The Adherence to Duty
The whips, dreaded by the dogs and desired by the men, were completed by Sverre Hassel on the first day of August 1911. The dog reins, for which each man was responsible to prepare for his own team, were completed by the middle of the month (Amundsen Expedition Diary). The ski bindings, too, were in fine shape by the beginning of August. The solution reached by Roald Amundsen, along with champion skier Olav Bjaaland and the others, wherein the bindings would be unhooked from the skis and brought into the tents at night, so as to be protected from the dogs’ hungry mouths, was very satisfactory to Amundsen (Amundsen Expedition Diary). The men would hide this “greatest delicacy” from the dogs, who would otherwise consume the bindings, wrote Amundsen on August 1. “Then are the dogs fooled,” quoth the explorer. 1
Amundsen was in a hurry to depart and had targeted August 10 for completion of all the equipment. September 1 was the deadline for all equipment to be packed and ready to go. The departure date itself, also in September, would depend on the weather – which, in Antarctica, was the most uncertain and yet the most dominating reality of life.
Awaiting this good weather for departure, the group was hit by the worst storm yet, on August 2, with strong winds from the southwest blowing driving snow into the camp and infiltrating the tents. For the first time, the massive amounts of snowdrift invaded the dog tents and had to be dug out of the dogs’ living quarters the following morning (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Prestrud 2011; Hassel 2011).
Thus, Amundsen had to amuse himself until the weather cooperated. On August 5, he commissioned veteran explorer Hjalmar Johansen to build a larger version of the scale used to weigh provisions for packing. This new scale would now weigh the men. Amundsen thought it would be interesting to know what the human expedition members weighed upon departure to, and return from, the South Pole. He had the men also calculate their height, just for good measure. The weighing and measuring took place on August 6, and Amundsen dutifully recorded the results that day in his diary. Amundsen himself turned out to be the tallest and second heaviest; Lieutenant Kristian Prestrud was the second tallest and the second lightest; skiing athlete Bjaaland, who tied with carpenter Jørgen Stubberud for third place in height, weighed in as the lightest; and cook Adolf Lindstrøm, who tied with Wisting as the shortest of the men, was nonetheless the heaviest, “officially” earning him – from Amundsen – the nickname “fatty.” 2 “Fatty” was the name by which Amundsen also called Lindstrøm in his book The South Pole (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 292).
On that same day of weighing the men, Johansen weighed the options facing the expedition and privately indirectly commented on Amundsen’s extreme eagerness to depart. Amundsen had gone so far as to propose making a journey east to King Edward VII Land – discovered by Robert Falcon Scott and only seen but not touched by the British expeditioners – and he wanted to make this journey before embarking on the main journey south to the Pole. The important decision made regarding the south journey, wrote Johansen in his diary, was that the expedition would leave with the reappearing sun (Johansen Expedition Diary). But the question was when would the sun be strong enough to see them through clearly and warmly across the unknown terrain? And, to Amundsen, there was an additional urgent question: Was Scott at that very moment making his way toward the Pole (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 378–379)?
Anxious dreams and visions of “Englishmen,” ponies, and motor sledges must have been dancing in Amundsen’s head. For his back-and-forth, mental pacing is quite evident in his diary entries that month. One can almost see each thought stride across his mind and then retreat again. “Decided yesterday to take a little trial tour with our equipment to check to see if everything is in order,” he wrote on the 7th, of his decision to make an eastern trip to King Edward VII Land prior to the southern trip to the Pole. 3 The decision was to set out on August 20 with 8 men, 72 dogs, 6 sleds, and enough provisions to last for a 10-day trip. Amundsen proclaimed that this would be a great trial run and a training excursion for both the sled dogs and the men and that, although it would now require reworking the harnesses for the dogs and bringing in more dog pemmican from the depot to load onto the sleds, everyone was truly enchanted with this “little trial tour.” Then, not 3 days later, he denounced this decision. The enchantment, it seems, was greatly overexaggerated. The plan to travel east was “unanimously” rejected, he wrote on the 10th, adding that the men had become “daily more and more suspicious over this affair”; indeed, the primary mission, before anything else, was to make the southern trip and that “everything” now had to be directed at “reaching the main goal – the pole.” 4 And, so, August 24, the date the sun was expected to return, was set as the date upon which the expedition would depart south for the Pole.
To that end, on the following day of August 11, Amundsen initiated an official dogwatch duty, wherein the dogs would be constantly supervised during the day, while they were loose, before being retied up in their tents during the night (Hassel 2011). The men were thus assigned 1 h each to watch over the dogs between 9:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m. The dogs were the most important aspect of the trek south, and Amundsen, standing now at the starting line of the race, wanted to make sure that his animals were well and ready and that nothing would happen to them at this crucial and beginning stage of the journey.
But the thoughts continued to march back and forth in his head, like multiple decisions wrestling with each other. It was over these next few days that Amundsen also lost track of the date, missing some dates in his diary entries, and duplicating others. In his expedition diary, in an entry dated the 16th, he wrote about testing the newly sewn clothing for the upcoming trek and analyzing their effectiveness, spending half a day outside and taking the other men’s dogwatch duties, so that he could try out his clothes – and, most likely, maintain control by personally watching the dogs. On the next day, in his entry dated the 17th, he wrote about walking around again for 3.5 h, testing his reindeer clothing in the bitterly freezing temperatures, and noting that, while the dogs did not like the cold at all, he was able to remain warm in his new clothes. In the midst of this, he supervised the continued packing of the sleds. Amundsen was like an eager athlete anticipating a sporting tournament, testing each part of his uniform and equipment every day prior to the big game.
Amundsen’s thoughts were never far from his dogs. The sled dogs were his key to achieving his goal. And yet, several days after the careful dogwatching had begun, three of the dogs were noticeably and inexplicably absent. Even more puzzling, the absent dogs were Amundsen’s own “Trio.” “‘Fiks’, ‘Lasse’ and ‘Snuppesen’ have been missing from the camp all day,” he wrote in his diary entry dated August 17. “I suspect they have installed themselves in the fish tent at the depot.” 5 Amundsen’s personal presence at the dogwatches certainly should have prevented his own dogs from vanishing. Fortunately, the next day, “The Trio” turned up at camp. Amundsen tried to put himself in their place and imagine where they had been: “The dogs, who were gone yesterday, have come back again this morning,” he wrote. “They have undoubtedly spent the night in the fish tent. They know, that it was a fish meal in the evening, and thought that they would go ahead and eat their dinner on site. They always appear to know exactly what we will have for dinner – meat or fish.” 6 Amundsen then launched into a detailed description about the dogs’ preference for meat, their indifference to fish, and their reticence to enter their tents at night when they knew a fish meal awaited them. He then told a lengthy story about Maren’s surviving son Funcho, whom he used as a humorous example of those wise dogs who did not like to eat fish and who were smart enough to try to avoid that food. Funcho was by now just over 11 months old and working on Jørgen Stubberud’s team. According to Amundsen, the puppy would make himself scarce on the evenings when fish was served, failing to come to his tent at the end of the day and appearing to have disappeared into thin air. Stubberud then conjured up a way to trick Funcho into coming to the tent, by letting him think that he would serve meat that night – even though Funcho knew it was a fish night. Stubberud would make a show of bringing out the meat box from the meat tent and bring it to Funcho’s dog tent. Upon seeing this, Funcho would allow himself to believe that he was to be given a special meat treat and would rush to his tent. Once there, Stubberud would chain up Funcho and proceed to give him dried fish, rather than the illusory meat, for dinner. “‘Funcho’ had not yet learned man’s many tricks and deceits and fantasies,” wrote Amundsen. “But he soon got it, and now it’s not possible for Jørg[en] to fool ‘Funcho’ with an empty meat box. One of HH’s [Helmer Hanssen’s] puppies ‘Lyn’ [which means ‘Lightning’] – born on the Atlantic Ocean last year in October, has the same way [of behaving].” 7
As evidenced by this passage, when anxious or unsettled, Amundsen seemed to like to talk about the dogs – especially those dogs with whom he was most familiar and about whom he could regale his diary, and book reader, with amusing stories of exploits and achievements – stories that bore witness to the dogs’ incomparable intellect, character, and understanding. Of note here is how he spoke again of his beloved wayward “Trio” – Fix, Lasse, and Snuppesen, and of one of his favorite puppies Funcho – born in Madeira to his now deceased little redhead Maren. These were dogs of whom Amundsen had written before and to whom he kept coming back. Perhaps this was a method of steadying himself and calming his thoughts, by writing bemusedly about the dogs, inserting himself in their adventures, and taking his mind off the unbearable waiting for the coming trek to the South Pole.
Amundsen had also told the same story, of Funcho and the dried fish, to his book readers, filling one-and-a-half pages of The South Pole with Funcho’s fish story (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 371–372). Stubberud, as well, wrote of Funcho and his aversion to fish and how Stubberud attempted to outwit him (Stubberud 2011). Amundsen featured a photo of Funcho, captioned simply with his name, along with a second photo that was captioned “Deep in Thought,” which may presumably be of the same dog, on the page facing page 372 in his book The South Pole (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 372). Most certainly, Funcho was one of the favorite dogs at Framheim, and perhaps this was due in part to some sentimentality that Amundsen had for Maren.
In Amundsen’s diary that August, entry after entry described the testing of the sledging clothes and the obsessive measuring of the warming temperature. In the middle of the month – recorded in a duplicated August 19 date entry – the men posed for photographer Prestrud in their winter clothing and gear – some with dog whip and some with harness, etc. Lindstrøm’s tool of choice, proudly featured in his portrait, was a spatula which he used to flip his famous flapjacks. Sometimes, if he flipped them too far off the plate and onto the floor, the dogs would have a taste of Lindstrøm’s hotcakes (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 298–299). Surely a taste of that specialty far outweighed the taste of the whip.
Imagining the worst-case scenario – losing the dogs – Amundsen also prepared a Plan B, by having the men sew harnesses for themselves, to be used on their own persons, should the need arise. “W. [Wisting] is now [working] on sewing harnesses for ourselves,” he wrote in an entry dated the 21st. “In case of losing our dogs, we will have to pull ourselves.” 9 This last statement was a sobering thought. Truly, without the dogs, Amundsen and his men would end up man-hauling, as Scott and his men themselves were doing at McMurdo. No, observing the dogs, and keeping them safe and happy, was definitely the better way to go.The dogs did not like the cold weather we had now had for so long; when the temperature went down between –58° and –75° F., one could see by their movements that they felt it. They stood still and raised their feet from the ground in turn, holding each foot up for a while before putting it down again on the cold surface. They were cunning and resourceful in the extreme.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Amundsen decided to strike out on a test jaunt on August 20, just to get his ski legs under him, and to further survey the area. He took Bjaaland and Wisting with him, along with their teams of dogs, in search of a route from the Great Ice Barrier on the sea side of the bay. After finding this with no problem, and marking it for future use, he and his comrades skied and sledged eastward over the bay. They found the bay a chaotic mass of ice that showed signs of having recently moved. Across the area was a rash of crevasses treacherous for both themselves and the dogs and causing many near misses. On many occasions, the dogs were on the edge of being swallowed up by these large crevasses that had opened up among the pressure ridges. Suddenly, it happened: Finn, a dog on Bjaaland’s team, was sucked into the ice, falling down 15 ft within the jaw of the crevasse. Luckily, he was not injured and was able to stand and wait for help, which the men quickly provided. Bjaaland returned to camp to retrieve his alpine rope, and the men were able to tie it around the dog and pull him back up to safety onto the surface ice. It was fortunate for Finn, and for the men, that this dog was safe. The incident made it clear to Amundsen that the two other dogs who had gone missing from camp – Funcho’s brother Madeiro and Wisting’s dog Tomm – must also have been swallowed up by crevasses. “It would be absolutely impossible for any animal to climb up a crevasse similar to the one ‘Finn’ fell into,” wrote Amundsen in his diary that day. 10 The incident was traumatic enough that Amundsen also wrote of it in his book, saying that he watched as Finn “went quite quietly backwards and forwards down below without uttering a sound” and that the “steep-sided” crevasses basically imprisoned the dogs “so that the dog could not get out without help. The two dogs I have mentioned [Madeiro and Tomm] undoubtedly met their death in this way: a slow death it must be, when one remembers how tenacious of life a dog is” (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 373). It was a moment of extreme danger for the dog, which Finn took calmly, and a unique moment of Amundsen’s exhibiting empathy. Back at camp, Prestrud also wrote of the incident, describing Bjaaland’s rushing home to retrieve the rope to save Finn.
Witnessing Bjaaland’s dog Finn falling into a crevasse had convinced Amundsen that this was truly what must have happened to the other dogs who had gone missing and never returned. This incident also shed light for Johansen, who, after having given this occurrence further consideration, surmised that his two dogs Uroa and Rotta must have experienced a similar near disaster when they had gone missing over a period of 4 days back in late May before returning to camp. At the time, both Amundsen and Johansen had thought that the two best friends had gone seal hunting. The blood on Uroa’s side sealed their assumption. Johansen (Johansen Expedition Diary) now came to understand that the two friends had fallen into a crevasse and had saved themselves – first Rotta, who then must have returned to help save Uroa: “… there is certainly no doubt, that the dogs which we have lost here during the winter, have fallen in crevasses,” wrote Johansen on August 20. “Those which have been away for several days and have returned again have probably in some way or another worked their way back up by their own help – at last. So, I think, this is what happened with Rotta and Uroa, who disappeared from me some time ago, but came back again, first Rotta, and then Uroa, who was retrieved by the former [i.e., by Rotta].” 11
One can only imagine what the two dogs must have gone through. They had been gone over the course of 4 days – separated only once, briefly, when Rotta had returned alone, before coming back together again, with Uroa bloodied. The two must have fallen into a crevasse whose sheer edges barely allowed them to hang on. Uroa must have dropped to the bottom, while Rotta possibly extended his body across the opening or, through sheer determination, scrambled up the edges, slipping and sliding until he could gain a paw-hold and create enough friction to ascend. After a full day of waiting with Uroa while Uroa was still trapped in the crevasse, Rotta returned to camp alone, possibly to attract attention from the men. But when no one responded, Rotta went back again to his friend in the crevasse and stayed with him for 3 days, while Uroa attempted to free himself, finally successfully clamoring out of the crevasse and onto the surface ice. Perhaps Rotta cheered him on and gave his friend hope and encouragement. Most certainly, through his presence, he must have given him moral support. It was only when Uroa was freed that Rotta went back again to camp, this time with his friend Uroa, who appeared bloodied on one side as a result of his fall into the crevasse. The incident showed perseverance and true friendship indeed. Johansen realized this 3 months after the event. Amundsen did not write of this incident again.
As noted, several days before Amundsen’s excursion to the crevassed area, “The Trio” had returned safely from their own excursion, wherever that destination may have been – Amundsen thought it was the fish tent. The men had perhaps by then grown a bit accustomed to such brief and rare disappearances by some of the dogs. According to Amundsen, those few who left the campsite would usually return within a few days (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 373). It was when a dog was gone for over 5 days that Amundsen and his men would fear the worst had happened. This occurrence, thankfully, was rare. The remarkable thing is that, with most of the 112 dogs at camp being loose during the daytime and running free, very few wandered off, and of those few who did, only two never returned again – those two were Madeiro and Tomm.
Faithful Loyalty and Betrayal of Trust
By this time, the puppies – who had been born on the ship – were now also put to work pulling sleds. These working puppies included Else’s Storm, Kaisa’s Kaisagutten, Maren’s Funcho, and Camilla’s Kamillo. The men began to test these puppies, harnessing them to the sleds, incorporating them into the adult teams, and embarking on trial-run excursions. Amundsen reported that Hassel took such a “test drive” on the 20th, with dismal results, whereas Hanssen’s trial drive with a puppy was very successful. 12
It is a pure fact [i.e., miracle], that my dog “Knegten” has held out in the winter – wounded as it [i.e., he] is in the paws and with the outside of one thigh utterly devoid of hair.
We are now guarding [i.e., watching over] the dogs, when they are loose during the day, 1 hour each. Now, that the light has partially returned, there has come to be more life in them, and we must be careful that they do not tear each other to death in their fights. Because of course these [fights] take place despite the cold of the world. Likewise their lovemaking adventures. “Kamilla” [Camilla], the top of all the bitches, is now in heat, and many are the cavaliers she has honored with her favor, and many fights with bloody ears have these beasts had.
They bite each other in the ears, and that is the worst place they can attack in the cold, because the dog cannot heal the wound by licking it, as he would otherwise do in [other] places [on his body] where he is bitten. But, fortunately, most of them have a faithful friend who provides the licking of the wounded. It is touching to see many times where they help each other, and how faithful their friendship is and how caring they are with their sick friend.
Johansen had a soft spot for his Knegten – the underdog with the weak body and the strong will, who was attended to by the resurrected Liket and the persevering Dæljen. Johansen’s attitude toward Camilla and her suitors hinted at a desire to protect them in their most natural state. His defined sense of friendship and loyalty – even, and especially, among rivals – is quite telling about his perception of his own social standing within the human social structure. These revealing thoughts will become even more poignant – for both Johansen and his dogs – as time goes by.My patient “Knegten” had a day searching for shelter in the fish tent, where it had found a cozy nook between the fish bundles, and lay dry and relatively warm. It was quite amusing to see [that] two of the other old dogs, “Liket”, who himself was near death for a long time, and “Dæljen” – the stiff-legged – then went on to [pay a] visit to their sick companion in between the fish bundles, and sniffed and licked and wagged [their tails] at him. It is a friendship that is more faithful than men’s, that can be seen when one of them loses his friend; it [i.e., the dog] provides much more than a human being does. 14
But as of now, on this 20th day of August, Johansen and the rest of Amundsen’s crew were frantically sewing, mending, and washing to make the upcoming trip. While the original decision was to depart on the 24th of August, wrote Johansen, it did not appear that this would be possible, as the temperature was much too low and the preparations had not yet been completed.
Ready or not, however, on the next day, the men learned that Amundsen had decreed that the trip would still take place on the 24th, as originally decided. They made a trial drive to the starting point on the barrier that afternoon, using the puppies to test the path. Kristian Prestrud wrote of the success in his diary, stating that, although this was the first time the puppies had pulled the sled, they had done very well (Prestrud 2011). Amundsen himself concluded that the puppy-led drive “went excellently.” 15
Despite the harder-than-expected efforts to set off, the party departed at noon, and the actual trip to the starting point on the barrier went faster, better, and easier than they had expected. Amundsen skied ahead, and the seven dog-pulled sleds followed. The dogs quickly ran in unison southward, crossed the bay in stride, and climbed the steep incline up to the barrier. Within 2 h, they had reached the starting point from which they would depart on the following day. Here the men unhitched the dogs from the sleds, left the sleds on the snow to be retrieved the next day for the journey, and turned to go home to camp. “We had not expected it to have gone so smoothly,” wrote Amundsen in his diary. “Our journey has begun – crowned with luck, must it be – and help us, the Almighty.” 16 While Amundsen fervently prayed for success, the other men marveled at the relative ease with which they had begun their journey. Bjaaland complimented the driving ability of his 12 dogs, comparing their pulling performance to that of horses (Bjaaland 2011). Prestrud happily reported that, despite the initial uncertainty as to how 12 dogs per team would perform, the start of the journey had gone extremely quickly and extremely well (Prestrud 2011). Hassel exclaimed that, despite the heavy loads and the cumbersome pace, the dogs had made great progress, and the drive exceeded all expectations (Hassel 2011). In his book The South Pole, Amundsen wrote positively of this first start (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 375–376):It was as we had expected: the dogs were on the verge of exploding. What a time we had getting them all into the traces! They could not stand still an instant; either it was a friend they wanted to wish good-morning, or it was an enemy they were longing to fly at. There was always something going on; when they kicked out with their hind-legs, raising a cloud of snow, or glared defiantly at each other, it often caused their driver an anxious moment…. They had been going about the place [at camp] comparatively peacefully the whole winter, and now, as soon as they were in harness, they must needs fight as if their lives depended on it.
Once they had arrived on the barrier, at the starting point to the southern journey, all of the dogs had been untied from the sleds and let loose. The men, according to Amundsen, assumed that the dogs would follow them back to camp – that, indeed, they would eagerly want to return home to their food and warmth (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 376). Some of the men brought back two loose sleds, according to Hassel, and others skied home, leaving their dogs to return on their own (Hassel 2011). Most of the dogs did return home with the men that day, but ten dogs remained behind, out on the snow, at the top of the barrier. They simply did not follow Amundsen and the men back to Framheim. These ten dogs included Kamillo, the son of Camilla, who had been born on the ship and who was one of the popular older puppies. Kamillo and the other nine dogs were deemed missing only after the men had returned home to camp and had tied up their dogs in their respective dog tents. Only then did they notice that the dogs were not present for roll call. The ten absent dogs, it was surmised, were spending that night somewhere out on the barrier or in the vicinity of Framheim. The following morning, two of the men set out to retrieve these dogs. They returned to the starting point on the barrier, with the hope of finding the dogs there and bringing them back home. What they found defied their imaginations and their expectations. For there, lying quietly alongside their loaded sleds, were all ten dogs. They were doing their duty, staying by their sleds, patiently waiting to resume the journey. They did not comprehend, wrote Hassel, that this was only the beginning dash to the actual journey (Hassel 2011). They felt compelled to remain with their sledges and had actually spent the night – and, by now, a full day – out in the elements, in the snow, next to their sleds. Amundsen was greatly affected by the sight and was also quite dumbfounded. He wrote in his diary that day:It went better than we had expected … Some of the dogs had grown too fat in the course of the winter, and had difficulty in keeping up; for them this first trip was a stiff pull. But most of them were in excellent condition – fine, rounded bodies, not lumpish. It did not take long to get up the hill this time; most of them had to stop and get their wind on the slope, but there were some that did it without a halt.
This statement is quite extraordinary. Amundsen had predetermined the fates of these dogs. They would be used to the extreme, he had determined, completely, thoroughly, and to their very end. It is evident from this statement in his diary that even prior to this point in the early process of preparing for the journey, he had already known that he would sacrifice the dogs. There is no room for question. Although he qualified his statement with the word “probably,” he did not leave any chance for the dogs’ survival. They were “faithful,” he admitted, to their dying breath, and their “payment” would be “death.” And as painful as that was for him to conceive at this time, it would not matter to him when the time came, for once he was on his way to the South Pole, he would not care so much about the dogs but only about his success. It “cut” him to the quick to think of their demise now, but when the day came, he knew he would indeed not hesitate to cut the dogs.Strange animals! There they lay, quite silent and calm, by the sleds, and became very astonished when we chased them up and home. So grown [together], they are, with [their] sleds, these magnificent animals, that they could not even think of attempting to go home, even though they were 3 nautical miles away [from camp] and they knew that the meat-pot awaited them. Yes, faithful they are – faithful to death. It often cuts me in the heart, when I think that these our faithful companions, our very dear friends, probably all, just like that, will receive death in payment for [their] faithful service. Luckily, it is most likely the case, that [our] feelings will not be so tender, when we have done so much [more] of our tour.” 17
Today, however, the men had found the dogs waiting for them by the sleds, faithful and loyal, and most likely happy to see them. They were as one with their sleds – even the thought of fresh food and warmer temperatures had not taken them away from their duty. The dogs had put their loyalty to their human comrades above all else – even above their very own survival. And Amundsen, although he was touched by this fact, was very much counting on it to see him through to his goal. The faithful dogs were the means to Amundsen’s end, and their undying loyalty to him would bring about their own end.
Amundsen repeated this story, about the dogs remaining with their sleds, in his book The South Pole. He omitted, however, the crucial passage about the fact that the dogs would pay for their faithfulness with death and about how, while this thought now “cut” him “in the heart,” those “feelings” about the dogs would not be so “tender” once he was on the actual journey. In the book’s rendition of the story, he states that the dogs were found “curled up asleep … lying by their own sledges” and that some of them “declined to believe” that they were to return to camp and so “had to be flogged home” (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 376–377). Amundsen’s tone in the book is one of incredulity and mystification as to the motive of these dogs – he does not mention their loyalty in refusing to abandon their sleds, as he had mentioned it in his diary.
Although that day of the 24th was the appointed day of departure, the weather was not cooperating enough for the men to actually depart. The temperature had increased by six degrees, but the sun remained hidden behind a dramatic bank of clouds. Amundsen did not dwell on this in his diary, nor did he mention the missed departure date. Instead, he dwelled on the dutiful dogs who had remained with the sleds on the barrier and who were waiting for the men when they arrived there again on that morning.
And so, August 24 came and went, with undeniable proof of the dogs’ steadfast loyalty and without an actual departure to the south. A departure of a different sort, however, took place on the way home from the starting point that day, when Kamillo, who was one of the ten dogs being brought back home, inexplicably disappeared. Kamillo was one of the very first four puppies born on the Fram, in August 1910, and had served as a constant source of amusement for Amundsen. The Polar explorer had watched him as a fat little puppy playing with his brethren on the ship, eating his own poop on deck, and suckling with Amundsen’s little female Katinka. Over the past several months, Kamillo had also grown to be a strong and reliable young sled dog, and he was considered by Amundsen to be one of their very best puppies. Now, in an instant, he was gone. Given the fate of those other dogs like Madeiro and Tomm who had disappeared from the camp and the extreme loyalty of Kamillo that had caused him to remain by his sled, it was feared that a crevasse had swallowed him up and that, 6 days away from turning 1 year old, he would never be seen again.
The day after the retrieval of the ten dogs and the disappearance of Kamillo, the temperature continued to be a bit warmer, at −34 °C, but dense fog filled the area, and so Amundsen realized that he must officially delay the departure. He set the new departure date for August 30 – 5 days hence. While the extreme cold had begun to relent, the fog was not at all promising.
In the midst of that morning haze, however, a wonderful vision materialized to the men. It was Kamillo, who had come back to camp. He had escaped the danger he had met alone out on the barrier. “Great joy today,” proclaimed Amundsen in his diary. He was indeed happy to have one of his finest puppies back. “There is no doubt that it had fallen into a crevasse and then finally worked to get itself up again,” he surmised. 18 Kamillo had saved himself from an icy death and had returned to his family.
Unbridled Affection
The family atmosphere pervaded the camp, but just as a family senses when one of its members is agitated, everyone seemed to notice Amundsen’s undercurrent of anxiety. Perhaps it was also felt by the dogs, who were getting more excited as well. For his part, the commander comforted himself with the thought that everyone was happy they would soon be departing for the South and reported on the 26th that both men and dogs were in excellent shape (Amundsen Expedition Diary). Most of all, he kept up his ever-watchful vigil for the sun. And he was soon rewarded.
The sun visibly appeared on August 28. Although the sunrise had technically taken place on August 24, this was the first time it had shone down on the camp since winter had begun in April. But, with the sun’s appearance came the disappearance of four dogs, who had inexplicably left camp the day prior. The party would now have to wait for the errant dogs to return before setting off for the Pole. The dogs in question belonged to Bjaaland’s team, and Bjaaland was mortified by their absence (Bjaaland 2011). Safe to say, his relationship with Amundsen at this exact moment must have been quite strained. Amundsen’s relief at seeing the sun and his simultaneous frustration at losing the dogs and at now having to wait for them are both palpable in his writings. As usual for Amundsen, cherchez la femme: “‘Jåla’ [Jaala] took an excursion and drove 3 of his [Bjaaland’s] best dogs with [her],” vented Amundsen into his diary. 19 To him, it was the fault of the female – Jaala. Sverre Hassel also reported on Jaala and her friends’ sudden and inopportune disappearance, describing them as Bjaaland’s best dogs and mistakenly identifying Jaala, who he said was in heat, as Olava – another one of Bjaaland’s dogs. According to Hassel, the older trained puppies could now fill in for the missing dogs on the team, but they were not quite as good as the adults at driving and pulling (Hassel 2011). Meanwhile, superstitious Lindstrøm made an offering to that welcomed sun that had finally shone itself, preparing a sandwich and putting it out on a plate for the sun gods to relish. “Where this custom originates, I do not know,” wrote a bewildered Amundsen. “One [thing of which] I am sure is, that sandwich went to the dogs.” 20 Which of the dogs got to enjoy the sandwich is not quite clear.
While Amundsen fretted about the forced delay due to the absent dogs, the temperature plunged 20 degrees back down to −53 °C on the following day of the 29th. For this sole reason, said Amundsen, it was better to wait before starting such a long journey. He decided on the next day that he would go to the starting point on the 31st and prepare the sledges there for departure on September 2. “If Bj’s [Bjaaland’s] 4 dogs have not returned by that time, we will travel without them,” wrote Amundsen on the 30th, even though he considered that their absence would be a resounding “loss” to the team. 21
That same day, Bjaaland finally put to paper what was on his mortified mind. He wrote in his diary about the untimely absence of four of his best dogs, who included Jaala, and how they had embarked on an unauthorized journey in search of food, in effect weakening his entire sled dog team (Bjaaland 2011). Although neither Amundsen nor Bjaaland named the other three dogs absent with Jaala, they most likely were Kvajn (Kvæn), Lap, and Pan, all of whom had previously been described as the strongest and the favorites of Bjaaland.
The next day, August 31, Amundsen did not go to the starting point to prepare the sledges, as he had planned, and he reported in his diary that Bjaaland’s dogs – Jaala and her three friends – still had not returned to camp.
It was on the first day of September, in −42 °C temperature, that the men and dogs – minus four conspicuously missing canines – finally set off for the starting point to prepare the awaiting sleds and bring them home. The seven sleds were made ready, loaded with the expedition provisions and personal effects of the men, and harnessed with the reins for the dogs. The dogs themselves required additional time to harness, as each load had to be retrieved separately. According to Amundsen, they set off on the return journey home traveling “like the wind” and, along the way, made a great discovery: “Bj’s [Bjaaland’s] 4 dogs were discovered behind a pressure ridge, where they had established their place of love-making near an old seal carcass. The ‘Lady’ is now being held in the ‘The United’’s premises [the under-snow carpentry room of Bjaaland and Stubberud], away from her lovers. She will no longer be able to tempt them.” 22
Jaala, temptress that she was – according to Amundsen – had been found safe and sound with her three gentlemen mates. Amundsen described the scene as though the four dogs were having a veritable orgy of sex and food, feasting on mutual love and succulent seal meat. Bjaaland, however, wrote that it was only food that they had gone searching to find (Bjaaland 2011). In his book The South Pole, Amundsen toned down the story, simply saying that Jaala had gone off “with three attendant cavaliers” and that they were found 8 days later [sic – it was actually 5 days], in −58 ° F temperature, “lying quietly behind a hummock down on the ice, and seemed to be quite happy” (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 373).
Johansen reported on the happy discovery in his diary as well. Also mistakenly identifying Jaala as “Olava,” he wrote: “Bjaaland’s bitch Olava [Jaala] disappeared with 3 cavaliers 5 days ago and we had given up on seeing them again and had already arranged [to replace them] with puppies and with other dogs, so that he [Bjaaland] could [still] have his full complement of 12 units [on his sled], when we to our great joy found them again today on the trip to the barrier. It would have been a bad loss, as they would not have been so easily replaced, had we [been forced] to travel without them.” 23
Bjaaland, himself, was very relieved – perhaps not just because of the four dogs’ importance to his sled team, and because he had saved face among the men, but also because he genuinely liked these particular dogs. He wrote of their discovery on the following day, saying that the trip to the starting point on the barrier was a fortunate one, in that it allowed him to find his truant dogs and to find them safe and well (Bjaaland 2011). Jaala, Kvajn, Lap, and Pan were, indeed, valuable to the men and to the journey.
Interestingly, Jaala was one of only a few females not recorded to have had puppies on the Fram during the ship’s voyage south to Antarctica. Her 5-day excursion on the barrier now, with her three male companions, would factor significantly into the events of the South Pole trek, as will be seen later in this account.
The Unfortunate Plan and the Heroic Act
September 1 – the day that Jaala and her friends were found and the day of the sledge preparation at the starting point – was the day that Amundsen polled the men about their preferred date of departure for the Pole. Would it be Saturday the 2nd as he had now planned or Monday the 4th? A vote was taken, and the result was a draw. What else could Amundsen do, but flip a coin to break the tie? And, so he did. Monday, then, it was – September 4, the birthday of superstitious Lindstrøm. This would be “the final starting day,” announced Amundsen. “I am – as we all are – a little superstitious, and I have the feeling that this day will bring us happiness.” 24 Thus spake the anxious explorer who sought the sun but would not wait for its graces. The luck would remain to be seen.
On the eve of their rescheduled departure, September 3, Amundsen counted his chicks before they were hatched and pushed his luck to the extreme. The temperature was −52°, and there was wind coming in from the east. Yet despite the risky weather, he was chomping at the bit. He and his men were prepared to depart on the following day, he wrote in his diary, stipulating that, while in normal circumstances he would have postponed the trip until the temperature “had become somewhat reasonable,” current circumstances – most likely meaning the race with Robert Falcon Scott – dictated that he would have to begin his journey despite the fact that the temperature was “somewhat low.” The expedition’s clothing and equipment were more than adequate for these low temperatures, he rationalized, and – most likely foremost in his mind – the sled dogs were well and ready: “Our dogs are in excellent condition – ca 90 units – so I have reason to believe that they will do well.” 25
And yet, on this day that Roald Amundsen put his trust in the sled dogs to bring him to his success, more talk among him and the men focused on the slaughtering of those dogs once they had achieved his goal, and a decision was made as to the number of dogs to slaughter. Sverre Hassel reported in his diary on this day that the men – who would have 7 teams of at least 12 dogs per team – intended to keep only 18 of the sled dogs once they had reached 87° South, allowing 3 teams of 6 dogs each for the last portion of the trip to the Pole and for the return and that they intended to slaughter the majority of the dogs at 87°, who by that time would be viewed as no longer necessary – as an overage or surplus of dogs (Hassel 2011). Amundsen’s overriding “feelings” about the dogs, it seems, were already not so “tender” – indeed, the “dear friends” whom he had previously called “faithful companions” were now actually “units” to be used and discarded. The 18 dogs selected to live would be allowed 50 days of food for the completion of the journey. The slaughtered 72 dogs would be fed to the live dogs or stored in depot to be eaten on the return trek from the Pole. This was the plan in store for the “magnificent” sled dogs.
Despite Amundsen’s harsh decision that would lead to their demise, the dogs – as was in their nature – continued to protect and work hard for the men. Indeed, when it came time to make the next excursion, the dogs performed more than well – they were true life savers. They guided Amundsen in a way that was not according to his plan, and was definitely not foreseen by him.
It happened on September 5, the day after what was to be the “final starting day” – September 4 – which came and went with no departure for the Pole. The weather was uncooperative on both those days and won the argument with Amundsen. On the 5th, most likely to stay in form and keep on their toes, Amundsen decided to take some of the men and dogs on a mini-tour north across the Great Ice Barrier, toward the bay, in order to check on the condition of the sea ice. He selected Hassel, Johansen, and Hanssen for the excursion, with Hassel’s and Hanssen’s dog teams pulling two sleds. Hassel and Johansen drove the little lightweight sled that Bjaaland had made for Lindstrøm. Amundsen let himself be towed on his skis behind Hanssen, who was driving a large, heavier sled with steel runners. Johansen and Hassel raced ahead on the lighter sled, while Hanssen – with Amundsen in tow – drove more slowly behind them. The two men on the smaller sled in front stopped to wait for the boss and Hanssen to catch up. Once they did, it was decided that Hassel and Johansen would continue ahead, even if they left Hanssen and Amundsen far behind, and so Hassel and Johansen once more took off at full speed. Racing along, Hassel pulled the reins to the right, pulling on the dogs and whipping them to go in that direction. But the dogs refused to obey. On the contrary, they pulled toward the opposite direction. Despite receiving thrashings of the whip from Hassel, the dogs quickly and forcefully stampeded off to the left, pulling the sled with them. Mikkel – the leader – pointedly glanced back over his shoulder, with a strikingly unusual expression on his face. The forceful swerving of the dogs to the left caused the sled to suddenly stop its high-speed travel and threw the sled and its two occupants onto the barrier ice surface. But this was better than the alternative. For, although the men did not realize it until well after the fact, they had all just narrowly missed falling off a 75 foot drop on their right side, going from the steep edge of the barrier straight down into the sea ice below. The dogs had acted quickly and on their own initiative. They had swung the men away from the very precipice toward which the men had been blindly driving them. The men had not been able to visually differentiate between the barrier ice and the sea ice below, but the dogs had seen it all very clearly and had acted on their own volition. Behind them, following Hassel’s dogs’ movements, the dogs pulling Hanssen and Amundsen’s sled also stopped, thus averting another possible accident. The dogs had saved the day.
“And it was well done by the dogs,” wrote Johansen in his diary that day, “for otherwise, we – the dogs and the sled, Hassel and I – would have gone over the barrier edge and fallen down onto the sea ice, from that high edge, and if we had not been killed from the fall of over about 60 feet, then we would have in any case been mutilated from it. – It was a great happiness to be thrown quickly over to the left, so that the sled could be stopped in its wild speed extremely out on the edge at the last moment.” 26
Amundsen himself was grateful for the dogs’ quick thinking and quick action. “It was a ‘narrow escape’,” he wrote that day in his diary, using the English-language phrase narrow escape to express the degree of the close call. “One foot to [i.e., more] and death would have occurred.” Amundsen credited the dogs for their wisdom and bravery. Had they not abruptly swerved to the side, he said, “our excursion would have ended with a sorry accident.” 27
The dogs, whom Amundsen intended to kill once they served his purpose, had just saved him and saved the lives of his men, in effect saving the entire expedition from an untimely end. Although Amundsen did not mention the dogs’ names in his diary, Johansen specifically wrote the name “Mikkel” and described his actions, saying that the dogs “turned over to the left against the whip-strokes, as ‘Mikkel’ looks back with a strange look.” 28 This indicates that the other dogs who were heroes that day most likely included Hassel’s trusty leaders Ræven (Ravn), Else, and Mas-Mas – these four dogs were frequently mentioned as heading Hassel’s team. All four of these dogs later would be met with a fate most unsuited to their bravery and heroism, as their actions did not abate Amundsen’s ultimate plan.
Now, having literally been pulled back from the edge of death by the amazing sled dogs – those canines who could see what none of the men could see, that is, the almost invisible thin line where the barrier ice stopped and the sea ice began – Amundsen returned to camp as determined as ever to leave for the South Pole. This time, however, two factors convinced him to delay his departure for a few days. The first was the fact that the weather was still rough – too cold and windy. The second was that many of the female dogs were in heat – and, thought Amundsen, unimaginably irresistible to the males.
“We do not lose great [time] by lying still now; for more of our bitches are ‘in heat’, and in that state, it is very difficult to go on the tour,” he wrote on the 6th. 29 Primarily because of the weather, and secondarily because of the females’ condition, Amundsen thus decided to wait for the weather to become more calm before setting off on the trek to the Pole. It was paramount that the weather be clear enough to allow them to locate the first depot at 80° South. Recall that this first leg of the trip was where he would feed his dogs to the fullest so that they could undergo the strenuous labor required for the remainder of the trip. Indeed, if the first depot could not be reached, stated Amundsen, the entire journey would be spoiled.
Johansen concurred, writing the next day that each morning the men awoke to “uncertainty” regarding whether or not the journey would begin that day. Amundsen was waking up at 4:00 every morning to check the temperature and weather, reported Johansen, and Lindstrøm was preparing breakfast earlier than normal so that the men could get underway if the weather was “favorable.” While the temperature was now a bit more “reasonable,” the weather was still quite murky, with “blizzard” conditions and no visibility. Despite the blizzards, the men would file out each day to build snow huts in order to practice for the tour, in case snow shelters became necessary during the journey. The temperature on that day of September 7 was −32 °C in the morning and had warmed up to −22° by the evening, with wind and snow drift continuing. 30
Meanwhile, according to Johansen, the females – Kaisa, Jaala, Aja, and Esther [Ester] – were all very much in heat and were being held captive within the carpentry workshop room underneath the ice, surrounded by males who nonetheless came in and out of the tunnels desiring to see their beloved. The door and entryway leading to the females’ chamber was “besieged” with “worshippers” – male courtiers – all of whom had “begun sneaking into one corner” to attempt to reach the females. Meanwhile, the men took turns standing on watch duty and took any means in their power to keep the males away from their desired ones. “The dogs are crazy and lively nowadays,” wrote Johansen. “They are fed [to the full] with large portions of meat and lard [i.e., fat] every day.” 31 But it seems that what these males truly hungered for was the companionship which was being withheld from them.
“Yes – here we are, still,” wrote Amundsen at Framheim on the 7th of September, with his men awaiting the word to go and his dogs awaiting their turn as well. He was sure that spring would arrive soon, and while the temperature was −22 °C in the evening, with winds at 11.4 miles, he was confident that the warm weather would envelope them soon. “It looks good,” he wrote. “The temperature will not very well go so far down into the fifties again.” 32
As the saying goes, in regard to the so-called spring’s warming weather and higher temperatures, these were Amundsen’s famous last words.
Funcho, brother to Madeiro, and son to Maren and most likely Fix. Funcho was born in September 1910 at Funchal, Madeira. He was one of Roald Amundsen’s favorite puppies to watch, and inspired many written observations about his behavior and antics. He worked on Jørgen Stubberud’s team in Antarctica. (Photographer: unidentified/Owner: National Library of Norway)
“Strange animals,” according to Roald Amundsen. The faithful dogs remaining by their sledges. The sled dogs’ steadfast loyalty amazed Amundsen, and was used by him to his advantage. (Photographer: unidentified/Owner: National Library of Norway)
Notes on Original Material and Unpublished Sources
- 1.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 1 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 2.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 6 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 3.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 7 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 4.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 10 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 5.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 17 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 6.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 18 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 7.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 18 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 8.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 21 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 9.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 21 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 10.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 20 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 11.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 20 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 12.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 20 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 13.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 20 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 14.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 20 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 15.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 21 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 16.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 23 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 17.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 24 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 18.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 25 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 19.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 28 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 20.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 28 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 21.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 30 August 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 22.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 1 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 23.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 1 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 24.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 1 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 25.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 3 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 26.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 5 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 27.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 5 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 28.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 5 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 29.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 6 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 30.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 7 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 31.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 7 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:3
- 32.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 7 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549