IN THE ANTARCTIC

Greymouth Evening Star, 27 December 1928, Page 5

IN THE ANTARCTIC

BYRD’S EXPEDITION REPORT. “LIFE GOES GAILY.” ' (Australian Press Association.) (By Cable—Press Assn.—Copyright.) NEW YORK, December 24. A radio message from Commander Byrd’s ship, the City of New York, states: —“Our days go on bumpily, ramming the pack, and pushing huge ice cakes aside. Now backing, now struggling ahead, the sturdy little ship makes her way slowly south. Always there is the grumbling, crunching, and hiss of ice alongside, and the shouting of orders from those conning us through, together with the barking and whining of the impatient dogs. OtTtside is a white field of snow-covered ice, smooth or rolling, or broken and twisted into a thousand fragments that have been welded together under the tough winter cold. “Life goes gaily, nevertheless, all being busy with their many tasks or resting in their bunks between watches. The men joke and laugh at each other, hurl good-natured jibes over mistakes made, or break into song from sheer light-heartedness. There is much humour in the heterogeneous crew. Thus scientists and stokers, eating side by side, tend to cement that good fellowship which finds refuge in banter of each other’s foibles. We would be very uncomfortable if we could not laugh, as it is, no more loyal, unselfish crew ever sailed the sea. This is evident in that queer way that a man will show consideration for another’s feelings or do something to help him.

“Down in the tiny forecastle, forward of the large forecastle and mess roorh, in the midst of a severe storm, the first mate is playing his big accordion to the delight of those around him. it is a. small room with four large bunks along each side in two tibrs. An electric bulb overhead shines yellow through the smoke of many pipes. The blue haze against the ceiling, curling round the ponder ous beams and elbows, is thick like the snow and fog outside, making dim the corners of the room. A litter of packing cases, bags, and suit-cases lies on the floor, which is paved with bits of paper and string, matches, and things which tired men drop and forget to pick up. Hanging from partitions and ceiling hooks and strings are ski boots, lanterns, bags and bits ot clothing, heavy coats and oilskins. There is a smell of dampness and tobacco, and the musty odour of boots. Some pictures of those left behind are tacked on the inner walls of the bunks, smiling faces of women looking down on one of the most masculine places on earth, a ship’s forecastle.”

MUSIC HATH CHARMS. “Old Martin Ronne, the sailmaker across the way, leans on his sewing machine, a smile creasing his leather cheek. On each side of his beaked nose his eyes are blinking continuously, as if he were about to fall asleep. ‘Walrus’ we call him. Bernt Balchen, the aviator, sprawls on a pile of bags, contentedly listening, and Babe Smith, another pilot, stretches his long legs half way across the room, caressing the bowl of his pipe with grimy hands. “ ‘That is good,’ says Balchen, with a. characteristic nod of his head, as Storm finishes playing something reminiscent of his homeland, and his face slowly relaxes in a. half-smile. There is something very fine about tliis man, whose life has been spent wresting a living from the eternal ice of the North. His gentleness and courtesy are more marked because of his rugged strength. He plays a. gay song, his grey eyes smiling at us as he moves his head in time to the music- and our bodies unconsciously sway and our feet tap tip floor. The whole forecastle sways sideways as the ship runs up on the floe and slides off again, and a rumbling, tearing sound comes through the planks. No one pays any attention—we are used to it now. “Through the open door to the larger forecastle, which runs almost to amidships, can be seen the companionway steps coming down from the. hatch. Smoke blows through and flows upwards to be torn apart in eddies by the cold air rushing down. The long mess table is on the side. In this large room everyone, including Commander Byrd, eats, and around the sides are bunks for 50 men. The light from the hatch, and a few bulbs, illuminate the forward end, but the room fades away into dense shadow from which comes the sound of men arguing or laughing as they await their turn at. the table.

“Dishes clatter, and I here are cries of “More soup!” and demands to know what in blazes has become of ‘he butter. Even during meals, some men are sleeping behind curtains of nondescript material which cut off some of the light. “Wo cat in three messes and the Jong table is filled each time. ChaHes Lofgren, our major domo, having ■brought order out of chaos which existed at first, when all tried to eat at once. He is resplendent in Dundreary whiskers and caries a. towed of indeterminate grey around his neck. His hands are the cleanest aboard, for which all arc thankful, as it is ‘Charley’ who dips out the soup and passes the cake. Syd. Greason and Dick Center, the assistant stewards, help him, Syd. rushing food from the galley and Dick washing the dishes. The ship lurches against an ice cake, and Lofgren spills the soup on someone’,s hair and down his neck; and while the sprinkled one roars picturesque objections, Lofgren calmly mops up his victim with a. dishtowel. “Stumble up the steep steps ami you will find the decks with boxes and dog crates. Cases of stores

are opened there, because there is no < tlirr place to open them. This accumulated confusion is cleared away <m one side so that, the galley may be reached. A breath of warm air. laden with the smell of roasting meal ami the appetising odour of new 7 bread, float;; out of the open door. It is warm iri there and provides good shelter from the chill wind that blows off the ice, and someone is generally hugging the stove and chatting with George Tennant, the cook'.

“Round and benign, W'ith it calm which nothing' can disturb, George smiles upon all who come, and discusses in a low monotone, which never varies, the incomprehensible things which men do outside the galley—his ordained world. No matter how we roll, with water sloshing about his

ankles, imperturbably he turns out good things to eat.” BYRD THROUGH ICE PACK. NEW YORK, December 24. (Copyright from Byrd Expedition.): —Ross Sea. December 23: Owen, on board City of New York, in Ross Sea. writes: —“We are out of the ice pack, sailing along in a calm sea, with a blue sky overhead, and the sun so warm that we can stay on deck without hat or gloves, and not feel unicomfortable. The pack is behind us, and only one iceberg shows to the east, shining white in the sun. And, oddly enough, in this lonely sea, we see the smoke of a ship on the horizon. It is one of those whalers which come here each year. All the way across the Pacific we did not see a single ship, and now we have three large ships and fifteen small chasers moving about within one hundred miles of

us. We came through the ice pack in seven and a-half days, towed by the Larsen, the big whaler which brought Commander Byrd and some of his men from California to New Zealand. We have been towed nearly 2000 miles. The Larsen goes through the ice every year, and we were fortunate in being able to use the pathway it left ahead when its powerful engines forced aside the ice, which we could not have bucked. As a result, we came through quickly, and easily, using very little coal, and if the good weather holds, we should bo at the Barrier several days before it has been reached by the other expeditions. We hope to be at Discovery inlet in the ice barrier, on Christmas night, but we don’t know how much ico lies between us and that point. The barometer is high and steady, for

the first time, and we hope it will stay there.” GREAT ICE WALL

“Our last day in the pack was one of the most interesting of the entire trip. The ice was heavy, and with all our manoeuvring we could not avoid some violent collisions. Once we glided up to a huge floe, and scraped along it, trying to go round the corner, but nearly knocked off our port life boat against the top. We had several false alarms of ‘sea ahead,’ and when we actually did meet the edge of the pack, it came upon us so suddenly that we were taken by surprise. This was due to several reasons, the most important of which was the peculiar alignment of the bergs along its edge. For some time before we reached the bergs, we had seen them outlined against the sky, and wondered at their cause. They stretched to the right and left of us. As far as we could see were small table bergs, with perfectly flat tops, which rose about thirty feet above the water. They formed a perfect natural wall, which reminded one of the great wall of China. As we drew nearer, we could see the dark water between some of them, and realised that we were only a few miles from open water. Heavy bergs had completely stopped the swell which usually warns that the edge of the pack is near. Although we learned when we had passed through them that the Ross Sea was almost as calm as Long Island Sound on a pleasant summer's day. As we drew abreast of this ice rampart through an opening between two of the largest bergs, we began to rise and fall on a little swell and we were outside in the midst of mushy ice that was to the seaward of the bergs for upwards of a mile. Before us lay the smiling smooth surface of the Ross Sea, which after the storms of higher latitudes, and threatening pack ice, was the pleasantest sight we had ever looked upon. We turned to look back at the pack. That grim white wall of bergs, was even more imposing from the open water. Beyond them was an unbroken stretch of white; and the passage through which we had come might almost have had written upon it “Abandon hope all ye who enter here”; so desolate it looked. After our swift release the Larsen cut us off, and in a short time the little chasers were dashing away, stretching out. like skirmisher, looking for whales. In not more than an hour there was a banging of guns to the windward, and fishing had begun again. Captain Nilson of the Larsen came aboard the City of New York for a. moment to bid Commander Byrd good-bye, and wish him luck, and we toasted him as one of the finest sportsmen, and friends any

one could wish in these forsaken waters. Busy as he has been, he has found time to give us good advice and to help us in innumerable ways, which did not interfere with his operations. He has given us a lot of whale meat, which has been a welcome addition to our fresh meat- supply, and we had it in almost every form George Tennant, our cook, could devise. It seems best cut. thin and fried, or chopped up with onions in meat balls. It is tender and as good a meat as one could desi-e. About two tons of it is hung in «.i.r rigging, and some will be dried for use on the trail, it is feed to dogs as well as the crew, and both are thriving on it. “Pass the whale” is one of the phrases at mess at which we have long ceased to laugh. Captain Nilsen

was of the. opinion that the berg barrier at the edge of the ice pack, which ho had never sei a before, was due to the breaking off 'of a large but low piece of the barrier ice, which had floated to the edge of the pack before disintegrating.”