344 WITH SCOTT : THE SILVER LINING 



In spite of hurrying, putting the sail together inside the 

 tent took time, so that it was 10.45 before we started with sail 

 set and a fair wind for the next headland. This looked like a 

 dented door-knob, and we reached it by lunch with the mast 

 bending and the sail bulging in true nautical style. 



As we passed it I saw that we had reached Dunlop Island, 

 which had been hidden from us by a line of icebergs. It is 

 separated from Dunlop Cape by a strait about one-third of a 

 mile wide. We hailed this with joy, for it seemed to be pure 

 blue ice ; but over this blizzards had blown low parallel 

 ridges of snow which were about 20 feet apart. The snow 

 was sticky with salt, and the alternation of clear ice with 

 sticky snow was almost impassable. For we could not stand 

 on the ice and the sledge would not move over the snow, and 

 when we could pull from the snow, the sledges were on clear 

 ice and the wind drove them along unassisted ! 1 don't know 

 how Debenham managed, but I wrenched my leg, and for 

 days afterwards had cause to remember Dunlop Strait. 



Dunlop Island is a mere ridge of shingle about 60 feet 

 high. There was a fierce wind blowing which prevented my 

 taking any photographs, but I managed to get a round of 

 angles with the theodolite before my hands were numbed. 

 There seemed to be four ancient beach-levels marked by well- 

 rounded boulders which point to elevation in this region. 

 Looking to the north we could see nothing but a great barrier 

 wall of ice along the coast. The trend of the latter was 

 almost continuous from Cape Bernacchi, and we could see no 

 foundation for the sharp turn to the north-west charted on the 

 existing maps. 



We pushed on for the north along this forbidding wall of 

 ice. It was almost December now, and the sea-ice might 

 break up any day, so that our next few days were anxious 

 ones. We had great difficulty from the sticky surface, and 

 the wind changed direction, nearly blowing the sledge over, 

 so I decided to " down sail " and steer nearer the land. We 

 could only with difficulty pull one sledge, and had to relay 

 till we reached the face of the glacier, where we camped. 

 While Debenham cooked the hoosh — an excellent one, of 

 which I had one and a half pots ! — Gran and I managed to 

 climb 200 feet up the glacier front. The ice was much broken 

 and re-cemented with some deep crevasses and queer puckered 



