The sun fills the southern sky with exaggerated brilliance that steadfastly refuses to give way to night. Just as well. The unloading of building materials is in full swing and constant daylight is a godsend. Packing cases pile up on the sea ice beside the ship. Some of the prefabricated sections of the hut are already lashed to a sledge, ready to haul up to the building site 4 kilometres inland. Everyone agrees Amundsen should have the honour of taking the first sledge load. He harnesses his team of eight dogs while the men gather to witness what is to be a symbolic start to their polar quest. This first load weighs a conservative 300 kilograms – but the dogs don’t seem to remember what comes next. Even the Three Musketeers sit quietly on the ice, blinking in the bright sunlight.
Amundsen cracks his whip above their heads. Startled into action, the dogs leap to their feet and dash away from the ship. With a triumphant wave to the admiring crew, Amundsen is off. But it doesn’t last. The dogs slow to a trot, then stop. Once more they lie down on the ice. There’s stifled laughter aboard the Fram. Amundsen cracks his whip again and urges them onward with his most commanding voice. This time the dogs launch themselves at each other in a violent explosion of fur and claws and fangs and tangled leather traces.
‘Keep it up!’ somebody shouts before ducking for cover behind the ship’s railing.
Despite feeling foolish for expecting a grand departure, Amundsen can see the humour in the mayhem. It takes four men to bring the situation under control and get the sledge moving again in the right direction. Amundsen’s whip does the rest of the work. Hateful as it is, violence is the only encouragement the dogs will recognise in their stop-go-stop-go progress. Howling and protesting, mightily offended by this new harsh treatment, they disappear up the track, with Amundsen and his oscillating whip looking every bit like a conductor leading his orchestra through a challenging piece of music.
Amundsen scrutinises the team. That they’re out of shape is to be expected, but it’s more than that. They seem confused. The dogs run, slow down, feel the whip, run again. It’s a rhythm of sorts, but not one he wants. With this kind of mucking about it’ll take a whole year to get to the pole and another to return. Suddenly, it occurs to him – it’s the harnesses.
Back at the ship, he discusses the problem. If they’re to resolve it quickly, he’ll need help.
‘What’s the difference?’ asks Oscar. He has no experience with sledging and he’s eager to learn anything he can, given he’ll soon be responsible for his own team and his own whip, which he can’t ever imagine using.
‘Alaskan style has an eight-dog team harnessed to the sledge two by two. It’s definitely more balanced, a more efficient way of travelling,’ says Amundsen. ‘The Greenland style is to have the dogs fanning out from the sledge, running side by side. Unfortunately we have Greenland dogs in Alaskan harnesses.’
Oscar doesn’t fully understand. ‘Do we need to retrain the dogs?’
Amundsen scoffs. ‘No time for that. We’ll just have to adapt the harnesses that we’ve got.’ He looks at Sverre. ‘What do you think?’
The dog expert shrugs. ‘Splice the ropes, alter the tackle. It’s definitely possible.’
Amundsen looks at all the equipment piling up around them. ‘Well, let’s make a start. The sea ice won’t hold us forever.’