Devils and Souls
The bravery of the Norwegian Antarctic Expedition’s men was what impressed Roald Amundsen on the following morning of November 26, 1911, a stormy fifth day at Butcher’s Shop on the Antarctic Polar plateau. A gale was blowing, the wind was howling, and the snow was swirling around them again. Both the sled dogs and the sledges had been almost completely buried under the snow from the previous night’s blizzard, and the men awoke to find the 18 dogs huddled together, seeking warmth and protection under the carpet cover of snow (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 70–71).
“It’s the devil’s own weather here at the Butcher’s,” quoted Roald Amundsen in his book The South Pole, attributing this statement to one of his fellow explorers (Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 70). They had the choice of staying put for yet another day, doing nothing at all, or going out and braving the blizzard.
The decision was unanimous among the men: it would be preferable to risk venturing out in this stormy weather rather than stay motionless and bored for one more day at Butcher’s Shop. In truth, the men were all quite sick and tired of sitting around waiting for the weather to clear. The sled dogs were not asked their opinion but were harnessed up to the three sledges and prepared for departure. The ten skinned and butchered dogs – those on whom the party had been feasting, including tough Samson and tender Rex – must have been left in bits and pieces strewn around the campsite. The 14 dogs killed but not skinned were left in a pile of dead bodies, against which Sverre Hassel’s abandoned sledge leaned (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 71).
To Amundsen, this pile of cadavers represented a stockpile of supplies for the party’s return trip from the South Pole. To an outside observer, the stack of bodies may have seemed more like a morbid monument to the dogs’ loyalty and the men’s expediency. Its cold silence spoke of the consequences that can ensue when these two truths meet.
The men organized the 18 surviving dogs into the following sledge teams: Helmer Hanssen had Mylius, Ring, Helge, Rap, Hai, and most likely Rotta pulling his sledge. Oscar Wisting took Lasse (Lassesen), Obersten (“The Colonel”), Majoren (“The Major”), Suggen, Arne, and Per. And Olav Bjaaland drove Uroa (“Always Moving”), Svartflekken (“The Black Spot”), Frithjof, Fisken (“The Fish”), Nigger [sic], and Kvæn (Kvajn).1
Lasse, Amundsen’s favorite dog, was still on Wisting’s team, as Wisting had previously taken him at Framheim after Amundsen had determined that he would give up having a sledge of his own for the South Pole trek. Uroa, originally Hjalmar Johansen’s dog along with his friend Rotta, had been given to Helmer Hanssen for the South Pole trek and then to Olav Bjaaland when Bjaaland lost his three dogs Karenius, Sauen, and Schwartz, who had run away after their beloved and dearly departed Lucy. Svartflekken and Nigger [sic], who had worked on Sverre Hassel’s team at the beginning of the South Pole trek, had now been given to Bjaaland as the last two survivors of Hassel’s team, most of whom had been butchered at Butcher’s Shop. It was most likely with this new team configuration that the 5 men and 18 dogs set forth from Butcher’s Shop.
At first, it was slow going for both the men and the dogs. As they embarked on their resumed travels from their campsite, they were met with difficult conditions. The snowdrifts were blinding, and it was an effort to keep one’s eyes open in the face of the snow. Sastrugi followed the snowdrifts, making it difficult to traverse the icy surface. The men made a great effort to cross these frozen waves, both on skis and with sledges. “The dogs had rather not wanted to work,” wrote Amundsen in his diary that first day. “They had all fed themselves up on their comrades.” 1 Indeed, they had, and their comrades were no longer there to help them.
The dogs struggled with the travel. But as the conditions improved, so did the dogs. At first, they were out of shape, due to the long rest they had enjoyed, reported Wisting in his diary, but as they progressed, they snapped to and came to life (Wisting 2011).
Soon the dogs were beginning to gallop, taking the surface in great strides as they gained speed and momentum. Meanwhile, the path upon which the men and dogs were traveling varied from flat to downhill to uphill again. For reasons unknown to Amundsen, the dogs would sprint ahead at certain gradations they met along the way. Furthermore, the variation in altitude perplexed Amundsen, as he thought by now they would be traveling across a level field that was the Polar plateau.
“The [traveling on the] surface was extremely poor – sticky like glue. Tough for the dogs,” he wrote in his diary that day. “The drift was so thick – mixed with snowfall – that we could hardly see the dogs afore the sleds.” 2
This lack of visibility and the dogs’ galloping ahead un-coached worried Amundsen. He was skiing not as forerunner but as hitchhiker alongside Wisting’s sledge. Up ahead were Hanssen and his dog team, who took the lead and blazed the trail through the unfamiliar terrain (Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 73).
“In the beginning, they [the dogs] gave the impression of going on a completely [flat] plain,” wrote Amundsen in his diary. “At some [other] times they gave the impression of going quite downward. However, at 1 o’clock, they began to go [even] more downward and finally they travelled with wild speed down a rather steep hill. To continue with this rush in complete blindness would have been the work of a maniac.” 3 The dogs, it seems, were willing to race ahead in the blinding storm, even going downhill, but the fear of the unknown terrain bothered Amundsen, and he put a stop to their blind ascents and descents. Reluctantly, he halted the descent mid-slope. They made camp on the spot where they had stopped – at almost 1000 feet lower altitude than Butcher’s Shop. It would be better to take up the trail again in the morning, he thought.
In his tent that night, Amundsen ended his diary entry with an observation about the dogs’ stool and digestive condition. It was a rather bizarre exclamation mark to their arrival on the Polar plateau from Butcher’s Shop. But it was in keeping with his obsession about the dogs’ digestive systems. Whether in alarm or satisfaction or simply because of curiosity, Amundsen reported on the blood he found in the dogs’ excrement. “The dogs had a lot of blood in their stool – all without exception – after enjoying themselves on dog meat,” he wrote. 4 Samson, Rex, and the other forcibly deceased and consumed dogs had lingered with the party in more ways than one. And Amundsen’s fascination with the dogs’ elimination process and digestive track records had not waned since the ship’s days. But the observation regarding the dogs’ excretion of their dead friends from their digestive tracts bordered somewhat on the macabre.
It was rough going again on the morning of the next day, November 27 – a “misery” for both the dogs and the men to travel, according to Amundsen, 5 and an exhausting hardship for the dogs, according to Wisting (Wisting 2011). But the way gradually became easier as the day progressed, as perceived by Amundsen. The expedition members completed their descent to the plain, choosing a gradual slope that traveled southeast rather than the abrupt one that traveled south, and Amundsen took over forerunner duties, skiing ahead so the dogs would follow him. He would now alternate with sledge-less Hassel in this role of forerunner. Conditions calmed down, and the day ended with sunshine radiating over the men and dogs as they reached 86° South (Amundsen Expedition Diary). Visibility was now better, as was the weather. Even the dogs’ stomachs had improved, reported Amundsen in his diary, now that the dogs were back on their regular diet of pemmican. The party’s campsite that night was made at 9475 feet; they had dropped 825 feet from the edge of the plateau (Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 75–76) – recorded as 9200 feet and 800 feet, respectively, in Amundsen’s diary (Amundsen Expedition Diary). But this plateau plain on which they now stood must be the level way to the Pole, reasoned Amundsen. He wrote in his November 27 diary entry: “Yes – now the road to the Pole lies clear – may we soon be there.” 6
With the returning sunshine had returned Amundsen’s sunny disposition. But the other men’s diaries shed light on just how taxing this travel was for the dogs. Despite the laying of depots along the way at each degree of latitude, the loads were still very heavy for the remaining 18 dogs to pull. Helmer Hanssen, whose expedition diary has not been located, later wrote in his book Voyages of a Modern Viking that the depositing of depots enabled the men to lighten the sledge loads for the overworked sled dogs. Being pulled by the dogs to the South Pole was a great pleasure for the men – like a game, wrote Hanssen. But the dogs themselves had no pleasure at all, he contended. Instead, they had to endure strenuous driving under harsh circumstances and constantly being whipped in order to pull their humans to their goal. If reincarnation were indeed a reality, proclaimed Hanssen, he fervently hoped that he would not be reincarnated as a sled dog working on a Polar sledging expedition (Hanssen 1936, 105). The idea of a soul transmigrating from a human to a canine, as pondered by Hanssen, is an interesting one, especially in light of Amundsen’s actions and the cornucopia of conceivable consequences.
In reaching 86° on November 27 (International Date Line corrected to November 26), the Polar party had reached the spot where Amundsen had previously thought that they would butcher the dogs. As it turned out, the men had decreased the dog population 6 days earlier than scheduled and almost a full degree of latitude prior to their originally targeted location. The victory of achieving 86° was celebrated with an oatmeal porridge for the men (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Bjaaland 2011). No mention of a celebration for the dogs is found in the men’s diaries.
While traveling through this unknown terrain on the following day of the 28th, observing patches of never-before-seen mountains to the east and to the west – never yet seen, that is, to the human eye – the men and dogs of Amundsen’s expedition broke the first of what would be many records broken. They reached 86° 17’ South latitude, breaking the northerly corresponding Norwegian record set by Fridtjof Nansen in 1895, who, together with Hjalmar Johansen, had reached the farthest northern point of 86° 14’ N at that time. Amundsen did not mention the significance of this milestone in his diary, but Bjaaland did (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Bjaaland 2011). Amundsen had now exceeded his former expedition member’s – that is, Johansen’s – furthest latitude reached previously on the opposite end of the earth. He had outdone his challenger whom he had ousted from the South Pole party. The milestone marked a meaningful, and possibly very sweet, victory for him.
The fog had been heavy most of the day, and the men could only catch teasing glimpses of the new landmarks they sighted as they traveled up and down the undulating plain. Nonetheless, their total distance traveled that day alone had been 16 nautical miles (Amundsen Expedition Diary). According to Hassel’s diary, after having completed the first 12 nautical miles, Amundsen proposed that the party could easily cover 20 miles that day, but, as the sled dogs began to exhibit symptoms of weariness at the 15-mile mark, the party stopped and set up camp after 16 miles traveled (Hassel 2011). Wisting wrote about the dogs sympathetically that night, stating that, although they had by then recovered and were doing well, they had shown signs of being extremely tired by the time the men had established their campsite (Wisting 2011). The dogs were exhibiting true stamina, persevering as troopers would in this long and sometimes perplexing march the men were pursuing.
Denser fog and a thin snowfall greeted the party the following morning of the 29th and made the day’s travel nearly “impossible” for men and dogs alike. “Poor animals. They have struggled hard to get the sledges forward today,” wrote Amundsen in his diary. And, quoting from this diary entry of November 29 (International Date Line corrected to November 28) in his book The South Pole, Amundsen wrote: “Poor beasts, they have toiled hard to get the sledges forward to-day” (Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 78). This commiseration with the dogs’ plight was quite rarely expressed on Amundsen’s part, and so the canine contingent must have been truly taxed to the extreme on this day of travel.
Wisting shed further light on the dogs’ plight, describing deep snow that was so loose that the dogs would sink into it up to the tops of their legs (Wisting 2011). The dogs had to contend with a high snow level that required they expend the extra energy of sinking in and then springing out of the loose fallen snow.
But the day proved to be significant for Amundsen, as this was the first time that he was able to site the glacier that ran across their path – extending from the mountain range on the southeast – and that they would have to cross in order to reach the other side of the plateau. From the brief moments of appearing sun between the dark patches of fog, Amundsen was able to make out an uneven surface across the glacier at the very least and cracks and crevasses at the worst. Despite the bad weather and limited visibility, he decided to proceed. The party approached the edge of the glacier as far as it could, stopping where the crevasses began. Here, Amundsen decided to lighten the sledges as much as possible, as the dogs and the men would have their work cut out for them just traversing this treacherous-looking glacier. The first order of business, then, was to build a depot – and deposit enough provisions for 5 men over 6 days and for 18 dogs over 5 days (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 78–80). “With the land and the difficulties for us, it was necessary to lighten the loads,” wrote Amundsen in his diary, explaining the necessity to build an additional repository. “The depot contains food for 5 men for 6 days and for 18 dogs for 5 days. This lightens [the weight by] about 25 kg. per load.” 7
Wisting also documented this shedding of dog provisions in order to lighten the sledges, reporting that 90 rations of dog pemmican – enough for 18 dogs over 5 days – were deposited into the depot (Wisting 2011). Hassel, too, wrote in his diary that the newly built depot now held a 5-day supply of food for dogs and a 7-day supply of pemmican for the men, as well as a 6-day supply of bread, chocolate, and powdered milk (Hassel 2011).
Even though Amundsen was planning on returning with 16 dogs from the South Pole and, ultimately, with 12 dogs from the journey, he ejected food enough for 18 dogs at this location and stored it in the newly built depot. His rationale was to cross the glacier at the quickest pace possible, even if this meant losing some of the food needed for the current number of 18 dogs on their way to the Pole.
The daunting sight before him only further affirmed his resolve. As he recorded in his November 29 diary entry (Amundsen Expedition Diary), he found the following imposing visuals on this day: a huge mountain that had quite suddenly taken shape, from north to south, located northeast of one of the mountain chains facing him, large glaciers that posed an imposing obstacle, and a jumble of giant broken ice blocks. The highest mountain peak he sighted, which he estimated to be at an altitude of approximately 15,000 feet, was draped with huge ice crystals that resembled a giant bejeweled crown. And the giant glacier he had already sighted, running east to west, and laying in their path to the Pole, was the most daunting of all, promising a challenging crossing. Amundsen wasted no time, however, in plotting a course to approach it and proceeded to meet it at its edge. The fog was a thick blanket that obscured the surrounding visuals, but it did not prevent the men and dogs from tackling the glacier, which they soon did, at 86° 21′ – 86° 23′ S. They were immediately greeted by deep crevasses of all sizes and widths and yawning abysses that threatened to swallow them whole.
It was this dicey road, this devilish glacier, that the 18 dogs, pulling three still-heavy sledges, in relative total darkness, had to cross for their expedition leader Roald Amundsen. Mylius, Ring, Helge, and Lasse; Uroa (“Always Moving”), Obersten (“The Colonel”), Suggen, and Arne; Per, Svartflekken (“The Black Spot”), Frithjof, and Fisken (“The Fish”); Nigger [sic], Rap, Majoren (“The Major”), and Hai; and Kvæn (Kvajn) and Rotta all pulled with all their might. They negotiated the hard-as-glass ice and mounds of snow masses; they traversed yawning crevasses and plunging cavernous abysses. The dogs were in it with the men, in it for the long haul, through thick and thin, resolved and unquestioning. They were completely unafraid, unflinchingly hanging in there for their companions and for Amundsen, taking on task after near-impossible task, no matter what the conditions, no matter what surprise was in store for them, and no matter what reward – or punishment – they would be dealt.
Amundsen described the crossing in his diary in detail (Amundsen Expedition Diary), saying that he and Sverre Hassel, as forerunners, took the lead, using alpine rope for security, and were followed by the three sledge teams and three drivers. Despite the visual obscurity, and one close call, the method of climbing the glacier was successful. That close call was when Wisting nearly took a plunge through a snow bridge – Amundsen called this near-fall, in colloquial English, a “narrow escape.” 8 With the “narrow escape” notwithstanding, the party was able to ascend 200 feet; but their progress was abruptly halted when they entered a severely crevassed area that harbored gaping abysses. The party had no other choice but to set up a campsite on the spot, surrounded by threatening fissures and holes. They were now at an altitude of 8400 feet. Amundsen wondered what the next surprise would hold in store for them. The dogs, most likely, were ready to meet that surprise head on.
Wisting’s near-miss through the breaking snow bridge would have taken his sledge and six dogs – Lasse, Obersten, Majoren, Suggen, Arne, and Per – with him. It was time to stop and survey the field (Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 81–82). According to Hassel’s diary, it was Amundsen and Helmer Hanssen who surveyed the traumatized area, while the remaining three men set up the tents and went to work feeding the sled dogs (Hassel 2011). The surface that they had just traversed at the edge of the glacier contained cracks and fissures that could easily be crossed by men on skis but that would just as easily swallow up dogs, who would probably fall straight through the ice. Now Amundsen and Hanssen found that much more of the same awaited them further south across the glacier. In fact, the conditions worsened as the path progressed. Twenty-five-foot frozen waves, deep cavernous crevasses, long pressure ridges, and a veritable “battlefield” of broken ice stretched before them (Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 82–83).
As Amundsen contemplated his next step, determining the path that he would take the next day across this fearsome piece of icy terrain he had christened “The Devil’s Glacier” (Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 84; Bjaaland 2011), with its “terrible surface” and uneven passage, the dogs meanwhile hunkered down at the bottom of the ancient glacier, lying amidst its “deep and sticky loose snow,” 9 and prepared for the next day’s serious adventure. It is very likely that they took in their surroundings, looking around at the blue-green tints of the mountains and glacier reflected in the fog that swam about them. They must have appreciated the extraordinary shapes and colors that now surrounded them whenever the fog lifted. These new visions had caught the eye and fancy of Amundsen and his men, who described the magical scenes in their diaries, with Bjaaland specifically claiming that no artist could accurately depict these stunning visuals (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Bjaaland 2011). The dogs, in all likeliness, possessed the naturally perceptive sense that looked out at this formidable scene of nature with an appreciative understanding and a gentle wonder. They watched and contemplated, seeing this new world with eyes that softly reflected back to nature the beauty and wonder it embodied.
That beauty came into full view the following morning of the 30th, when the fog lifted to reveal “a wonderful fairytale in blue and white,” according to Amundsen. Emboldened by the sight and motivated by the task, the party set out to cross “The Devil’s Glacier.” The glacier truly lived up to its moniker. The expedition members were forced to zigzag their way around gaping openings throughout the day. The dogs especially had a difficult time weaving to and fro between the dangerous crevasses. For once, the men on skis had it no better than the sledge drivers. The dogs had it the worst of all. “One must go 2 miles in order to advance 1,” wrote Amundsen in his diary that day, citing gaping hole immediately followed by gaping hole that had to be skirted and “Treacherous crevasses” that hindered progress. “The dogs struggle hard and the drivers not less. It is tiring enough for us 2 [forerunners, Amundsen and Hassel,] who go ahead [of the others].” 10
The men were by no means entirely successful in avoiding the pitfalls altogether, and the dogs paid the price. Wisting reported that two of the sledges had had close calls – both he and Hanssen had inadvertently driven some of their dogs right into crevasses; fortunately, they were able to bring them back out (Wisting 2011). The maze-like course took its toll on the sled dogs. Bjaaland reported that the dogs had a terrible time crossing ridges and escaping chasms and described in his diary the constant maneuvers that the party had to make in order to avoid the closely grouped crevasses throughout the glacier (Bjaaland 2011). The distance covered in terms of progress made forward that day was a short five nautical miles (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Bjaaland 2011) – although the actual kilometers traveled back and forth in zigzag fashion must have been at least 10. They were short of goal for the day, and it must have been tempting to consider continuing. But, as Hassel reported, because the dogs were so profoundly weary, the men stopped and made camp at 3 pm; meanwhile, Amundsen and Hanssen continued ahead to survey the area (Hassel 2011). The dogs were indeed tired. Pulling heavy loads, negotiating and falling into crevasses, steadily climbing in altitude, and sinking in and out of the snow were all factors conspiring to defeat them. But they did not succumb to that defeat.
The South Pole party awoke on December 1 to a gale and severe snowdrift at nearly 8700 feet on The Devil’s Glacier and almost gave the day up as a rest day for the dogs (Amundsen Expedition Diary). Determination overcame apprehension, however, and the dogs were hitched up to the sledges. Both men and dogs would make the best go of it.
They found that the winds of the previous night had blown away all the loose snow in their path, and now the glacier under their feet was pure hard ice. It was a devilishly slippery slope to climb, and, in addition, the party found itself twisting and turning in every conceivable direction in order to go around all the obstacles they found in their way, traveling to and fro and up and down so much that Amundsen feared the outcome (Amundsen Expedition Diary). Both Bjaaland and Wisting reported that the glacier’s conditions were far too slick for the dogs’ paws to gain any purchase on the surface, and it was thus a special challenge to bring the sledge loads up the uneven terrain that the party found they had to cross (Bjaaland 2011; Wisting 2011). For his part, Amundsen thought the sledges themselves would splinter into a million pieces of wood. 11 But they held together, as did the dogs. And the men’s and dogs’ persistence paid off, to the men’s own surprise (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Bjaaland 2011). They finally found themselves on more even and gentle ground, off of The Devil’s Glacier, and back onto what Amundsen was now certain was the main plateau, at an altitude of 9100 feet. Here the dogs were treading on a better surface, pulling well, and advancing the party ahead with good progress as it resumed its true south direction (Amundsen Expedition Diary). The dogs were finally finding easier terrain that inflicted only half the wear and tear on them as the previous stretch of the glacier had (Wisting 2011).
But the old adage out of the frying pan into the fire may be applied aptly here, as the following day handed a much worse situation to the Norwegian and Greenlander party. The surface upon which they trod, in fact, had become even worse for the dogs. The Devil’s Glacier had given way to the Devil’s Ballroom, a gleaming glass-like surface of pure unadulterated slippery ice. The poor dogs’ claws couldn’t even grasp an inch or a millimeter of the hard surface. One imagines their four legs flailing about, slipping in completely opposite directions as they desperately lurched to pull the load with which they had been burdened. The conditions were nearly impossible. “Excellent surface for a skater, but unfortunately extremely wearing for our dogs and ourselves,” observed Amundsen dryly. 12 He and the men struggled, their skis not running well on the ice. Those dog drivers who were not using skis kindly spotted the dogs, walking alongside the sledges, prepared to assist the canines if their claws could not find a purchase on the ice. And so it went for the entire day. Moreover, the struggling men and dogs were driving blind, surrounded by thick, fast-falling snowfall. And the men were now succumbing to frostbite on their noses, chins, jaws, and general facial areas (Amundsen Expedition Diary). The dogs, too, must have felt the sting of this snowstorm intensely, in their eyes and paws and noses. The ensemble, according to Amundsen, truly formed a sorry sight. Bjaaland elaborated in his diary, stating that Amundsen’s nose, Wisting’s jaw, and Hanssen’s skin bore the ugly contortions and scars of frostbite, while the sled dogs slipped over the ice, ceasing their slow march whenever their sledge had to overcome sastrugi (Bjaaland 2011). The surface conditions were so terrible, according to Wisting, that the dogs could not gain the necessary traction to move the sledges (Wisting 2011). Sverre Hassel described the icy, hard surface conditions as being too slippery to allow the sled dogs to remain upright on their paws and the intermittent snowdrifts too obstructive to allow the sledges to move one way or the other (Hassel 2011). Hassel went on to give further insight into the state of the dogs that day, saying that in a very short time, they began to limp noticeably and to act as though they were quite discouraged. Yet despite these severe challenges and the harsh travel, the dogs and their men made 13 nautical miles that day, climbing to 9300 feet (Amundsen Expedition Diary). The dogs would just not give up.
As the men ate their hot pemmican soup in their sleeping bags inside the tent that night, and the dogs lay curled up against the elements in the snow outside the tent, the weather gathered its full force of strength. It waited until the men and dogs had departed the following morning to blow against them with the might of a full-blown blizzard. The explorers had left their fur clothing behind at the camp in order to lighten their loads, keeping only their hoods from their anoraks. But still the going was rough, as they could not use their skis on this stretch of broken and cracked ice. Moreover, the men frequently had to give the dogs a hand over the bare ice, at times helping push and pull the sledges over the hard, crusty ice. It was one of the rare times that the men experienced having to haul a sledge themselves (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 97–102; Bjaaland 2011). With such a polished ice crust surface, the dogs had no means of imbedding their claws into the surface in order to pull the sledges (Wisting 2011). This combination of fierce storm and dangerous ground quickly curtailed the party’s travel and sent the men unpacking for camp again after only two nautical miles traveled. They could have attempted to gain more distance, according to Amundsen, “But we could have risked people, dogs and sledges in this pig’s-weather – and that is too costly for some few nautical miles,” he wrote decidedly in his diary that day. 13 As for Amundsen’s right-hand man Oscar Wisting, he was glad to have the day as a resting day for the dogs (Wisting 2011). Nevertheless, the Norwegians were now just past the 86° 47’ S mark, at a height of 9500 feet as reported in Amundsen’s diary, and 9780 feet as reported in his book, and in −21 °C (−5.8 °F) temperature (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 102). And with them were 18 willing and able-bodied dogs to help them make their way forward – even though their most treacherous day still lay ahead.
The “Devil’s Ballroom” was crossed the next day of December 4, in the same manner as the previous day, with the men walking alongside the sledges to support the loads and help the dogs across the bare ice (Amundsen Expedition Diary). Luckily, the storm had abated and the party was again well on its way. The next passage following the Ballroom, however, required another kind of dance altogether. It was a high ridge filled with crevasses and seracs that necessitated a soft-shoe approach. Before they knew it, Wisting’s sledge runner was hanging precariously over a bottomless crevasse, the sledge halfway on its way to oblivion. The men pulled together to get the sledge back up on not-so-solid ground. Amundsen considered himself and his men lucky to have not been hurt in that incident. They resumed their way. And then it happened again! This time, the dogs went down with the sledge. Over the edge they went and plunged into the darkness. Down went Lasse, Amundsen’s favorite dog whom he had befriended on the ship. Down went Obersten, “The Colonel,” the dog who had given Wisting a swim for his money off Flekkerö (Flekkerøy) Island. Down went Majoren, “The Major,” Wisting’s steady friend on the island. And down went Suggen, Arne, and Per. They all – six strong dogs – disappeared before the men’s very eyes, hanging in the balance below the sheer ice edge, minutes and inches away from doom. The men acted quickly and fortunately were able to haul the dogs up by their harnesses, “minute by minute,” according to Amundsen, slowly bringing the dogs out of the crevasse and onto the surface, setting them safely back on the ice’s edge. 14 Upon feeling the solid ice under their feet, the dogs must have been delirious with gratitude. And Amundsen was relieved that his expedition was still viable.
Having escaped by the skin of their canine teeth, the men and dogs reached the next level of surface past the ridge. This area had so many insidious, hidden crevasses, that there was no way to take a step without falling through a hole. Negotiating the pitfalls was tricky, as was traversing across the bare ice. “It was a very hard job for the dogs,” said Amundsen. 15 But work they did. And in a surreal moment of deja vu, Bjaaland went the way of Wisting’s dogs, falling through a crevasse and grabbing his sledge rope at the last moment, in the nick of time. Unlike the dogs, he had no harness by which to haul him back up but held on to the rope for dear life (Amundsen Expedition Diary).
In his book Voyages of a Modern Viking, Hanssen wrote of this crevasse-filled section, saying that the dog drivers constantly maintained a firm grasp on the rope that was in turn secured to the sled, so that whenever some of the dogs or one of the men fell into a crevasse – which happened quite frequently – the rope would serve as their lifeline until one of the other men could reach them and haul them back up and out of the crevasse (Hanssen 1936, 105).
Amundsen’s book The South Pole included an account of another incident where Hanssen’s lead dogs fell through the ice in this area and were hauled back up. The hollow-sounding ice below them was eerie to Amundsen, and the men quickly tried to traverse this section of the terrain. “The drivers whipped up their dogs as much as they could, and with shouts and brisk encouragement they went rapidly over the treacherous floor,” wrote Amundsen (Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 104–105).
Unfortunately for the dogs, a fragile and bottomless ice surface lay below them, while zinging whips hovered above them. But they managed to cross this area intact.
At last, the expedition members were now on the real plateau – on solid footing, so to speak – with good surface and no additional crevasses, although sastrugi still abounded, causing an occasional capsizing of a sledge. The South Pole party had crossed out of the mountain range and onto the last leg of their trip – the level snow plain that would lead to the Pole. Their location was 87° 9′ S. Their altitude was 9800 feet. And they had traveled 20 nautical miles that day (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Bjaaland 2011). The men’s spirits were undeniably hopeful.
The Furthest-South Creatures on Earth
The next day of December 5, 1911, was filled with snowdrift and blind driving across another 20 nautical miles of distance traveled, according to Amundsen (Amundsen Expedition Diary). The dogs pulled their sledge loads across sastrugi that, according to Bjaaland, were so terrible that they caused both Hanssen and Wisting to overturn their sledges (Bjaaland 2011). But according to Wisting, the surface and the dogs’ traveling were not so bad on that day; Wisting cited improved conditions and reported that the dogs were maintaining their good physical and mental status, describing them as full of life and spirit and energy in spite of the great distances traveled and the many hardships endured and overcome (Wisting 2011). By the end of that day, the party had reached an altitude of 10,200 feet (Amundsen Expedition Diary) and perhaps a divergent way of viewing their circumstances. The dogs, however, remained unified, steady, and steadfast.
These sled dogs proved their canine worth on the following day of December 6, when Amundsen’s dogs again exceeded the men’s expectations and topped their own performance. The expedition was once again traveling blind in the severe snowfall – with conditions so severe that Amundsen and Hassel could not fulfill their duties as forerunners, and Hanssen’s sledge team of sled dogs instead had to lead the way for the men. In spite of proceeding blindly, while seeing nothing before them in the swirling snow, Mylius, Ring, Helge, Rap, Hai, and Rotta managed to lead the caravan and stay on course. Large snowdrifts obstructed the caravan’s way, but the dogs dealt with these handily. “With a little call-out the dogs take the sledges across brilliantly,” wrote Amundsen in his diary that day. “Should we have had to pull ourselves, it would have been a dangerous job.” 16 Amundsen was clearly crediting the dogs for the expedition’s progress in the worst of conditions. In spite of the difficulties, the caravan covered another 20 nautical miles that day and reached a height of 10,750 feet. “The dogs remain surprisingly well,” continued Amundsen. “It must be the fine pemmican and the mild weather that cause this.” 17
This is another case where Amundsen giveth praise, and then he taketh it away. After crediting the dogs for their performance that day in his diary, he then attributes their well-being to his own recipe for pemmican. Later, in his The South Pole book, he commended Hanssen for accomplishing the difficult task of driving the dogs in the whiteout weather (Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 108). Eventually, after the expedition was over, the dogs’ great progress would be credited to himself, and any mention of the dogs’ achievements would sometimes be taken as a personal offense by him – as would be seen by his reaction of outrage to the congratulatory remarks made by the Royal Geographical Society, during which the president had cheered the sled dogs for their performance (Amundsen [1927] 2008, 45).
In his expedition diary, however, Amundsen gave the dogs their due and credited them for their performance in bringing him closer to his goal despite the seemingly insurmountable circumstances. Bjaaland, on the other hand, was not so happy with the dogs. And he let his diary know it. Dealing with the sled dogs, on top of dealing with 6–7-foot-high sastrugi and meager dinner-and-chocolate rations, was not his cup of tea (Bjaaland 2011). Perhaps Bjaaland was also making his complaints known to Amundsen. But Amundsen had it right the first time, as stated in his expedition diary – the men could not have handled the poor visibility, or the icy conditions, or the pulling of the sledges, without the dogs.
The visibility was no better on the following day of December 7, but the dogs again came through, sensing and leading the way in the blinding snow. Whereas the men could not distinguish the sky from the horizon – the whites of each blended together to form one continuous body – the dogs were reliable and surefooted. Their judgment was impeccable. And Hanssen’s compass reading was incomparable. The party completed another 20 nautical miles that day, passing 88° S and landing at 88° 9′ (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 109).
On this day, Bjaaland reported a snow blizzard approaching from the east, a snow surface that was difficult to cross, and sheer exhaustion taking hold among his sled dogs; he wrote this in his diary as he was enjoying his porridge that evening – a reward for having passed another degree of latitude (Bjaaland 2011). Unfortunately, there is no mention of a reward for the dogs, or if they received any degree treat. Obviously, they had worked hard – even Bjaaland expressed this.
Amundsen planned to give both the men and the dogs a much-needed day of rest. But he would grant this only after they had passed Ernest Shackleton’s farthest south, which was 88° 23′ and which Amundsen estimated they would reach on the morrow. Only then would the live donkey vs. dead lion statement famously made by Shackleton be put to rest. (Shackleton had reportedly written to his wife that the reason he had returned 97 miles short of his South Pole goal was that he had reckoned that she would prefer to have him back as a live donkey rather than gone forever as a dead lion.) The true lion of the South would now emerge – and it would be Amundsen, aided by the sled dogs.
“One of our big days,” wrote Amundsen in his diary on the next day, is December 8. In a rare moment of sun – although appearing only as a sliver – Amundsen was able to take an observation and ascertain their exact location at 88° 16′… “a brilliant victory after a 1-1/2° march in thick fog and snowdrift,” he later wrote in his diary. It was a turning point for Amundsen. “So now we are ready to take the Pole in every kind of weather that must be met. From our place of observation to the Englishman’s (Sh’s) [Shackleton’s] world record, now remain only 7 nautical miles left [to] (88° 23′).” 18
As Amundsen skied on as forerunner, followed by Hanssen and his lead dog team of Mylius, Ring, Helge, Rap, Hai, and Rotta, the weather improved and the sun shone. Suddenly, a shout of “hurray” emanated from behind Amundsen. He turned to see the Norwegian flag unfurled, gently waving in the wind, where it had been hoisted by Hanssen upon the lead sledge. “In the little breeze from the S., waved those dear, known colors [flying] from the first sledge, which had exceeded and placed behind it the Englishmen’s record. It was a wonderful sight,” wrote Amundsen. 19 Tears of joy clouded his goggles, as the sun lit the flag and as the men stood at first in silent jubilation.
They had crossed the coveted 88° 23′ mark and would continue on past it to 88° 25′ – in order to make absolutely sure to completely obliterate the standing record – before stopping and camping. Perhaps Amundsen’s thoughts flew to that day in February 1909 when Shackleton had stolen Amundsen’s thunder at the Royal Geographical Society in London, announcing his intentions to reach the South Pole on the very day that Amundsen reported on his conquest of the Northwest Passage. Shackleton was greatly admired by Amundsen. But although the brave “Englishman” may have won the speech and the spirit of that bygone day, the tenacious Norwegian would win the actual deed. Amundsen was now on his way.
Trailing behind Amundsen were Bjaaland and his dogs Uroa, Svartflekken, Frithjof, Fisken, Nigger [sic], and Kvæn. Their belabored breathing and solitary shushing in the white stillness were broken by the sight of the blue-cross-on-red-background flying ahead over the icy terrain, as Bjaaland and his tired dogs caught up to the rest of the party at 88° 23′ and beheld the symbol of triumph. At this moment, Bjaaland was elated and felt as though he were floating above the snow (Bjaaland 2011). He proceeded to congratulate Amundsen, whom he reported as being over the moon with sheer joy. He also reported that the men received additional rations of chocolate that night to commemorate the achievement.
But was there a reward for the dogs, who were obviously all exhausted and had borne their men admirably to this historic point where no human had gone before? There was no mention of any such reward in any of the diaries. The planned day of rest, however, was mentioned by all the men. Now that they had beaten Shackleton, Amundsen would give a day of rest to the men and the dogs. Oscar Wisting, with his team of Lasse, Obersten (“The Colonel”), Majoren (“The Major”), Suggen, Arne, and Per, was aware of the dogs’ exhaustion, writing at the end of that victorious day that the dogs would get a day of rest on the morrow, as they were beginning to be worn down quite drastically now (Wisting 2011).
That evening, the waning dogs were once again described with disdain by Amundsen. For, in addition to being exhausted from the climbing and the continuous trekking, the dogs were also getting very hungry by now – quite ravenous, in fact. And Amundsen, as usual, was wary. “The dogs are now very greedy,” he wrote in his diary that evening. “Eat everything they can get ahold of – especially lashings. We have thus had to remove everything from the sledges at night.” 20
The fact is that the dogs were attempting to supplement their meager daily ration of half a kilo of pemmican with bits of leather snatched from the ski, boot, and sledge straps. Even Amundsen would admit much later, in his The South Pole book, that the amount of pemmican the dogs received “was not enough to fill their stomachs,” although he derided, “They had turned greedy – there is no denying that…” (Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 110).
Clearly, the record-breaking excursion was taking its toll on the dogs, and while the men celebrated the huge milestone with extra treats and high morale, the dogs sought some form of acknowledgment or recompense but probably received none – or not enough.
It was finally too much to take for Majoren, Wisting’s soldiering dog “The Major.” Either in desperation for rest and sufficient sustenance or in total disdain for the humans’ perceived significant achievement, he left the party – walked away from the camp and his companions – after the Shackleton mark had been passed. It was perhaps a critique of human competition, hubris, and folly or a desperate act of dying weariness. Either way, Majoren made his statement – he walked away.
Wisting was stunned. He had not expected his trusty dog to simply leave the campsite and to walk away from him and from the rest of the party. He wrote of Majoren’s departure in his diary that evening, expressing his disbelief over his dog’s absence (Wisting 2011). Majoren, he reported, had departed on his own that evening, leaving the party quite unexpectedly and going back northward along the party’s tracks, from whence he did not return.
Hassel, too, was shocked by this sudden departure, writing in his diary that night that it was very strange for Majoren to simply stroll away from the men and from the other dogs and that, following his meager dinner at camp that evening, this is precisely what the dog had done (Hassel 2011).
Evidently, the men had not expected this, and the dog’s sudden departure is made even more startling when viewed in contrast to the men’s celebration. Amundsen’s theory was that Majoren had gone off to die, as Amundsen, too, admitted to the weariness and hunger of the dogs as he observed them on the following day at camp. “Bj’s [Bjaaland’s] dogs have lost a lot [of weight and strength] lately, and last night one of W’s [Wisting’s] – Majoren – an old, steady dog, disappeared. Probably he has gone away to die,” wrote Amundsen in his diary on the 9th. 21
And, so, Majoren, Wisting’s stalwart sled dog, canine companion to Obersten, and friend to the men ever since their days on Flekkerøy Island, had walked a lonely walk away from the men and from his companions, north to where he had come from, perhaps toward his perception of home or perhaps in an effort to end an agony which he knew would otherwise never cease.
That following day of December 9 was decreed a rest day for the dogs (Hassel 2011). The men stayed at camp and built a depot.
Most likely as a result of Majoren’s departure – at least in part, and also for the reason of adding more speed – Amundsen lightened two of the sledges that day. He reported on the lightening in both his diary and his book (Amundsen Expedition Diary; Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 115). Wisting’s and Bjaaland’s sledge loads were made lighter by approximately 50 kilos (110 pounds) each, leaving only Hanssen’s sledge load as heavy as it already was. According to Amundsen’s December 9 diary entry, Bjaaland unloaded 42.5 kilos of both dog and human pemmican, and Wisting had unloaded 11.5 kilos of pemmican, as well as a crate of 2200 biscuits. “We go from here well-equipped – for the men approximately 30 days, for the dogs approximately 20 days (of supplies to enable us) to return back here,” wrote Amundsen, noting that this day of rest and readiness at camp was in preparation for “the final attack” on the Pole. 22
Hanssen’s dogs were real marvels, all of them; nothing seemed to have any effect on them. They had grown rather thinner, of course, but they were still as strong as ever. It was therefore decided not to lighten Hanssen’s sledge, but only the two others; both Wisting’s and Bjaaland’s teams had suffered, especially the latter’s.
The dogs pulling Hanssen’s sledge, who, in the eyes of Amundsen, were resilient super-dogs, were Mylius, Ring, Helge, Rap, Hai, and most likely Rotta.
All three men who kept their diaries reported on the lightening of the sledge loads that day. Bjaaland reported that 100 servings of dog pemmican, in addition to 2200 biscuits, were left in depot (Bjaaland 2011). Hassel reported that it was 125 rations of dog food that had been deposited and that the dog food was stored in two footbags (gaiters used for covering boots and legs) that were placed on top of the depot’s cairn; in addition, half a crate – or 2000 – biscuits were deposited (Hassel 2011). Wisting recorded that 108 units of pemmican for both dogs and humans, as well as a case of 2200 biscuits, were placed in the depot (Wisting 2011).
The unloading of pemmican into depots indeed lightened the loads, but adversely it also decreased the amount of food given to the dogs. “It was dogs’ pemmican and biscuits that were left behind,” wrote Amundsen later in The South Pole, reiterating that the loads left behind were mainly provisions for the dogs (Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 116). “The advantages of lightening our sledges were so great that we should have to risk it,” he wrote (Amundsen 1912, vol. 2: 115) – although the risk seems to have been more for the dogs than the men. The dogs were not receiving sufficient amounts of food, as he had also previously stated. And yet, he continued to shed the sled of dog food. Meanwhile, Amundsen noted the dogs’ severe hunger, writing in his diary on this day of December 9: “The dogs begin now to become rather dangerous. One must regard them as dangerous enemies, when one leaves the sledges. Although, strangely enough, they have not attempted [to do anything].” 23
Weary and hungry, the dogs were looked upon warily by Amundsen, who saw them now as potential thieves. They were his salvation, and yet they were his “enemies.” Furthermore, he had condemned them as criminals before they had committed any crime. Perhaps the perceived animosity stemmed from his knowledge of the scant amount of sustenance these dogs were being given, especially at this crucial stage of the trek, this close to the Pole, when they had performed so much over the past few days. Perhaps the dangerous enemies resided within his own mind.
I may mention as a curious thing that these ravenous animals, that devoured everything they came across, even to the ebonite points of our ski-sticks, never made any attempt to break into the provision cases. They lay there and went about among the sledges with their noses just on a level with the split cases, seeing and scenting the pemmican, without once making a sign of taking any. But if one raised a lid, they were not long in showing themselves. Then they all came in a great hurry and flocked about the sledges in the hope of getting a little extra bit. I am at a loss to explain this behaviour; that bashfulness was not at the root of it, I am tolerably certain.
This behavior, it may be argued, signified a degree of deep understanding among the dogs – a civil and selfless manner in the face of a stressful situation whose significance was not lost on the dogs and a steadfast and undying sense of honor among the canine explorers of the expedition.
Dog Chart: The Dogs Who Passed Ernest Shackleton’s Furthest South and Continued to Trek Toward the South Pole
- The 18 dogs who traveled furthest south and toward the Pole were:
- Working on Helmer Hanssen’s sledge team
Mylius
Ring
Hai (also Haika)
Rap
Helge
Rotta (“The Rat”) – Rotta most likely caught up, and Fix did not
- Working on Oscar Wisting’s sledge team
Obersten (“The Colonel”)
Majoren (“The Major”)
Suggen
Arne
Per
Lasse (also Lassesen)
- Working on Olav Bjaaland’s sledge team
Nigger [sic] (also Niger)
Svartflekken (“The Black Spot”)
Kvæn (also Kvajn and Kven)
Frithjof (also Fridtjof)
Fisken (“The Fish”)
Uroa (“Always Moving”)
- The Unexpected Departure of One Dog:
Majoren (“The Major”) – From Wisting’s team – unexpectedly walked away from camp at 88° 25′ on the evening of December 8, 1911.
With Majoren’s sudden and unanticipated departure, 17 sled dogs remained to take Roald Amundsen and the Norwegian Antarctic Expedition to the South Pole, as of December 9, 1911.
Perched atop The Devil’s Glacier – a devilish climb for the sled dogs, on their way to the South Pole, at the end of November 1911. (Photographer: unidentified/Owner: National Library of Norway)
Notes on Original Material and Unpublished Sources
- 1.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 26 November 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 2.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 26 November 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 3.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 26 November 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 4.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 26 November 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 5.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 27 November 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 6.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 27 November 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 7.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 29 November 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 8.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 29 November 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 9.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 29 November 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 10.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 30 November 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 11.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 1 December 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 12.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 2 December 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 13.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 3 December 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 14.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 4 December 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 15.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 4 December 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 16.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 6 December 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 17.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 6 December 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 18.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 8 December 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 19.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 8 December 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 20.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 8 December 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 21.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 9 December 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 22.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 9 December 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249
- 23.
R. Amundsen Antarctic expedition diary, 9 December 1911, NB Ms.8° 1249