Ice Ship: The Epic Voyages of the Polar Adventurer Fram

by Charles W. Johnson

  FIGURE 65

  Zoologist Edvard Bay looking out from “Bear Fort” at western Jones Sound. He was alone for weeks on end there, guarding against bears and foxes the important food depot for later sledge trips.

  This was what they had come to see, the farthest extent of Ellesmere to the west, but it was not exactly what they had hoped for later traveling. The cliffs plunged straight down to the water. The strait, of unknown length, with its swift tidal currents and roiling ice, would be impossible for sledging or boating. Since the mountains inland were impassable, this would be the only way north, sticking to the narrow ice foot pressed up against the cliffs, and praying for better options ahead. They would come to know this passageway in all its fearsomeness and give it a name that, according to Sverdrup, barely did it justice: Hell Gate.

  When everyone (except Bay) was back at the ship, plans for the spring sledging trips took shape, in a rather complicated choreography, to transfer supplies to Bear Fort as support for teams exploring western Jones Sound, Hell Gate, and territory beyond it to the north.

  After a week or more of feverish preparation, they all left on schedule, a forerunning support party on March 17 and the others on March 20. In all, nine men departed, with fifty-five dogs pulling nine sledges, each loaded with almost seven hundred pounds of food, clothing, and other necessities. This time only four men stayed behind—cook Adolf Henrik Lindstrøm, the two engineers (Karl Olsen and Jacob Nødtvedt), and botanist Herman Georg Simmons—along with the rest of the dogs. Simmons moved from a berth and work space in the forecabin to ones in the aft, so all would be in one place and the forecabin would not have to be heated—and the poor lone scientist would have more companionship than just his books and herbarium of pressed, dried plants.

  Flying along when they had good ice, picking their way through the bad, the main sledgers made the seventy-five miles to Bear Fort in two days, arriving in the early morning when the commandant and support party were still sleeping. The next day, after redistributing the supplies and enjoying an evening of good feast and company, the parties took off for the west, leaving Bay once again on his own. They passed Goose Fjord and stopped at the next to hunt walruses (hence its name, Walrus Fjord), where they camped and ate their fill of the fresh meat, stuffing the rest among the shore-side rocks as a makeshift, intermediate depot (and “a bait for bears”). With their bellies packed, men and dogs went on the next day, toward Hell Gate.

  As they feared, it was tough going there, so much so that Sverdrup thought of giving up. Hell Gate was a chaotic jumble of ice pressed right against sheer cliffs. Above them, there was only a narrow ice foot, while seaward the waters sped by, churning and whirling with chunks of ice. The only possible way north was along the ice foot. To get to it they had to cut through the pressure ice with picks and spades. In places the ice foot itself had been swept away by landslides or covered with snow slides, so again they hacked and shoveled to clear a path. At critical bottlenecks or precipices they had to unhitch the dogs and haul the heavy loads themselves. At one point a sledge broke loose and slid down the icy slope to the water’s edge, where, by good fortune, it lodged instead of careening off into the water. To retrieve it, they belayed a man down to the sledge and item by essential item hauled the goods up, then the sledge, and then the man.

  Luck also played a part. Once, during the rare stretch when they could speed along, a team of six dogs, sledge, and driver disappeared into a twelve-foot deep hole concealed by snow. Two other teams, right on its heels, took the plunge, so now eighteen dogs, three sledges, and three drivers were all heaped on each other, buried by the resulting cave-in of snow. When dug out by the others, all men and dogs were uninjured, miraculously, and all sledges intact.

  FIGURE 66

  Harbor Fjord, May 27, 1900. Fire! While many of the men were away on sledging trips, the Fram caught fire from flying stove sparks and was almost engulfed before it was put out with buckets of water drawn from springtime pools next to the ship. Fire, not ice, was almost its undoing. This is a later painted rendition by Otto Sinding, as everyone was too busy putting out the fire to take pictures.

  Much to their relief, Hell Gate eventually widened, with currents diminishing, and they were able to move down from the ice foot to the smoother sea ice to keep going north. By evening they had come to what they named “Land’s End,” where the coast of Ellesmere turned northeastward. Across Hell Gate, the land (a presumed island) veered off to the west. Before them spread a wide and open bay, with floes, bergs, polynias (open patches), and islands in the distance. Just beyond Land’s End they camped for the night, at newly named “Fourth Camp,” and continued the next morning. It was now March 27, a week after they left the Fram.

  ››› May 27, a day of soaking mist and raining needles of ice and slow but steady progress for the travelers, would be quite different for those on the Fram. Theirs was one of smoke and fire and panic and near catastrophe.

  It was noon. Simmons was walking topside, “deep in thought,” when he noticed the big canvas awning over the deck was smoldering, apparently set by sparks from the galley stovepipe. The other eight men on board (the supply party had returned by then), rushing up to his alarm, arrived as the furled mainsail burst into flames. Just as quickly the fire sped down through the awning to the deck, to a stack of dry wood and fifteen kayaks, whose skins had been waterproofed with highly flammable paraffin. The kayaks caught fire, engulfed in a billowing cloud of smoke. The fire spread up the mainmast, burning the rope running tackle as it went. The deck became hotter and hotter. On deck not far from the fire were cases of gunpowder and a fifty-gallon tank of fuel alcohol. If the flames reached these, they would explode and destroy the Fram in one great cataclysm. The men were able to drag the powder cases to safety but could not reach the tank of fuel. Fortunately, it was spring and pools of water had formed around the ship from which the men feverishly scooped bucket after bucket, passed them up, and threw them, “hissing and steaming,” on the deck.

  They managed to extinguish the fire within half an hour. Despite the intense heat, the fuel tank had held, though the sides had buckled. Among the losses were all the kayaks, many skis, lumber, the main boom and gaff, the mainsail, its running rigging and some blocks, and many prepared skins of musk ox and polar bear. All these could be replaced or repaired, thanks to the well-stocked supplies, and most important, the hull, decks, and mainmast had escaped serious damage. In a few words in New Land, Sverdrup summarized their relief: “The Fram, our only bit of Norway up there in all that solitude, was saved.”

  All thanks to a cogitating botanist who was just out to get some air, a man used to noticing little things. Could it be in gratitude to him that Sverdrup later named the huge peninsula—bounded by Goose Fjord and Hell Gate all the way to Fourth Camp—“Simmons Peninsula,” where they had been when the fire broke out? It would certainly be recognition well placed, for where would they all be if it were not for Simmons and his discerning eye?

  ››› The sledgers traveled four more days before Sverdrup decided it was time to move to the second phase of the plan. He could only work off hunches and well-educated guesses based on what they had seen so far. The mountains in the far west were likely on North Cornwall Island, discovered in 1852 by the British explorer Edward Belcher as he searched for the lost Franklin expedition. The great cleft in the land to the east he thought might be the entrance to a sound leading north to Greely Fjord, which was discovered by Adolphus Greely’s overland expedition and the source of the huge icebergs floating in the bay, as they had not yet seen any glaciers where they had been. So while they had the time and means, they would try to confirm or deny these assumptions.

  FIGURE 67

  Ivar Fosheim at the cairn set at the northernmost extent reached on Axel Heiberg Land, May 5, 1900, while on a sledge trip with Sverdrup. At that point in the expedition, they did not know that Axel Heiberg and Ellesmere were separate islands.

  The teams split up. Sverdrup-Fosheim and I
sachsen-Hassel continued northward, more or less together until they, too, would separate to investigate different sectors of the coastline. Schei-Hendriksen, assisted by Baumann-Stolz, would make a big loop, island hopping on sea ice through this unknown territory: back to Bear Fort via Hell Gate to pick up equipment; on to North Kent Island; then north to the islands they had seen from Fourth Camp; and finally across the sea ice near to where they were now, Little Bear Cape at the western edge of a mountainous peninsula of Ellesmere.

  An ordeal described by Sverdrup in New Land, over many days the two northern teams plodded across the sea ice of the bay, burdened with heavy loads; struggling in bad weather and poor sledging conditions; and resolvedly steering toward “the black wall of rock ahead,” imposing cliffs that revealed themselves when the snowstorms abated or fog lifted. When they finally came close to the cliffs, they found a long, straight shoreline to the west, while to the east openings of what appeared to be big fjords or sounds. This broad landmass, heretofore unknown, they named “Axel Heiberg Land” (after their important sponsor); and its dramatic western terminus, “Cape Southwest.” They headed there, through more bad weather and tough ice, and finally rounded it and continued north, following the coast as it wandered into and out of large bays.

  The day after Easter, 1900, the weather cleared and Sverdrup took the opportunity to climb a tall pressure ridge to take a look across the ice and get his bearings. “While I was standing up there,” he wrote in New Land, “scanning the country, I suddenly became aware of something grayish-blue far away in the west. What could it be? New land? Yes, yes, it was!” What kind of land, island, or remote headland of Ellesmere it was, he could not tell from so far away. Whatever it was, he knew it was not on any maps and had never before been seen by explorers.

  Then and there Sverdrup modified his plan. Isachsen-Hassel would go off to investigate this new land and then return to where they were now, “Good Friday Bay,” to see if there were any routes inland back to the Fram. If they found none, they would move on to search the wide sounds or fjords they had seen on their way north. Sverdrup-Fosheim would soldier on north from here, to reach the limit of what they hoped was Axel Heiberg Island, circumnavigating it before ice breakup, when sledge travel back to the Fram would be utterly miserable if not impossible.

  Soldier on they did. For almost three weeks they labored their way north, across tossed-up, fractured old ice, while pushing over snow that was either too fine or too wet for the sledges to glide; disoriented by fog; and being lashed and pummeled by storms. They went up on the ice foot, down on sea ice. On the rare clear days they would see what they were facing, an endless repetition of mountains ahead, a coastline always sweeping in huge meanders or cut by fjords they needed to cross to save time. They were sometimes confined to their tent for days, either pinned down by wicked snowstorms or blinded by the sun when it glared off the unrelieved whiteness. They had lightened their loads by casting off dog food, thinking they could find game. But they saw no game, big or little, and hardly a trace of it, and the dogs grew weaker by the day.

  Sverdrup and Fosheim realized they had to stop before it was too late. They built a rock cairn, tucked in a written record of their trip, and planted a Norwegian flag on its summit, marking the spot of their furthest north, 80°55’. They walked along the shore a few more miles, for the satisfaction of reaching 81°. There they saw, or so believed, the eastward-curving end of Axel Heiberg Island, fifteen or so miles away.

  Fosheim managed to shoot one hare, the only game they had had for over a month. That night they celebrated their accomplishment: a feast of one hare leg apiece, while the rest went to the twelve dogs, some so ravenous they had earlier eaten away at their leather muzzles and harnesses.

  17 ›HELL GATE & THE CAVE OF ICE

  Otto Sverdrup and Ivar Fosheim worked south the way they had come, picking up the dog food that had been unloaded, while always hoping to see game that never showed. On May 16, one day ahead of their estimated schedule, they reached Good Friday Bay, where they had parted company with Gunnar Isachsen and Sverre Hassel. There they found a note from them saying they had returned from their westward trip on April 28, after finding that the new land Sverdrup saw was indeed an island. Then, according to instructions, they had searched the fjords north but found no way through, so proceeded south, to see what lay east of Axel Heiberg Land.

  Sverdrup and Fosheim left Axel Heiberg Land at Cape Southwest and went directly across the bay ice to Fourth Camp, on the way killing a bear, which was much-needed food for the dogs and themselves. At Land’s End they found a note and map from Victor Baumann, describing an overland route to the Fram that he and Oluf Raanes had found, while running from Reindeer Bay in Hell Gate to Goose Fjord. Sverdrup and Fosheim thought they would go that way.

  The day was beautiful and warm, and the going easy, as the two rode their sledges, one behind the other, south toward Reindeer Bay. They went down the middle of Hell Gate to take advantage of smoother ice and avoid the pressure ridges along the shore. Suddenly, Sverdrup noticed the ice under the sledges was no longer white but dark blue, and the layer of snow atop it had melted. In an instant he realized what was happening. Hell Gate’s powerful currents were gnawing at the ice from below, and now only inches separated them from the rushing, lethal waters under the surface. Immediately he turned the dogs toward land. The dogs, seeming to comprehend the danger, ran as fast as they could, without urging, as their feet and sledge runners began sinking into the slush. With Fosheim’s team charging right behind Sverdrup’s, they all made it safely to the edge. From where they landed, they saw to the south that the sound was open and ice free. They had turned just short of where the ice ended and the hell of Hell Gate began.

  After camping the night at Reindeer Bay, they set out inland, using Baumann’s sketch map as their guide. It began well, but in the thick fog of the day, they took a wrong turn after crossing over the height of land and descended into a different, narrowing valley. Eventually they came to where they were stopped by a valley-filling glacier. There was no way around, and turning back would be terribly long and exhausting.

  Sverdrup had an idea. A river had flowed downhill in this valley, so surely it must have cut through the wall of ice somewhere. He looked around and found just that place, a big hole, the beginning of a high-roofed tunnel through the glacier. On the floor of the tunnel were big blocks of ice that had fallen from the roof and walls, some recently. This was a possible way out, yes, but at what risk of being stuck, crushed, or buried alive?

  Sverdrup went back to Fosheim to tell him of his find and ponder what to do. The first thing they did, in true explorer fashion, was to have a hot bowl of soup and a cigar. Afterward, mulling it over, they decided to go through the tunnel, allowing extra distance between each other so a falling block would not likely hit both. In Sverdrup’s words in New Land,

  I shall not forget the moment when we entered the tunnel. Brave I did not feel I openly confess it; in fact, I was afraid, rather than otherwise. And yet it was not fear that had most hold on me, but rather an uneasy feeling of awe. Here were lofty vaults and spaciousness between the walls. From the roof hung threateningly above our heads gigantic blocks of ice, seamed and cleft and glittering sinisterly; and all around were icicles like steel-bright spears, and lances piercing downwards on us. Along the walls were grotto after grotto, vault after vault, with pillars and capitals in rows like giants in rank; and over the whole shone a ghost-like bluish-white light which became deeper and gloomier as we went on. It was like fairyland, beautiful and fear-inspiring at the same time; it was like driving straight into Soria Moria Castle [in a Norwegian fairy tale], the castle “east of the sun, and west of the moon,” the most glorious of them all.

  I dared not speak. It seemed to me that in doing so I should be committing a deed of desecration; I felt like one who has impiously broken into something sacred which Nature had wished to keep closed to every mortal eye. I felt mean and contemptible as I drove throug
h all this purity. The sledges jolted from block to block, awakening thundering echoes in their passage; it seemed as if all the spirits of the ice had been aroused and called to arms against the intruders on their church-like peace.

  I breathed more freely when I saw a glimpse of daylight in the distance, and so probably did Fosheim. We looked at one another. It is very wonderful, now and again, to come right under the mighty hand of Nature.

  Over a century later, two other men, veteran Ellesmere traveler Jerry Kobalenko and his companion, would find and enter this same subglacial passageway, the first since Sverdrup and Fosheim. Though the glacier had shrunk and retreated into the valley, and the ceiling of the cave inside was fallen in places, Kobalenko sensed the still-magical sanctity there, and his own humility within it; Sverdrup tried to convey this humility, feelings that dissolved the gap of one hundred years and brought them side by side.

  ››› After emerging from the tunnel, Sverdrup and Fosheim descended the valley, to find it ended at Walrus Fjord. The next day they made their way across the isthmus to Goose Fjord and then around the eastern headland to Bear Fort, arriving in midmorning, but still in time to rouse somnolent Commandant Edvard Bay. Just two days earlier he had played host to Per Schei and Peder Hendriksen on their way back to the Fram from their reconnaissance of western lands and islands. Now here were Sverdrup and Fosheim, a richness of company.