NORTH POLE OF THE WINDS 



Marius and myself during the next two hours to 

 save the sled. The wind had picked up the sand 

 and pebbles from the sand flat and driven it into 

 our faces. We were in a real sand storm. The 

 finer sand particles penetrated everywhere. My 

 watch, which I carried in an extra case in my 

 bearskin trousers, was so clogged with sand that 

 it refused to run. 



We did not get away far before a particularly 

 violent gust drove the sled with such violence 

 against a block of ice that one of the runners was 

 split and this forced a return for repairs. Dr. 

 Church, who was somewhere out in advance and 

 knew nothing of our troubles, was without food. 

 He pushed on and took refuge against the storm 

 in a tent frozen to the ice at the foot of the Middle 

 Rapids of the Watson River. There he remained 

 without fire and with scant food for three days until 

 I, much worried about his safety, could repair the 

 sled and join him. In the meantime the storm 

 had blown itself out, but it had left a surface to 

 drive one to distraction. At several places in the 

 bed of the Watson River wide sand-dunes had been 

 built up, and these we had to cross with the sled. 

 Where there was ice in the river it was as smooth 

 as a mirror. We had to carry our sleds and outfit 

 up the frozen bed of the falls. 



196 



