WE BREAK ALL RECORDS 257 



have given some of us an attack of snow blindness. 

 From the time when the reappearing sun of the arctic 

 spring got well above the horizon, these goggles had 

 been worn continuously. 



The temperature during this march dropped from 

 minus 30° to minus 40°, there was a biting northeasterly- 

 breeze, and the dogs traveled forward in their own white 

 cloud of steam. On the polar ice we gladly hail the 

 extreme cold, as higher temperatures and light snow 

 always mean open water, danger, and delay. Of 

 course, such minor incidents as frosted and bleeding 

 cheeks and noses we reckon as part of the great game. 

 Frosted heels and toes are far more serious, because 

 they lessen a man's ability to travel, and traveling is 

 what we are there for. Mere pain and inconvenience 

 are inevitable, but, on the whole, inconsiderable. 



This march was by far the hardest for some days. 

 At first there was a continuation of the broken and 

 raftered ice, sharp and jagged, that at times seemed 

 almost to cut through our sealskin kamiks and hare- 

 skin stockings, to pierce our feet. Then we struck 

 heavy rubble ice covered with deep snow, through which 

 we had literally to plow our way, lifting and steadying 

 the sledges until our muscles ached. 



During the day we saw the tracks of two foxes in 

 this remote and icy wilderness, nearly two hundred 

 and forty nautical miles beyond the northern coast 

 of Grant Land. 



Finally we came upon Bartlett's camp in a maze 

 of small pieces of very heavy old floes raftered in every 

 direction. He had been in his igloo but a short time, 

 and his men and dogs were tired out and temporarily 



