Part 56 (1/2)

March began in earnest with much snow and monotonous days of wind. By contrast, a few hours of sunny calm were appreciated to the full. The face of the landscape changed; the rocky crevices filling flush with the low mounds of snow which trailed along and off the ridges.

On March 16 every one was relieved to hear that the 'Aurora' had arrived safely in Hobart, and that Wild and his party were all well. But the news brought disappointment too, for we had always a lingering ray of hope that there might be sufficient coal to bring the vessel back to Adelie Land. Later on we learned that on account of the shortage of funds the s.h.i.+p was to be laid up at Hobart until the following summer.

In the meantime, Professors David and Ma.s.son were making every effort to raise the necessary money. In this they were a.s.sisted by Captain Davis, who went to London to obtain additional donations.

It was now a common thing for those of us who had gone to bed before midnight to wake up in the morning and find that quite a budget of wireless messages had been received. It took the place of a morning paper and we made the most of the intelligence, discussing it from every possible point of view. Jeffryes and Bickerton worked every night from 8 P.M. until 1 A.M., calling at short intervals and listening attentively at the receiver. In fact, notes were kept of the intensity of the signals, the presence of local atmospheric electrical discharges--”static”--or intermittent sounds due to discharges from snow particles--St. Elmo's fire--and, lastly, of interference in the signals transmitted. The latter phenomenon should lead to interesting deductions, for we had frequent evidence to show that the wireless waves were greatly impeded or completely abolished during times of auroral activity.

Listening at the wireless receiver must have been very tedious and nerve-racking work, as so many advent.i.tious sounds had to be neglected.

There was, first of all, the noise of the wind as it swept by the Hut; then there was the occasional crackling of ”St. Elmo's fire”; the dogs in the veranda shelter were not always remarkable for their quietness; while within the Hut it was impossible to avoid slight sounds which were often sufficient to interrupt the sequence of a message. At times, when the aurora was visible, signals would often die away, and the only alternative was to wait until they recurred, meanwhile keeping up calls at regular intervals in case the ether was not ”blocked.” So Jeffryes would sometimes spend the whole evening trying to transmit a single message, or, conversely, trying to receive one. By experience it was found easier to transmit and receive wireless messages between certain hours in the evening, while not infrequently, during the winter months, a whole week would go by and nothing could be done. During such a period auroral displays were usually of nightly occurrence. Then a ”freak night” would come along and business would be brisk at both terminals.

It was often possible for Jeffryes to ”hear” Wellington, Sydney, Melbourne and Hobart, and once he managed to communicate directly with the last-named. Then there were numerous s.h.i.+ps pa.s.sing along the southern sh.o.r.es of Australia or in the vicinity of New Zealand whose ”calls” were audible on ”good nights.” The wars.h.i.+ps were at times particularly distinct, and occasionally the ”chatter in the ether” was so confusing that Sawyer, at Macquarie Island, would signal that he was ”jammed.”

The ”wireless” gave us another interest in life, and plenty of outside occupation when the stays became loose or an accident occurred. It served to relieve some of the tedium of that second year:

Day after day the same Only a little worse.

On March 13 there was a tremendous fall of snow, and worst ”pea-souper”

we had had during the previous year. Next day everything was deluged, and right up the glacier there were two-foot drifts, despite a sixty-mile wind.

It was very interesting to follow the changes which occurred from day to day. First of all, under the flail of the incessant wind, a crust would form on the surface of the snow of the type we knew as ”piecrust,”

when out sledging. It was never strong enough to bear a man, but the sledge-runners would clear it fairly well if the load were not too heavy. Next day the crust would be etched, and small flakes and pellets would be carried away until the snow was like fleece. a.s.suming that the wind kept up (which it always did) long, shallow concavities would now be scooped out as the ”lobules” of the fleece were carried away piecemeal. These concavities became deeper, hour by hour and day by day, becoming at last the troughs between the crests of the snow-waves or sastrugi. All this time the surface would be gradually hardening and, if the sun chanced to s.h.i.+ne for even a few hours every day, a s.h.i.+ning glaze would gradually form on the long, bevelled mounds. It was never a wise thing to walk on these polished areas in finnesko and this fact was always learnt by experience.

Above the Hut, where the icy slopes fell quickly to the sea, the snow would lie for a few days at the very most, but, lower down, where the glacier ran almost level for a short distance to the harbour ice, the drifts would lie for months at the mercy of the wind, furrowed and cut into miniature canyons; wearing away in fragments until the blue ice showed once more, clear and wind-swept.

Towards the end of March the wind gave a few exhibitions of its power, which did not augur well for the maximum periods of the winter. A few diary jottings are enough to show this:

”March 23. During the previous night the wind steadily rose to an eighty-mile 'touch' and upwards. It was one of those days when it is a perpetual worry to be outside.

”March 24. Doing at least seventy miles per hour during the morning.

About 8 P.M. there was a temporary lull and a rise of.15 in the barometer. Now, 9.30 P.M., it is going 'big guns.' The drift is fairly thick and snow is probably falling.

”March 25. Much the same as yesterday.

”March 28. In a seventy-five-mile wind, Hodgeman had several fingers frost-bitten this morning while attending to the anemograph.

”March 29. It was quite sunny when we opened the trap-door, though it blew about sixty miles per hour with light drift.

”March 30. The wind is doing itself full justice. About 8 P.M. it ranged between ninety-five and one hundred miles per hour, and now the whole hut is tremulous and the stove-pipe vibrates so that the two large pots on the stove rattle.”

At the beginning of April, McLean laid the foundations of The Adelie Blizzard which recorded our life for the next seven months. It was a monthly publication, and contributions were invited from all on every subject but the wind. Anything from light doggerel to heavy blank verse was welcomed, and original articles, letters to the Editor, plays, reviews on books and serial stories were accepted within the limits of our supply of foolscap paper and type-writer ribbons.

_____________________________________________________ / / THE ADELIE BLIZZARD

/ Registered at the General Plateau Office

/

/ for transmission by wind as a newspaper

/

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----CONTENTS----

o-o-o-o-

Editorial.............................. Page 1

Southern Sledging Song................. ” 2

A Phantasm of the Snow................. ” 3

The Romance of Exploration

First Crossing of Greenland (Nansen). ” 8

Ode to Tobacco.......................... ” 10

Punch, the dinner epilogue.............. ” 11

To the Editor........................... ” 12

Scott's British Antarctic Expedition.... ” 13

Statics and Antarctics.................. ” 14