IN THE BAY OF WHALES.

Horowhenua Chronicle, 21 January 1929, Page 7

IN THE BAY OF WHALES.

NORWEGIANS AMAZED AT PROGRESS MADE ANTARCTIC COLOUR SCHEMES. Received Sunday, 7,0 p.m. BAY OF WHALES, Jan. 18. A stiff wind is blowing off the barrier—a wind that lashes the surface snow into clouds, a wind that cuts the face and nips the hands and feet. Into it, the line of sledges began to bore their way towards the base, the men tugging at the gecpoles and calling to their dogs. Frost from their breath gathered on their unshaven faces and on the sides of their fur caps and under their parka hoods. They are building an epic of Polar sledging, doggedly lighting way eight miles inland and back twice a day, carrying loads that have been thought impossible. They began on December 31st and in 17 sledging days ,they have moved more than 100 tons of material to the base over the drifting, buckling bay ice.

For two days, during a blizzard, work was stopped, but though the conditions arc severe to-day, they are plugging ahead, making two trips with undramatic coal sacks. Sledges With 10001 b Loads

They have not lost a dog or a parcel, although time and 1 , again a sledge, with a load of more than 1000 pounds, has tipped over or slid Into the slough holes between the pressure ridges It is difficult to know which to admire most, the men or.the dogs. Both arb thoroughly tired at the end of each day, the men, who fight the sliding sledges and toppling loads when the trail is rough along the knife edge of a pressure ridge, are able to ride back to the ship from the base, but the dogs trot the entire 32 miles, tugging at their harness, grabbing a mouthful of snow as they go and occasionally turning aside to find a little recreation in trying to pick a light with a passing rival team. No men are more appreciative of such work than the Norwegians, who have done so much to develop Polar travel and they have boon frankly amazed at the progress achieved. When Amundsen arrived here, he was able to take his ship in beyond our present base ami within "two and a hhlf miles of Framheim, his base. Record of Eight Tons in One Day'

Only a' few days after the anniversary of Amundsen’s arrival hero on January 14, the Byrd expedition has put more than 180 tons ashore and the ice, although shifting, has not yet shown any signs of going out. Yesterday, a record was made, eight tons being hauled to the base. This achievement has been the more remarkable because everything else has gone on at the same time. Two houses have been erected at the base and a great deal of other preparatory work carried out, demonstrating that little has been forgotten. Amundsen forgot his snow shovels and some things have been forgotten on this expedition, but nothing for which a substitute could not be found or replaced by some expert workriian. The dog drivers never leave the ship or the base without being, reported by Radio to the other end of the trail. A constant look-out is maintained from the crow’s nest and all information is constantly recorded, so that it will be difficult for much to go astray without it being quickly known. This country grows on one, despite its loneliness, or perhaps because of it. Ever-Changing. Yet Changeless. After tho air flight to the base, it was a tremendous contrast to go out to the base with a dog team, over the winding trail, past pressure ridges and over small cracks through which seals poke inquisitive noses. The bay ice then seems as a great » plain, varied only in its contours, silent, rigid, beautiful.

One driver, who has experienced this terrible silence and menace, took me with him and when we wore coming back, riding behind the softly padding dogs, he turned round and said: "Sometimes I stop here alone and you hear your heart.” - It was not the sound of your heart he meant, but your heart itself, speaking; strange things, uplifted perhaps, all by the limitless white. There is nothing more purely white than the light here reflected from the snow. All changes in colour, the softly glowing shadows of the barrier cliffs, shadows with just a hint of rose, arc caused by the breaking up of this pure white light, and as one rides along the trail or trots behind tho dogs, the surface gleams with gems; points of fire reflected from tho perfect crystal of the snow. They look like opals, glowing with a changing, marvellous colour.

(By Russell Owen, copyright 1928 by the New York Times Company and the St. Louis Post Dispatch; all rights for publication reserved throughout the world. Wireless to the New York Times.)