The Rush to Depart
That which begins in a mass of confusion usually ends in one as well. Roald Amundsen, of all people, would have known the importance of setting off on the right foot, in a cool, calm, and calculated manner. He was not known for sloppy beginnings or untidy departures – secretive departures yes, but not messy ones. He was not one to allow the smallest detail to unravel. And yet, dodging questionable weather, pushing questioning men, and running excitable dogs, he spluttered to a fast and frantic start to the South Pole on the morning of September 8, 1911 – a start that was premature, and not sufficiently premeditated.
He should not have left with fearful visions of “Englishmen” in his head. He should not have departed with unbridled haste. And he should not have subjected his expedition members – both men and dogs – to the volatile winter weather and still-too-cold temperatures. And yet, he did.
The day after his statement asserting that spring would arrive soon and that the temperatures surely would not dip down to the –50s again, warmer weather indeed did greet Amundsen, with a morning temperature of −38 °C and clear conditions that gave him the false sense that the weather would be accommodating. He therefore set out early that morning with 7 men, 7 sleds, and approximately 90 sled dogs.
The reason for the approximated number of dogs is that the men gave varying numbers in their diaries – even Amundsen himself gave three different numbers. Amundsen, in his book The South Pole, first stated that 12 dogs were harnessed to each sled, meaning 84 dogs in all (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 380), and then stated that 90 dogs worked on this initial excursion to reach the South Pole (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 382), and, one page later, stated that 96 dogs were working on this excursion (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 383). Johansen reported in his diary (Johansen Expedition Diary a) on September 8 that 12 dogs pulled each sled, which would make a total of 84 dogs. He later wrote (on September 11) that there was a total of 86 dogs. Wisting, in his diary entry dated September 8, wrote that 13 dogs pulled each sled (Wisting 2011), which would total 91 dogs. Therefore, there were anywhere from 84 dogs to 96 dogs on this first excursion toward the South Pole. Most likely, the actual number was 90 or slightly above.
Amundsen was determined to bring out his full armament for this attempt on the Pole. The dogs were his means and his secret weapon, and so, he brought most of the dogs at Framheim with him. By this time, there were 78 adult dogs remaining from the original 97 who had been taken on board the ship. Also by this time, there were 18 older puppies remaining from the 23 who had been born on the ship and who had arrived in Antarctica. Perhaps this was the combined 96 number that Amundsen had been thinking of when he quoted that second number in his book. Most likely, a couple of the ill or weaker adults – such as Knegten – remained at camp, as well as a couple of the female adults, a couple of the older puppies, such as Lillegut/Smaaen, and all of the 16 newborn/younger puppies, for at this time there was still a total of 112 dogs. Therefore, it is safe to estimate that approximately 90 dogs went on this first excursion toward the Pole, with approximately 22 dogs remaining at home with Adolf Lindstrøm.
The approximately 90 dogs, who were harnessed in groups of 12–14, most likely included the following adults and older puppies, in the following sled team formations: with Helmer Hanssen, Mylius, Ring, Zanko, Hök, Togo, Hai (Haika), Rap, Helge, Bone, and Lolla; with Oscar Wisting, Obersten (“The Colonel”), Majoren (“The Major”), Suggen, Arne, Adam, Brun (“Brown”), Per, Hans, Bella, Fix (Fiks), Lasse (Lassesen), and Snuppesen; with Sverre Hassel, Mikkel, Ræven (“The Fox”), Mas-Mas (Masmas), Else, Svartflekken (“The Black Spot”), Peary, Svarten (“Blackie”), Busaren, Bjørn (“The Bear”), Hviten (“The White”), Mons, Ester, Lyn (“Lightning”), and Storm; with Jørgen Stubberud, Karenius, Sauen (“The Sheep”), Schwartz, Lucy, Sara (Sarikken), Skøiern, Vulcanus (Vulcan), Gråen, Katinka, Funcho, and Lussi; with Hjalmar Johansen, Camilla (Kamilla), Liket (“The Corpse”), Tigeren (“The Tiger”), Uroa (“Always Moving”), Rotta (“The Rat”), Maxim Gorki, Skalpen (“The Scalp”), Dæljen, Grim (“Ugly”), Uranus, Neptune, and Kamillo; with Olav Bjaaland, Kvæn, Lap, Pan, Gorki, Pus, Jaala (“Heart”), Olava, Frithjof (Fridtjof), Idioten (“The Idiot”), Knut, Fisken (“The Fish”), Finn (Fin), Fuchs, and Knud; and with Kristian Prestrud, Ulrik, Kaisa, Isak, Nigger [sic], Lazarus, Samson, Suvarow, Ajax, Rex, Aja, Pasato, and Kaisagutten.
The trek itself, with the 90 dogs towing the 7 fully loaded sleds as well as the 7 men and with Amundsen leading on skis as forerunner, did not have an auspicious beginning. In fact, it began as a jumbled mess.
The dogs themselves were eager to go. After a winter of occasional depot work by day and chained confinement by night, once they caught wind that they were about to embark on a trek, they were beside themselves with excitement. The dogs were duly harnessed and placed before the sleds early that morning. As soon as they were in position, a chorus of howling emanated from them in unison, signifying their excitement and serving as a means of communication among themselves. Before any of the men could make a move or call a command, two of the dog teams suddenly took off without any warning, galloping across the field of ice and southward along the bay. Those two sled teams were Helmer Hanssen’s and Oscar Wisting’s, two of the strongest and most capable teams of dogs, usually running in the lead during the sledging excursions. This time, however, they did not wait for their human drivers. Hanssen and Wisting, in turn, frantically ran after their teams of dogs, covering a long distance over the ice and along the hummocks and finally catching them after an entire hour had elapsed. The two runaway teams of dogs, along with the two highly packed sleds they were pulling – each loaded with approximately 450 kg of supplies – had run into a pressure ridge area and become hopelessly enmeshed. After the dogs were caught, it took the remainder of the morning to re-harness them. Furthermore, the men encountered difficulties managing the sleds and setting off on the journey. Wisting, in particular, possibly because of the heavy load, the startling beginning, and the foot race across the ice, inadvertently overturned his sled as he attempted to set off. It was therefore after noon – at 12:30 p.m. – when the party, having pulled itself together, finally set off from the starting point on the Great Ice Barrier (Amundsen Expedition Diary a; Johansen Expedition Diary a; Stubberud 2011; Wisting 2011; Bjaaland 2011; Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 380–381).
“Finally [we] set off today – but not without difficulty,” wrote Amundsen on his first day out in pursuit of the Pole, describing how Hanssen’s and Wisting’s dogs had run away with their sleds. 1 Hjalmar Johansen described the journey’s beginning a little more charitably in his diary: “It was a lively start for our big trip. 12 behaved, fit dogs for each manned sled. Helmer’s and Wisting’s teams ran out and well beyond the ice. It was a long trip for both of them before they got hold of them [i.e., their dogs] again.” 2
Once the dogs had been sorted out, Amundsen took the lead on his skis as forerunner and led this first charge to the goal. The other seven men drove their sleds and dogs behind him, following their leader with their full loads. The caravan traveled 10.4 nautical miles that day, stopping at their first campsite in −42 °C temperature (Amundsen Expedition Diary a; Johansen Expedition Diary a).
But along the way, the men discovered there were innocent casualties who had been caught up in the wild start – quite literally caught up, for four 5-month-old puppies had followed the party all the way from Framheim to their campsite and had consistently been tangled up in the reins, periodically falling underfoot of the dogs or under the sleds. They were effectively impeding the caravan’s progress. The four puppies were Camilla’s (Kamilla), born in the freezing cold in April at Framheim. One of them, Stormogulen, became scared along the way and ran back home to Framheim. But the other three were still following when the men made camp at 3:30 that afternoon. To Amundsen, there was only one solution: kill the puppies.
“Unfortunately, 3 of Kamilla’s young ones followed [us] and now they must be slaughtered as soon as possible,” wrote Amundsen that night. 3 For him, there was no turning back to return the puppies. And they could not go ahead with them, these innocents who were not equipped for such a journey. In his book The South Pole, Amundsen claimed to have “had some thoughts of turning back” because of the “three young puppies . . . But to turn back after all this work, and then probably have the same thing over again next morning, was not a pleasant prospect,” he wrote, and so for that reason, he said, he chose to “shoot” the three puppies (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 381).
Sadly, 3 of Kamilla’s small puppies followed us, hiding and flying [around] all the time, and made mischief [among the harnessed dogs] in the team. The 4th [puppy – Stormogulen] came under the sled along the way and then became so scared that it returned home again.
[I wish] the others would have done the same. I’ll probably take their lives [i.e., kill them] tomorrow, unfortunately. But the worst thing is that the other dogs will not eat them at this time, so early [as we are] in the trip. Most of them do not even eat pemmican yet. 4
The practical-minded Johansen grieved for the puppies’ impending doom but equally regretted that their death would not benefit the other dogs. Such was his sentiment.
The sadness and frustration at the end of that first day pointed to the results of a hurried trip. In all the haste to leave, the details that Amundsen normally would have fine-tuned became sour notes of unpleasantness. The dogs, unused to the situation within which they had been thrust – with no gradual ramp-up training and having just come out of several months of confined camp life – were overly excited and were now expected to do what for them was the unexpected.
And the poor hapless young puppies, who had come out to play and who had followed them onto the trek, not knowing any better, had not been sufficiently watched. These were the puppies whom Camilla had born at the beginning of winter. They had weathered the darkest nights and the coldest days of an Antarctic winter season. They had managed to thrive and grow in the harshest and most forbidding of climates. They had hung on to life as their mother had carried them around camp, moving them from location to location seeking shelter, warmth, and isolation in their very first days. And they had been looked after by Johansen, whom Amundsen had described as their guardian and protector, totally dedicated to their survival, following them protectively and marveling at their tenacity to endure over the long winter months. Now, with a quick act, all that admirable tenacity, and persistent clinging to life, would be ended in a flash.
That night, the men camped over 10 nautical miles (over 11 miles) away from Framheim. The weather was getting colder. Johansen reported that already by the time they had reached this first campsite, the temperature had dipped by 10 degrees to −42 °C. It was originally quiet at this site, but not for long. The night became tumultuous as Kaisa, one of the four females who had been imprisoned in the carpentry room back home for being in heat, engaged in a dynamic and passionate communication with her male colleagues, in which they enthusiastically participated all night long.
The following morning, Amundsen awoke bleary-eyed and grumpy. He was furious at Kaisa for making such a racket during the night, despite the fact that it was the male dogs who had been part of that racket. Most likely, Amundsen was also surprised by the immediate cold they encountered on their trip and perhaps was discomfited by it. Safe to say, he was upset with the overall inauspicious beginning to their journey. Someone had to pay. It was Kaisa. Kaisa, he promptly decided, would be executed.
“[We] set off at 7:30 am after a horrible night,” wrote Amundsen on that 9th of September. “‘Kaisa’ – a bitch which belongs to Pr. [Prestrud], was ‘in heat’ and that put all senses in motion. None of us slept a minute. Have, today, shot her, as it was not possible to maneuver with her. Likewise, ‘Kamilla”s 3 small ones were shot. We will now have peace tonight, I think.” 5
And, so came a violent end to Kaisa. Amundsen had always had a contentious relationship with her. He had accused her on the ship of eating her young, until Jakob had been caught red-handed eating her puppy. Later, Amundsen wrote in his book The South Pole that she had eaten a puppy at Framheim, although this was not recorded in his diary or anyone else’s. Kaisa had been a large female with a large personality. She had simply rubbed Amundsen the wrong way once too many times – and at the very worst time. During this premature start, she had had the temerity to come into heat, causing Amundsen to catch nary a wink of sleep. Now she was no more.
And as for the three young puppies who had gotten underfoot – they were done away with simultaneously. Johansen shot two of the puppies and slit the throat of the third (Hassel 2011). The reasoning for using a gun to kill the first two, and a knife to kill the third, was not made clear. Sverre Hassel shot Kaisa.
The two men who did these deeds reported on them in their respective diaries. “Killed all 3 puppies today,” wrote Johansen. “Unfortunately, [they were] large magnificent animals. Kaisa, which made the male dogs crazy, had to be shot in the afternoon. . . . Last night there was almost no sleep to be gotten, such was the state of the dogs.” 6 The sadness of the puppies’ deaths can be heard in Johansen’s words. Kaisa’s death, however, seems not to have elicited much of a sad reaction. Hassel himself complained in his diary of getting little or no sleep because of the commotion made by the dogs, specifying that Kaisa was in heat when he shot her (Hassel 2011). Even Olav Bjaaland, as a witness to the unpleasant event, wrote about it in his diary, commenting – in his usual dry humor – that the dogs were insane with activity, the small puppies were condemned to death, and Kaisa was shot for living the life of a sailor on shore leave (Bjaaland 2011).
And that was the end of Kaisa, the gregarious female, the “bitch” with a large appetite and a large physique. Amundsen did not mention this part of Kaisa’s journey, her role in the first start, or how she met her sudden end, in his book The South Pole; instead, he only said: “The first night out is never very pleasant, but this time it was awful. There was such a row going on among our ninety dogs that we could not close our eyes. It was a blessed relief when four in the morning came round, and we could begin to get up. We had to shoot the three puppies when we stopped for lunch that day” (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 382).
Amundsen had mentioned the puppies, but he did not speak of Kaisa. Kaisa, however, was also a mother – and twice over, at that, having given birth both on the ship Fram and at the Framheim camp. Despite what the men thought or did, or Amundsen’s exclusion of her, she was mourned, by a child – her child, who sadly stayed by his mother’s side after she was killed, lying down next to her dead body and refusing to proceed with the caravan to the next camp. Kaisagutten, son of Kaisa, “Kaisa’s Boy,” most likely experienced strong emotions as he sadly lay alongside his mother’s once warm and now very cold body.
It was on the following morning of the 10th that the men noticed that Kaisa’s puppy Kaisagutten had remained behind with his dead mother at the location where she had been shot, 3-1/2 miles back to the north. At 6:00 in the morning, Kristian Prestrud and Olav Bjaaland backtracked to that spot in order to retrieve Kaisa’s boy. Amundsen recorded in his diary that “a puppy” had remained behind at the place where Kaisa had been shot, without saying which puppy it was or why the puppy had stayed. 7 But Bjaaland’s diary specified that it was Kaisa’s child who lay near his mother’s body (Bjaaland 2011). Johansen, in his diary, named the puppy as “Kaisegutten” [sic] who “had gone to lie down with his mother, where we had shot her.” 8 And Hassel also specified that Bjaaland and Prestrud had retrieved Kaisagutten who had chosen to remain by his mother’s side (Hassel 2011). Kaisagutten was Kaisa’s only begotten son born on the Fram in late October of the previous year – the only survivor of her four male puppies born on the ship, as the first had died of malnourishment and the second and third had died in the jaws of Jakob “the cannibal.” That would make him an 11-month-old puppy, helping pull the sleds on this first attempt to reach the South Pole.
Despite killing Kaisa, the men could not kill the passion that was in the dogs’ hearts that day. The dogs were still excited and were exhibiting their stirred feelings, bursting ahead exuberantly during the morning’s start. “No one could master his team,” wrote Amundsen in his diary, saying that they had set off like wild animals. Some of the teams became tangled up together, and, while they were being untangled, Hassel’s team bolted off and remained out of reach for a lengthy period of time. Once the party was finally able to set off, however, they went wonderfully, and the men with the “strongest” teams were actually able to run some of their dogs with the sleds, allowing them to be in sync as “they stormed ahead.” 9
“The dogs are tearing mad,” wrote Johansen. “They’re crazy now to get going. Hassel’s entire team ran from him . . . it was a long time before he was able to get them again.” Johansen also observed that they had never undertaken a previous excursion in quite this same way. “Such fast travel, with so great a load, we have not done before.” 10
“Mad,” as in crazy-mad, seemed to be a recurring theme in describing the dogs that day. Wisting wrote of the craziness of both the sled dogs and the velocity of travel at which the party was moving forward (Wisting 2011). And Bjaaland described the rambunctious zeal of Hassel’s team as the runaway dogs whizzed by him before he managed to grab them and slow down their further progress (Bjaaland 2011). Hassel, whose sled had been the fastest in that furious rush of dogs, claimed that all the dogs were quite uncontrollable at first but that his dogs began to obey him once he reined them in (Hassel 2011). Later, he would write that the unmanageable dogs caused the men much annoyance and effort.
At the end of the day – 3:00 p.m. – the party had traveled over 16 nautical miles (18.5 miles) at the fastest pace yet (Johansen Expedition Diary; Amundsen Expedition Diary a; Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 383).
The dogs were not yet in training, but were picking up every hour.
By the 10th they seemed to have reached their full vigour; that day none of us could hold in his team. They all wanted to get forward, with the result that one team ran into another, and confusion followed. . . . They were perfectly wild that day. When Lassesen, for instance, caught sight of his enemy Hans, who was in another team, he immediately encouraged his friend Fix to help him. These two then put on all the speed they could, with the result that the others in the same team were excited by the sudden acceleration, and joined in the sport. It made no difference how the driver tried to stop them; they went on just as furiously, until they reached the team that included the object of Lassesen’s and Fix’s endeavours. Then the two teams dashed into each other, and we had ninety-six dogs’ legs to sort out.
True to form, when at a loss to explain what transpired, Amundsen resorted to peering in on the competitive psyche of the dogs. Here again he presented to the reader a semi-humorous account of the dogs’ crazy run that morning, shaping it as a fable about the two friends Lasse and Fix and their rival Hans. (Amundsen here states that the dog Hans was on a different team from Lasse and Fix; however, previously, in his diary, he had stated that his dogs Lasse and Fix had gone over to Wisting, who also had Hans on his team, indicating that all three would be on the same team. Possibly they traded off on this day.) By framing the events in a semi-humorous account focusing on the antics of three of the dogs, Amundsen paints a less volatile portrait of the facts.
The truth is that Amundsen was in anything but a good humor at this time. The next two days were dicey. Crevasses stretched across their path and almost swallowed Hanssen’s sled, which was in the lead, until the men pulled it back up again. Thick fog disguised the road before them, and a chilly breeze from the south combined itself with a low −55.5 °C temperature to freeze them (Amundsen Expedition Diary). Amundsen gave up forerunning and rode on Hanssen’s sled. Dogs and men alike were miserable.
This sledging tour, wrote Johansen on September 11, was not a simple or easy one. “As the caravan moved forward, dense white fog steamed from the 86 dogs and 8 men.” From his description, the heavy vapor seems to have surrounded them like a moving cloud. “The breath froze immediately [upon hitting] the cold air. It was not possible to see the sled team ahead. It was like driving in the thickest mist.” 11 And, as Johansen reported, the temperature had dipped to an even lower −56 °C (approximately −68 °F) and was now accompanied by snow.
The other men were greatly affected, as well. Bjaaland complained of the pervasive dampness and rime that covered all things, pleading in his diary for an end to it (Bjaaland 2011). As the men barely trudged along, Hassel reported that the dogs, too, were barely making it forward (Hassel 2011).
Though he did not mention this in his diary, in his book The South Pole, Amundsen painted a pathetic picture of the dogs curled up in the cold, “with their noses” pitifully tucked “under their tails.” Every so often a violent “shiver” would “run through their bodies,” he said. Some of the dogs never ceased to shiver and seemed quite overcome. “We had to lift them up and put them into their harness,” he wrote. This extreme cold was “too much” for them. “I had to admit that with this temperature it would not pay to go on; the risk was too great” (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 384).
And, so, on September 12, Amundsen made a decision. It was a difficult one but absolutely the right one to make. It was clear to him, by this time, that the cold was having a debilitating effect on the dogs. The men were cold, sore, and stiff, warily dealing with the misery of clothes that froze from the dampness. Moreover, there was no immediate hope for warmer temperatures and improved visibility. Therefore, he decided to go only as far as the first depot at 80° South, where he would unload the sleds, and then quickly return to Framheim, where he would await the return of spring. “To risk men and animals” in order to continue on this difficult track, only for the reason that he had already made the start, and simply because he was too headstrong to turn back, was an unwise course that he would never take, he wrote in his diary on that day. 12 Each move he made, he said, must be made deliberately and carefully if he were to win this race.
Wise patience had won over irrational haste. Amundsen had carefully observed the dogs and had taken his cue from them.
The boss announced today that we should return to Framheim from 80 degrees, drop off from us there all the [provisions] cases and then drive [back] home again with [only] the necessary [supplies], and then do not start [again] before we have had milder weather.
He has now realized that this [trip] is premature, despite the fear of the Englishmen [getting there first].
And this is the only right thing to do. 13
A concerted effort was made to make the best of this situation and get past it, to move beyond the faulty reasoning that had brought them here. The men drank and ate in their snow hut that night. Wisting gave the dogs double rations of food (Wisting 2011). Perhaps the men felt obligated, as they knew that the dogs were persevering beyond the call of duty and suffering in extremely harsh conditions.
On the following day of the 13th, the temperature was – unbelievably – even colder, reaching −68.3 °F by the time the party camped that night. Despite the difficult conditions, the caravan had progressed over 18 miles (16 nautical miles) that day (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 385; Johansen Expedition Diary). Johansen, who had trekked ahead toward the front “in the lead” on this day, recorded in his diary that the sled loads had begun to “feel heavier” in this bitter cold and that the dogs were not pulling as well. “Many of the dogs are bloody in their feet,” he wrote. “They would not be able to make it for many more degrees southward now.” He reiterated the moral to the story: “This is a lesson regarding starting too early on such an important and long trip.” And he vented, “One cannot think of one thing alone: To get ahead of the Englishmen to the South Pole.” He also lamented the state of some of the men, who had lagged significantly behind the rest on the march that day. “Pr. [Prestrud] arrived [at camp] an hour after [the rest of] us. The dogs [on his team] were bad; he had broken the meter wheel on the way.” 14 Johansen was cognizant of the dire circumstances. Hassel, too, reported on both the men’s and the dogs’ struggle to keep everything together, writing that, because of lack of practice over the winter, the men were barely able to take care of their dogs and feed them before 7 p.m. each evening (Hassel 2011). And, according to Wisting, the dogs’ energy was completely depleted by the severe cold (Wisting 2011).
In the tent that evening, possibly as a peace offering, Amundsen attempted to open a bottle of “spirits” he had brought with him. The gin inside had frozen, and its glass bottle broke. Amundsen tossed it outside the tent. The alcohol permeated the snow, and the dogs, sniffing it curiously, immediately began sneezing. A second bottle of spirits was proffered by Amundsen that night – a bottle of the Norwegian alcoholic drink “Aquavit” – and this time it was opened successfully. Its contents were drunk in a toast, in preparation for the −60 °C weather the men and dogs would encounter that night – but even this anticipated shot of warmth fell short of Amundsen’s expectations (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 385–386; Amundsen Expedition Diary a; Johansen Expedition Diary a).
The temperature dove even a bit lower to −68.8 °F on the 14th. As usual, Helmer Hanssen and his dog team, led by Mylius and Ring, headed the caravan and, with no forerunner or compass to guide him, managed to locate the 80° depot. The men reached it in the morning and unburdened themselves and the dogs of their heavy loads of provisions. They then celebrated with a hot cup of Horlick’s Malted Milk imported from Chicago. It “tasted excellent in the [–]52-degree cold,” 15 wrote Johansen. After that, the caravan turned back in the direction of home (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 387; Amundsen Expedition Diary a; Johansen Expedition Diary a).
Anything and everything was needed to fortify the men’s and dogs’ bodies and spirits at this time, as they knew that the going-home would be very rough.
And, indeed, the return home was a turning point.
The party had intended to reach their snow huts on the way home that day, said Johansen, but they could not make it that far. One of the reasons was the difficulty and weariness of driving – even with the now almost-empty sleds. The other reason was the delay caused by two dogs who had been untied from their sleds due to exhaustion but would not follow loose. According to Johansen, these two dogs were Busaren and Bjørn (“The Bear”), and they had stayed behind at the depot. Hassel and Hanssen had to return to the depot in order to collect them, while the remainder of the party waited (Johansen Expedition Diary).
Hassel wrote of having to slog back to the depot that day, along with Hanssen, in order to retrieve the two dogs, but clarified that these two sick dogs were Busaren (which he spelled Beiseren) and Hai (which he spelled Haika) – not Bjørn (Hassel 2011). Busaren (Beiseren) was Hassel’s dog, and Hai (Haika) was Hanssen’s dog. Bjørn, whom Johansen had mentioned, was also Hassel’s dog but was not listed here as one of the two dogs who had remained at the depot – later Hassel would say that Bjørn had to be carried on the sled. All three dogs, as so many of the others, were completely worn down by the cold.
After Busaren and Hai were returned from the depot, the party made camp in −54 °C temperature, having traveled 21.3 nautical miles that day (Johansen Expedition Diary). “There is a sore pleasure to drive in such cold,” wrote Johansen. “And here in the tent it is also not easy to sit and write. But a cup of warm pemmican gives warmth to the body, and gradually the heat comes, when we have spent some time in the [sleeping] bag.” 16
Some extra chocolate for the men inside the tent helped to stave off the cold, but one would imagine that the dogs lying shivering outside the tent most likely were experiencing convulsions of cold-induced spasms.
“Everything is frozen on this trip,” continued Johansen. The compass, the clothes, the sleeping bags, the dogs’ harnesses – all were frozen solid. “But fortunately, we will be well home on Saturday [the 16th – in two days], if nothing unforeseen occurs.” 17 Johansen was being optimistic.
Bjaaland was not as cheery but expressed his profound sense of suffering from the freezing cold, as well as the difficulty of driving exhausted and ill sled dogs (Bjaaland 2011).
Though not quite disheartened, Amundsen accepted the unpleasant task of traveling in the difficult conditions and forbidding temperature, writing that, although it was a “very tiring” process, the journey back must be done. 18 His diary entry on September 14 reflects the serious determination and dire straits in which Amundsen found himself, with freezing dogs, freezing men, and extreme weather that would not abate. As it turned out, moving forward, in their backtracking to camp, would only get more tiring.
Amundsen stated in his book The South Pole that he rode and towed with Oscar Wisting on his sled, as he “considered his [i.e., Wisting’s] [dog] team [to be] the strongest” (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 387). Wisting’s team boasted Obersten, Majoren, Suggen, Per, and Arne, in addition to Lasse, Fix, and Snuppesen, who had formerly worked on Amundsen’s team when he drove a sled. Yet Stubberud told it a bit differently, saying that while on skis, Amundsen had stayed close to Hanssen’s sled, as it was obvious to the men that Hanssen’s sled dog team was the best (Stubberud 2011). Now, on the return drive to Framheim, Amundsen did indeed ride on – and sometimes tow behind – Wisting’s sled, which usually followed Hanssen’s, who was usually first. “I have skijored with W. [Wisting] all day,” wrote Amundsen on the 15th. “It has been great.” 19
Unfortunately, during this drive back, while Amundsen was being pulled on his skis or was sitting on Wisting’s sled, some of the dogs began to falter. They were overcome by the efforts of the excursion in the deep cold. As these dogs showed signs of distress or incapacity, more and more of them were being untied and left behind to their fate, rather than being allowed to slow down the entire caravan. Amundsen reported on this same day that, as the caravan traveled along, he felt obliged to abandon those sled dogs “which have become ill or which just have given up,” leaving them on the ice as he and the party trudged ahead. 20
The casualties were not just those who were unharnessed and left to fend for themselves. Tragically, on this day, one dog died while in harness, working to pull her sled. It was Sara, on Stubberud’s team. Amundsen reported on her sudden demise: “‘Sarikken’ [Sara] collapsed, strangely enough, during the march. She had not shown any symptoms of disease, so it surprised us. She has delivered good children, poor thing – pulled well and now she lies dead on the barrier.” 21
Amundsen seemed to exhibit true sympathy for Sara, who, as he said, now lay lifeless on the ice after a valiant effort to continue on the trek. During the days on the Polar vessel Fram, she had borne seven puppies – four of whom were male and had been allowed to live and who especially caught Amundsen’s eye as being some of the most attractive puppies. Sara was also one of the favorite dogs of Thorvald Nilsen, who had admired her deep gray coloring and beautiful eyes.
Sara had been working on Stubberud’s team, helping to pull his heavily loaded sled. Now Stubberud himself was also having a challenging time. Amundsen reported on this same day that both Stubberud and Hanssen were now suffering from frostbite on the heels of their right feet. The men, like the dogs, were beginning to succumb to the cold as well.
Stubberud was a carpenter; he was not an experienced sledge driver. Furthermore, he was in pain. And his dogs were becoming weaker from bitter cold and sheer exhaustion. He would later recall desperately attempting to keep up with Amundsen and Hanssen during the trek home, and failing to do so, due to the fact that, as he fell further behind, his team of dogs no longer could see any other sleds or dog teams in front of them, and so became discouraged. Stubberud, meanwhile, was forced to remain seated on his sled, due to his painfully frostbitten foot, and so therefore was unable to properly rearrange his dog team. Luckily, champion skier Olav Bjaaland came to the rescue. He passed by Stubberud with his own dog-pulled sled and drove ahead of Stubberud, inspiring Stubberud’s dogs to gain speed and momentum and to willingly and enthusiastically follow the leader (Stubberud 2011).
As for Bjaaland, he was engaged in the ski race of his life. He reported a bitterly cold journey that day with a temperature of −47.5 °C and a strong wind coming from the northwest that blew straight into the faces of the men and dogs as they headed north. Quite pointedly, he reported on the dogs’ suffering, their painful plight, and the wounds and frostbite which they, too, were now experiencing in their legs and paws. Specifically, Bjaaland was one of the first to report additional deaths among the dogs, listing Adam, Lasarus (Lazarus), and Kamilla (Camilla) as dogs who had lain down and frozen to death along the way. He also reported on a fourth dog whom he named Sofie, saying that she had also been shot (Bjaaland 2011).
Adam, whom Bjaaland had named as among the latest casualties, was Wisting’s dog, whom Johansen had previously described on the ship as being very large – a giant. He now lay dead on the ice. Lazarus was Prestrud’s dog, whom Johansen had adopted – along with Samson – in April, in order to replace his two fallen dogs Hellik and Emil, and then had given back to Prestrud when Prestrud had reassembled his team in June. Lazarus had now expired along the way, and would not be returned from the dead.
One of the biggest blows here, especially to Johansen and probably also to Amundsen, was the loss of Camilla. For, yes, Camilla had indeed fallen somewhere out on the Great Ice Barrier and had not returned. She was presumed dead. The industrious, intrepid, and energetic Camilla – the top female, as Johansen had previously described her, and one of the most popular dogs among the men – was considered either already permanently lost to the world or in the struggle for her life. Although Johansen himself did not know it at the time, Camilla had also been pregnant when the party had embarked on this premature excursion to the South Pole.
The dog erroneously named as Sofie by Bjaaland, in his diary entry, was in all likelihood actually Sara – Sarikken, whom Amundsen had described as collapsing on the ice. Possibly she may have also been shot following her collapse, as Bjaaland seems to indicate.
“Yes, this trip has claimed its victims among the dogs,” wrote Johansen. “From my team, Kamilla is left on the big barrier. ‘Sara’, one of Jørgen’s [Stubberud’s] dogs, collapsed dead by the sled. ‘Adam’ in Wisting’s team is gone, and [so is] Lazarus in Prestrud’s [team].” 22
To add insult to injury, the journey brought with it even more bad memories: The caravan was now near the same location where, during the third depot tour back in April, Johansen had lost his two devoted dogs Hellik and Emil when they had fallen through a snow bridge and into a crevasse. He was reminded of the loss of his dogs as the caravan now approached this crevassed region, and he noted the memory in his diary on this day of September 15 (Johansen Expedition Diary).
The accident in the crevasse must not have been far from Stubberud’s mind, either, as he, too, recalled it when writing about this part of the premature trip, saying that the two dogs they had previously lost at the bottom of a crevasse here were, in one way, fortunate, in that they no longer had to pull their sleds (Stubberud 2011). This sentiment echoed Prestrud’s poem about Hellik and Emil, which he had recited at the Midsummer’s Day holiday during the winter solstice celebration. So severe, then, was the agony of pulling in this cold weather, that a prolonged death at the bottom of a crevasse would be preferable. Stubberud’s comparison gave some sense of the severity of the dogs’ suffering.
Many of the dogs at this time, observed Hassel, suffered from injured paws, and Prestrud’s team, in particular, was having a difficult time, with most of his dogs becoming quite incapacitated. Therefore, Hassel and Johansen took Prestrud’s remaining dogs who were still operational and shared them between themselves, hitching them to their own two sleds. They effectively disbanded Prestrud’s sled, dispersing his load and sharing it equally among themselves. Hassel then carried Prestrud’s empty sled on top of his own, and Johansen towed Prestrud behind his sled on skis (Hassel 2011).
It will be recalled that, during the depot runs, Prestrud had gone on skis the entire way, with no dogs or sled to handle. Later, his team of dogs had been divided among the men at camp, until his team had been reassembled and given back to him. Now he found he simply could not handle the sled or the dogs. Johansen and Hassel recognized this and took action.
“The entire [sled] team of Prestrud had to be dissolved,” wrote Johansen that day. “The [sled] load was distributed among us others, and the sled [itself] was laid on Hassel’s sled. It was the only way to continue forward.” 23
Besides Prestrud’s dogs, many other dogs were now also barely dragging themselves along, as the party made its desperate attempt to travel back to camp. “It is a question of whether we will lose more dogs tomorrow; for there are many [who are] doing badly, and we believe that we need to reach home tomorrow,” wrote Johansen. 24
Hassel’s diary also hinted at this mess of a situation in which the men and dogs now found themselves. His September 15 and September 24 entries describe the precariousness of his team’s position. Hassel was forced to bring his dog Bjørn out of harness and place him on top of his sled load, as Bjørn could no longer pull. This was in addition to carrying Prestrud’s abandoned sled on his own sled and driving four of Prestrud’s dogs along with his own team. Beiseren (also spelled Busaren), whom Hassel had previously returned to the depot to collect, after the exhausted dog had remained there, now walked in tow behind Hassel’s sled, along with another tired dog – most likely Mons. Hassel reported driving most of the way that day – 31.5 nautical miles – with Bjørn lying weakly on the sled load and Beiseren and Truls [sic] walking tied behind (Hassel 2011). (In Hassel’s published diary, the second dog being towed behind his sled is identified as Truls. This most likely is an error or a misspelling of the name, as no such name is given anywhere else in Hassel’s diary or in the other expedition documents, and Mons is later listed by Hassel as being exchanged from his team after the premature start. Hence, it would seem that Hassel had decided to bring Mons on the spring excursion after all, following the dog’s convalescence from weak legs owing to the second depot tour.)
Wisting summed up the day succinctly in his diary, noting four fatalities among the dogs, including his own Adam, and placing the blame squarely on the extreme cold, as that, he stated, appeared to be the source of the problem (Wisting 2011).
The dog-letting – both figuratively and literally – continued the next day, September 16. Those dogs “who could not keep up” were let go from the harness; it was hoped they would follow in the men’s and the sleds’ tracks (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 388). The weather was fortunately clear and calm, and the temperature had thankfully risen to −40 °F (−40.2 °C). Amundsen was consumed with determination to reach Framheim that day. As usual, Hanssen and Wisting, with whom he towed (skijored), were far ahead of everyone else. Prestrud was the farthest behind. And Stubberud, Bjaaland, Hassel, and Johansen were somewhere in the middle. Hanssen and Stubberud had frostbitten heels. What was not known to Amundsen at that time was that Prestrud, also, was suffering from frostbite. Amundsen took the opportunity of the clear weather to make a mad dash for home. He was determined to travel the 40 nautical miles (46 miles) that day (Amundsen Expedition Diary b). “We went at a tearing pace,” he wrote in his book (Amundsen 1912, vol. 1: 388).
The events that transpired that day are pieced together here using the entries from several of the men’s diaries.
The party left camp that morning at 7:00 a.m. From Wisting’s vantage point, everything seemed fine, including the sled dogs, most of whom were healthy, he said, but with the exception of some of the ailing dogs, who had to be released from their harnesses due to the fact that they could not match the pace of the sleds (Wisting 2011). Bjaaland, the medal-winning athlete, who could appreciate a good race, found himself engaged in one on the way home that day, sled-racing the others in their strong desire to reach home, and watching as the two lead sled teams, driven by Hanssen and Wisting, with Amundsen in tow, raced ahead at a tremendous velocity, becoming a small, faint, indiscernible shape way off in the distance (Bjaaland 2011). Hassel, too, watched Amundsen, with Wisting and Hanssen, disappear way out in front of everyone that morning, and reported that Stubberud and Bjaaland, too, had gone ahead of him, leaving only Johansen and Prestrud behind him as he steadily sledged on – in fact, they were so far behind him, that they, too, had disappeared from his sight (Hassel 2011). And Johansen, with Prestrud skiing alongside Johansen’s sled, reported that the going was good at the beginning, but soon, Prestrud lagged further and further behind, until Johansen found that the two of them were behind everyone else and completely alone; after driving 12 nautical miles, the two men thought they would come upon the others, wrote Johansen, “but no one was in sight” 25 (Johansen Expedition Diary b). It was at this point that everything changed.
Finding themselves utterly alone, Johansen drove as far as possible with Prestrud on skis, next to his sled. Johansen could not believe that everyone had left the two of them on their own. He decided to temporarily leave Prestrud and race ahead to find some of the others, “to keep the expedition together”; after driving forward alone for 24 nautical miles, he met up with Hassel, “who was alone with his dogs,” of whom three to four were tied behind the sled and one was carried on the sled load 26 (most likely these included Beiseren, Mons, and Bjørn). According to Johansen, Hassel, too, was disconnected from the rest of the expedition and was surprised (implying that he was less than happy) with the disappearance of everyone else and with “this strange way of traveling.” 27 After about 30 min waiting together – during which time Johansen borrowed a tent from Hassel’s sled, in the event that he and Prestrud had to sleep out on the ice that night – Hassel went on, and Johansen remained waiting for 2 h for Prestrud to catch up (Johansen Expedition Diary b). Hassel recorded his encounter and conversation with Johansen that day in his diary, observing that Johansen was quite baffled and livid at the fact that the others (implying Amundsen) had gone on and left him behind, but that he felt he had to remain at this location in order to await Prestrud – and, most likely, to help Prestrud return home; the location at which Hassel left Johansen was approximately 16 nautical miles from Framheim (Hassel 2011). After leaving Johansen, Hassel hurried ahead and came upon Bjaaland, who was struggling to return, and who welcomed Hassel’s presence, as Hassel was wielding the tent pole that he used to goad the dogs on, which, stated Bjaaland, intimidated the dogs and motivated them to continue moving (Bjaaland 2011). Most likely this allowed Bjaaland to follow Hassel for a length of time. Later that night, once he was back at Framheim, Bjaaland conjectured that the two men remaining behind on the ice – Johansen and Prestrud – would have a difficult time without any food to eat or any manner in which to keep warm, and wondered what would occur. He also conjectured that there were probably many dogs lying out on the ice, incapacitated by the cold either temporarily or permanently (Bjaaland 2011). Bjaaland clearly saw the precarious position Johansen and Prestrud were in and the dangers it presented. He also gave insight on the dogs, who were extremely fatigued from the cold and deathly afraid of the tent pole brandished by Hassel – yet another instrument of torture. Their exhaustion, he implied, could end in death. As difficult as this last ride back from the premature start was for some of the men, it must have been equally devastating for the dogs.
Meanwhile, during the 2 h that Johansen waited alone for Prestrud, after Hassel had left him, he tended to his dogs, realizing how dangerous the situation was for them, and gave them pemmican to eat – probably the last of it, and not enough at that. “It was then getting bad with the [dog] team,” he wrote later in his diary. “‘Liket’ and Dæljen were useless. ‘Uranus’ and ‘Neptun’ [Neptune] likewise.” 28 Liket and Daeljen were Johansen’s two older dogs, and Uranus and Neptune were from Amundsen’s original team. The dogs were suffering. Once Prestrud finally arrived, the 2 men and approximately 16 dogs continued together, Prestrud on skis and Johansen driving the sled, but soon Johansen could tell that Prestrud was having a very hard time. Whereas Prestrud was to have skied alongside the sled, he was unable to do so and fell behind, resulting in Johansen driving in front of him and waiting for him. In addition, the dogs were having difficulties, and Johansen was forced to drive Dæljen on the sled along with the load. He was still hoping to find some of the other men and their teams out on the ice, when he spotted what he believed was a sled up ahead. His hopes were raised high – possibly it was Wisting, awaiting him with the Primus stove, so that he could melt snow for drinking water that night. “But when I got closer,” he wrote, “I saw that the presumed sled was nothing more than 4 dogs, that were left behind from other sleds as useless, and I became even more astonished by this outlandish way to travel on a terrain and at a temperature of [–]51 degrees.” 29 Darkness was falling on the barrier, and there were still 10 nautical miles to go (Johansen Expedition Diary b).
From Amundsen’s perspective, everything was just fine. He had arrived home safely, skijoring behind Wisting’s sled, and had found the skiing wonderful until he had reached the barrier’s edge, where the conditions were not as good. He, along with Hanssen and Wisting and their sled teams, had arrived at Framheim at 4:00 p.m., Bjaaland had arrived at 6:00 p.m., and Hassel and Stubberud had arrived at 6:30 p.m. But as of 9:00 p.m., when he recorded the day’s events in his diary, two men and many dogs were still missing. Johansen and Prestrud, mused Amundsen, would probably not arrive that evening, given Johansen’s last known location and Prestrud’s traveling on skis. But he was not overly concerned. “They have tent and sleeping bag,” he wrote, so they would have no problem. He did make it a point to say, however, that the dogs who had returned to camp thus far “were very exhausted” upon arrival. Amundsen signed off in his diary that night with the words “All well here” 30 (Amundsen Expedition Diary b). Shortly after, around 11:00 p.m. (Bjaaland 2011), the men who had returned from the premature start went to bed.
Johansen did not write in his diary that night of the 16th. He was still out on the Great Ice Barrier, alone with Prestrud and with some of the dogs, fighting for his and Prestrud’s survival. After the last man and team of dogs had arrived safely at home at Framheim, Johansen spent another 6 h out on the ice helping Prestrud get home. And the dogs, worn out and hungry, continued to pull his sled valiantly. His account about the ordeal was written after he had arrived home – which was in the early hours of the next morning.
By nightfall, the 2 remaining men and 16–20 dogs on the ice still had another 10 nautical miles to cover to reach Framheim. They continued, despite the difficulty of finding any tracks in the snow, and despite the difficulties with the dogs, reaching, finally, in the darkness that had fallen, the starting point at the edge of the barrier. “But now it was a difficult and dangerous work to enter there in the darkness through the only passage we had,” wrote Johansen. They were standing on the threshold where the ice barrier transitioned into the sea ice of the bay. This area was bad enough in the daylight, with crevasses all around, but in the cold dark night, it was nearly impossible to traverse. Prestrud fell more than once, and the dogs, when they saw the dark settle in, were thereafter reticent to attempt to cross the well-crevassed area, and “it was with great difficulty” that Johansen managed to convince the dogs to run across these areas. (This was the same sea ice location, at the edge of the barrier, that Amundsen had also described as being difficult to cross when he returned home. Recall, also, the close call the men had when the dogs had pulled them back from the edge of the barrier on September 5.) By now the dogs were “deathly weary” and “completely entangled in their drag lines”; moreover, Johansen had to stop his sled numerous times as he and Prestrud attempted to “orient” themselves in the darkness, and each time they stopped, the dogs would have a hard time getting the sled going again. In the deep Antarctic darkness, they drove in circles around Framheim for a lengthy period of time, encircling the camp, and not finding their bearings. Finally, at around 12:30 a.m., on the following day, the sound of barking dogs emanating from camp brought the desperate men home to Framheim: “Dog-sound from the camp brought us to the end,” wrote Johansen in his diary later that day 31 (Johansen Expedition Diary b).
Perhaps it was Knegten barking from his sick box in the dog tent who first sensed Johansen and alerted his mates, who then joined him in the barking. Possibly he also sensed Liket and Dæljen, who had visited him in his sick bed and who now were out on the ice, doing poorly themselves, with sore paws and utter exhaustion. In the end, it was the dogs barking at Framheim who saved Johansen, Prestrud, and nearly 16–20 exhausted dogs who had finally come home. The barking dogs at camp were the aural version of a lighthouse shining its beacon on a lost vessel and leading the way home to port.
The two men and their team of dogs reached Framheim and now began the task of untying the cold and hungry dogs and allowing them to seek rest and shelter. After settling the dogs in their dog tents, Johansen and Prestrud came into a quiet house. It was now around 1:00 am. They had traveled 42.5 nautical miles that day, and had not ingested any hot food or drink for nearly 20 h. Lindstrøm was the only person to greet them when they entered, and he boiled hot coffee for them. He was the only person with whom they spoke that night (Johansen Expedition Diary b). They only wanted to creep into their beds away from the snow and sleep till the light, which they did.
The next morning, all the men woke up to – what at the beginning was – a silent breakfast.
And then all chaos broke loose.
Dog Chart: The Sled Dogs, and Their Teams, Who Worked on the Premature Start to the South Pole, in September 1911
Approximately 90 sled dogs, quoted in the diaries as between 84 and 96, and most likely made up of approximately 74 adults and 16 puppies, worked on 7 sled teams that were part of the premature start to the South Pole on September 8 through September 17, 1911.
- Helmer Hanssen’s Team
Mylius
Ring
Zanko
Hök
Togo (also Tago)
Hai (also Haika)
Rap
Helge
Bone (also Bona)
Lolla (also Lola)
- Oscar Wisting’s Team
Obersten (“The Colonel”)
Majoren (“The Major”)
Suggen
Arne
Adam
Brun (“Brown”)
Per
Hans
Bella (also Bolla)
Fix (also Fiks)
Lasse (also Lassesen)
Snuppesen (also Fru Snuppesen)
- Sverre Hassel’s Team
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”)
Busaren (also Beiseren)
Bjørn (“The Bear”)
Mons
Hviten (“The White”)
Ester (also Esther)
Storm
Lyn (“Lightning”)
- Jørgen Stubberud’s Team
Karenius
Sauen (“The Sheep”)
Schwartz
Lucy (also Lussi and Lussie)
Sara (also Sarikken)
Skøiern (also Skøieren)
Vulcanus (“Vulcan,” also Vulkanus)
Gråen (also Graaen and Gråenon)
Katinka
Funcho
Lussi
- Hjalmar Johansen’s Team
Camilla (also Kamilla)
Liket (“The Corpse”)
Tigeren (“The Tiger”)
Uroa (“Always Moving”)
Rotta (“The Rat”)
Maxim Gorki (after the Russian writer Maxim Gorky)
Skalpen (“The Scalp,” also Skalperert; also known as Skelettet – “The Skeleton”)
Dæljen
Grim (“Ugly”)
Uranus
Neptune
Kamillo
- Olav Bjaaland’s Team
Kvæn (also Kvajn and Kven)
Lap (also Lapp)
Pan
Gorki
Pus (“Kitty,” also Puss)
Jaala (“Heart,” also Jåla)
Olava
Frithjof (also Fridtjof)
Idioten (“The Idiot,” also Ideal)
Knut
Fisken (“The Fish”)
Finn (also Fin)
Fuchs
Knud
- Kristian Prestrud’s Team
Ulrik
Kaisa (also Kajsa)
Isak (also Isaac)
Nigger [sic] (also Niger)
Lazarus
Samson
Suvarow (also Suvarov and Suvaron)
Ajax
Rex
Aja
Kaisagutten
Pasato
The teams listed here represent the general sled teams based on the original groupings on board the ship, the disbursement of Amundsen’s team of dogs to the other men during the winter, and the mention of individual dogs by the men in their diaries and books. It is important to note that some of these dogs interchanged teams. These are most likely the main teams of dogs who made the first attempt at the South Pole in September 1911, in too early and too cold conditions, during the unfortunate excursion that is referenced here as the premature start.
Notes on Original Material and Unpublished Sources
- 1.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 8 September 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 2.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 8 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 3.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 8 September 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 4.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 8 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 5.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 9 September 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 6.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 9 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 7.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 10 September 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 8.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 10 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 9.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 10 September 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 10.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 10 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 11.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 11 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 12.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 12 September 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 13.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 12 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 14.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 13 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 15.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 14 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 16.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 14 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 17.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 14 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 18.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 14 September 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 19.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 15 September 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 20.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 15 September 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 21.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 15 September 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 22.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 15 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 23.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 15 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 24.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 15 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:4
- 25.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 17 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:5
- 26.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 17 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:5
- 27.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 17 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:5
- 28.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 17 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:5
- 29.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 17 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:5
- 30.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 16 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 1549
- 31.
F.H. Johansen Antarctic expedition diary, 17 September 1911, NB Ms.4° 2775:C:5