a lot of handles.
The “confirmation,” then, as so pragmatically described by Amundsen, was an unforgiving public beating to penalize the erring dog and to warn the rest of the dogs of their own impending punishment if they should happen to err, themselves. The dreaded whip handle was the mechanism for this punishment.
The tables were turned a bit where the ski bindings were concerned. The dogs were known to relish eating these morsels right off of the skis – case in point, the second depot tour, when the starving dogs had eaten the whips, bindings, and harnesses. So, Bjaaland was forced to invent removable bindings that could securely hold the foot and boot in place on the ski, yet pop off easily at night, leaving the skis binding-less (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 363). This he did to the men’s great satisfaction and to the dogs’ further deprivation in times of hunger.
Around the camp, the sled dogs were groomed and readied for the coming spring. The strong ones had already been identified and were tended to closely; the weak ones were separated and looked after. As on the ship, the state of the dogs was of paramount importance. And if anything adverse happened to any of the dogs, it would soon be known by all the men, several of whom would dutifully record it in their diaries.
“One of my dogs ‘Knegten’ is sick,” wrote Johansen on June 18. 13 Knegten (Knægten), or Knekten, meaning “The Jack” – a playful term for the name Klöverknekt, “Jack of Clubs” – was the black-and-white reliable dog from the ship who had worked on Johansen’s sled team during the first depot tour back in February. Now, for unknown reasons, he was losing hair and becoming very thin and weak. Johansen, therefore, made a special place for the ailing Knegten in the dog tent in order to keep him comfortable. The veteran polar explorer dug out a space at the bottom of the tent wall and placed a spacious box there, with wood shavings inside, in the hopes that this new abode would make his dog feel better.
The result was exactly the opposite. Knegten took extreme umbrage to the box. He did not want to be treated any differently from any of the other dogs, and he made this clearly known to Johansen. “From the very beginning it would not in any way go into the box, it understood apparently that it was being treated as a patient; but it did not want that,” wrote Johansen observantly on that same day. 14 Johansen understood his sick dog’s reluctance to be an invalid, and empathized with him, but nonetheless tried to create a more convalescent environment for his ailing dog. Ultimately unable to coax him, Johansen ended up physically carrying Knegten to the box and placing him in it. The mortified dog whined the entire time, as a result of his wounded pride, and his sense of inability to carry out his work, rather than as a result of his ailing body.
This type of tenacity among the sled dogs had been witnessed by Johansen before. “It reminds me of ‘Suggen’ on the first Fram tour,” he reminisced; “neither did it [Suggen] want to let itself lie down and be driven [on the sled], though it was so exhausted, that it could not go [on pulling].” 15
The undying tenacity and dignified spirit observed in Knegten was seen in Amundsen’s other dogs as well. They had pulled with all their hearts and all their strength during the three depot tours – some to their own detriment, some to the point where they met their final demise. Soon, all the dogs would be pulling for the ultimate prize.
It was at this time of Knegten’s illness that Johansen remembered those dogs who had already departed this world of ice in the service of the human explorers – those who had perished while serving the men who had brought them here to conquer the earth’s unknown southernmost point.
“The mysterious ice barrier lies calm in our neighborhood,” wrote Johansen. “I say neighborhood for, as far as I think, where Framheim lies [i.e., is located], [there] is solid land underneath. In all we must say, that we have every reason to be satisfied with the weather, wind and ice. We are well and in no way suffer any distress, as one may believe in the civilized world. At any rate, the mystical, feared ice barrier has hitherto not been bad with us, other than that it has kept in its cold grasp my two dogs Emil and Hellik, who disappeared in the crevasse during the last depot tour, and probably Coock [Cook], who could not follow on the way home.” 16 Thus, Johansen did not forget his fallen dogs, lost while performing their duty.
While Johansen lamented the loss of his fallen sled dogs, Prestrud wrote verses about them, presenting his poem at the winter solstice celebration on June 23, to the great entertainment of the men (Prestrud 2011; Amundsen Expedition Diary). In the lyrics that he recited, Prestrud told the story of the two dogs who fell through the snow bridge and into the crevasse, gone in a second, with only a faint scream to mark their previous presence; yet their fate of falling into the depth of the bottomless crevasse, he wrote, was a more fortunate fate than being forced to pull the loaded sleds. The men greeted the poem with enthusiastic response, as they celebrated the Midsummer’s Day holiday of Norway, on the southern Antarctic ice.
Home on this massive ice shelf at Framheim was relatively safe for the men, they perceived, although it had claimed the lives of some of the dogs, who were also driven hard by the men to perform. The ice shelf provided the springboard for the coming dash to the Pole.
“The days fly and in a short [period of] time we will test our strengths in earnest” wrote Amundsen on June 11th. 17 He was confident that his expedition members were looking forward to departing for the Pole, just as he, at mid-winter, was already mentally pulling toward his springtime goal. Amundsen was anxious and eager to leave the starting line and to ultimately win the race. The dogs, under the men’s whips – and dreaded handles – would be pulling forward in the springtime, as well, working with all their will and strength to bring Amundsen and his men to that coveted finish line.
But until then, there was still the second half of the dark winter to endure.
Helmer Hanssen and his sled dog team, most likely including the twins Mylius and Ring on the right, on the Great Ice Barrier. Note the long whip with large handle in Hanssen’s hand – one of the many that the men crafted to use on the dogs (Photographer: unidentified/Owner: National Library of Norway)
A sled dog team accompanies a Norwegian Antarctic Expedition member to retrieve one of the seals hunted and killed. It was the dogs’ job to haul the seal carcasses back to camp on their sledges (Photographer: unidentified/Owner: National Library of Norway)
Notes on Original Material and Unpublished Sources
- 1.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 28 June 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 2.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 29 June 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 3.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 2 July 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 4.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 2 July 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 5.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 2 July 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 6.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 2 July 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 7.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 4 June 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 8.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 26 May 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 9.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 29 May 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 10.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 18 June 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 11.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 8 June 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 12.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 9 June 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 13.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 18 June 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 14.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 18 June 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 15.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 18 June 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 16.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 18 June 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 17.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 11 June 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549