1911] a CLOVE HITCH I4I 
Society Range. Thirteen thousand feet above us towered Mount 
Lister, but we rarely saw the crest, for it was buried in clouds 
for the greater part of our journey. 
On the 20th we left one sledge at the depdt and made an- 
other attempt to penetrate the fastnesses of the Koettlitz Glacier. 
We had to cut tracks along the bottom of the glass-house 
channels, and Debenham and I pulled while Wright and Evans 
devoted all their energies to lifting the sledge over the obstruc- 
tions. ‘The sledge dropped two feet and rolled upside down on 
one occasion, and later Wright went through the roof and was 
completely lost to sight in one of the glass-houses. By 6 P.M. 
we must have progressed almost two miles—and this with a light 
load! A thick snowstorm came up and we camped amid weird 
surroundings. All round us were ice sculptures of every con- 
ceivable shape. There were great wedge-shaped blocks, so 
fretted by the sun that they looked as if formed of wicker work. 
We called these ‘ fascines.’ Others resembled giant pedestal- 
tables with fringes of icicles. Near the tent, displayed on one of 
these tables, was a great white monster with an armour-plated 
back, head, legs, and tail complete. We called this halt ‘ Arma- 
dillo Camp’ in recognition of the genius of King Frost. 
During the next four days we struggled up the middle of the 
Koettlitz Glacier. It was a strenuous time, but I recall a pleasant 
noon halt when P.O. Evans earned an honest penny. We saw 
him playing with the rope which lashed his sleeping-bag. Says 
Evans, ‘ I’ll show you how to make a clove-hitch with one hand, 
and I bet you a ts. 3d. dinner (our usual currency) you can’t do 
it after you’ve seen me do it six tires!’ Debenham took the 
bet, and we all watched Evans closely. Then ‘ Deb.’ tried, and 
to our joy succeeded, for the handy-man was rarely ‘ done.’ But 
he never turned a hair, and booked the bets that now filled the 
air. Again Debenham proceeded to try, and failed—and Wright 
and I were equally unsuccessful. Evans made quite a haul, but 
after saying he had never seen anyone do it by sheer luck before 
he proceeded to teach us the dodge; and later Debenham be- 
came quite a knot-master under his willing tuition. 
‘A fine sunny morning, the first for many days. Even this 
scene of desolation looks cheerful.’ Thus my sledge diary for 
the 21st. But the route did not improve. I wrote: ‘We got 
going on awful stufi—rounded pools of ice, between tables. It 
