Always Cross at Right Angles – Ben Hodges
As soon as the weight of the first dog dragged the next two with her I knew that the whole team was going to go. The sledge would follow unless we did something quick. I yelled desperately,
“Turn it over Mike”
The day had started badly enough as it was with wind, drifting snow and no landmarks visible. I say day, but it was nine p.m. in the evening when we broke camp and the sun would be shining somewhere above the flying snow and would still be shining at nine the next morning. I had known better Antarctic summers “Wish it would stop blowing for a few minutes so that we could check our position, don’t reckon much on the compass course that we’re steering.”
“Neither do I Mike. Don’t fancy the ’short cut’ to base over the edge of the Plateau. At least it would be an ‘Antarctic first’, two or three thousand feet straight down”.
Mike, the sledge party leader, smiled grimly through his icicle festooned beard. It was the last day of a 1,000 mile trip that had lasted 4 months.
My last trip as a ‘dog driver’ for BAS was going to be unforgettable. Ian, with the ‘Spartans’ dog team and Ron with the ‘Giants’ were tucked in close behind my team, the ‘Moomins’, so as not to lose the tracks. I wondered what the two working passengers, Pete and Tony were thinking. Probably something like ‘what a way to earn a PhD in Geophysics and Geology.’
We trotted steadily on, peering as far ahead of the dogs as was possible and trying to pick up the survey pole that we had left on a previous trip. We had to find this because it marked the only descent route, the four miles of twisting glacier and ice-falls that had taken us ten days to climb, with heavy loads, months previously. If all went well on the way down it should take us no longer than half an hour to reach the safety of the lower glacier.
We had enough dog food, man food and fuel for the primus to last five days and this would easily stretch to ten in an emergency. Only twenty-one miles to base now and it would be a bitter disappointment if we couldn’t make it in one go.
“Pull away dogs nearly there” and then Mike pointed up ahead and a little to the left with a gloved fist. I still couldn’t see anything but the team had and surged forward. They had spotted the marker pole before me. A long drawn out “Aah now” brought them under control and we came gratefully to a halt.
The route, still out of sight, lay directly in front and below us. The first section was going to be a very sharp downward plunge, with a steady turn to the right which would bring us out onto a steep and heavily crevassed traverse about a mile long.
“If we keep high up on the traverse Mike we should be above most of the crevasses and can then cut directly down the slope and can then cross the rest of ‘em at right angles. It should go ‘OK’ so let’s fix the brakes and get moving.”
We wrapped as many ropes and chains around the sledge runners as we thought would hold the load in check and prevent the sledge over-running the dogs. As an added precaution I fastened ‘Harvey’ and ‘Eccles’ to the sides of the s1edge on long traces. They were the strongest and slowest in my team and would be the first to be run down if the loaded sledge got out of control.
Ron and Ian were fixing brakes as well and we decided upon a five minute interval between each sledge starting, so as to give each other time to remove the brakes and continue on the long traverse. A ‘pile up’ would be a bad thing down there.
All set now. “Ready Mike, here we go. Up dogs, weet.”
We were over the steeply sloping brow and bouncing down the first slope at a terrifying speed. I had all the weight and strength I could muster on the sledge foot brake and Mike was standing on the uphill sledge runner, trying to prevent a capsize.
Still we ploughed on, and when the sledge hit a high spot, both us and the sledge would fly through the air to come crashing down nearly in the middle of the dogs, making them keep up their mad floundering gallop.
This rushing nightmare lasted for two long minutes and then the foot-brake began to take effect, the spike biting into the odd patch of hard, blue ice. The dogs were now able to take the slack out of their traces and stay well clear.
Now a gradual turn to the right and we could stop at the beginning of the traverse.
When we stopped, the brakes were hastily removed and the steel ‘keels’ lowered through the sledge runners to prevent the sledge side-slipping down the slope we were now about to cross. With ‘Harvey’ and ‘Eccles’ restored to their places I uttered an apprehensive “up dogs” and we were away once again.
Two things in our favour now. Our speed was under control and we had left the wind and drifting snow a few hundred feet above us, and although it was still difficult to pick out the surface features, visibility was much improved. “Can’t see many crevasses in front so we must be well above them. Wish these damn keels would hold better though.” The sledge kept edging broadside down the slope and out of line with the pulling team. This slight annoyance to our forward progress was to save us from a very nasty accident.
Nearly at the end of the traverse now, and soon we’d ready to turn sharply down hill onto the flatter part of the run down. Then the dreadful thing that I had seen often before, happened. ‘Dot’ my lead dog, disappeared from view. When the pair behind her followed it was only then that I saw the very taint line of the crevasse. We were travelling along the crevasse and right on top of the weak snow bridge that covered it.
The worst situation possible. As the other three pairs of dogs dropped from view in quick succession, the combined weight of Mike and myself managed to topple the sledge onto its side. Thank God the sledge had slid slightly below the direction the crevasse was running in and was on solid ice.
The jerk produced by all the dogs reaching the end of the running trace dragged it a couple of feet nearer to the hole and then one of the handlebars dug in and it stopped.. So did my reasoning for a few seconds.
My whole team, that I thought of as fellow travellers, lost in one go! Then I realised that Mike was hammering the metal pickets into the ice to stop the sledge going any closer. With a tight, empty feeling inside I crept to the edge and looked down. They were still all there in their harnesses, swinging and howling helplessly 30 feet down this trap that disappeared into blue and then black.
For me it was a horrible sight but with no definite plan in mind I scrambled back to the sledge and we started pulling out the climbing ropes.
“Must find my crampons.” Everything was hard to extract from the sledge because it was almost upside down.
Finally finding them and getting them strapped to my boots calmed me down a little and I realised we could not do anything until the other lads caught up with us. We needed a sledge to bridge the gap directly above the hanging team so that I could be lowered.
“Where in hell are the others? Ron should be on the traverse and Ian starting his descent.”
The dogs were still howling pitifully at their predicament and, to make matters worse, when we peered over the edge again two of them were fighting furiously in mid-air.
Shouting down at them above all the howls and screams of the others seemed to give them greater intent to tear out each others throats, so with a dreadful helpless feeling I stopped adding to the pandemonium. It was then that I heard Ron calling to his dogs. There he was now, pulling uphill off my tracks and onto safer ground.
“Quick Ron, we need your sledge over here.” He took in the situation at once and started picketing the team off his sledge while Pete hurriedly flung the load into the snow.
As soon as it was unloaded, they gingerly pushed it towards the gap between us and we grabbed the front as it touched our side. A few seconds later it was securely spiked to the ice and we had extra ropes and manpower as Ian and Tony arrived.
The only thing to do was for one of us to go down on a rope, and then have another rope lowered, fasten each dog in turn on the end of this second rope and pull it up to the surface. Another quick look down the gaping hole forced a groan out of my already sorely tried lungs. Two of the harnesses were empty!
‘Aramis’ and ‘Eccles’, the two that had been fighting had disappeared. My greatest fear was becoming a reality. The more their struggles increased so did the danger of them falling out of harness. Too late to worry about the lost pair now, there were the others still hanging but now thankfully a little quieter.
There was still a great need for speed.
“As long as they stay still we’ll get them out O.K.” said Ian, taking a turn round the sledge with the rope I was to descend on.
Tying two loops in the end of the rope for my feet and securing myself to the rope with a carabiner fastened to a loop around my chest, I eased out onto the sledge and told the lads to take my weight. I had been forced to remove my gloves during the preparations and my fingers were getting numb. Good job it was summer, although at this altitude the temperature was well below freezing. no chance of frostbite. At least I hope not.
The dogs, though still quiet were beginning to struggle again, but I soon reached the first two who were only a few feet below the lip of the crevasse. The next move had been anticipated and down came the second rope with a carabiner on the end and onto this went the first dog. Up he went to safety and down came the rope again for his partner.
“Down a bit more fellows.” The next pair of harnesses were empty. Poor old dogs. A fine reward for pulling a heavy sledge for years on end. The next four dogs were taken out as smoothly as the first two, but now it was getting difficult for me to get a grip on the icy walls with my crampons. As the crevasses deepened so it became wider and I was now unable to reach either of the vertical walls with my feet.
Reaching the last dog I took a few seconds off to peer down into the blackness and there, lying on the only piece of ice that was wedged between the walls were ‘Aramis’ and ‘Eccles’.
Relief had been steadily growing as each dog was hauled to safety but now, realising that I might not lose any of my dogs, I was overjoyed. They must have fallen a good thirty feet and were both so still that I feared they had broken legs or worse.
My arms and legs were getting very tired and my knees trembling as I fastened ‘Dot’, the leader, onto the rope.
“First to fall and left hanging the longest. What a rotten job yours is Dot. Up you go lass.” The look she gave me was a complete agreement as she spiralled upwards to the waiting arms at the top. Now for ‘Aramis’ and ‘Eccles’. This took me down to about 70 feet. Both were conscious and, after a short exploration of bone, I found them O.K. although plenty bloody from their mid-air battle.
‘Aramis’ was easy to send up but ‘Eccles’, being heavier and shaped like a square barrel, needed special treatment.
Using two harnesses, as though he had a head at each end, solved the problem.
It was nothing short of a miracle that they landed on this small ‘ice island’, about 4 square yards. Had they missed it then, even surviving the unthinkable fall to the bottom, rescue would have been impossible.
Up ‘Eccles’ went and that left just me. I looked up to the crack of grey light and could make out the round, black featureless blobs along the edge, as my friends returned my gaze. I also noticed for the first time the huge icicles that hung from the irregular walls. I supposed it was a very beautiful place but all I could think of was “what if one of them should break off now. Some of them must weigh a hundredweight.”
I was very tired now and, without my comrades at the top. I would have been hard pressed to get even half way up under my own steam. My twelve stones were heaved higher and higher and where the crevasse narrowed I helped all I could by taking my own weight.
They pulled me over the edge unceremoniously, and I lay on the snow exhausted. The whole operation had taken us one hour.
There was still two thirds of the route to cover before we reached the comparative safety of the lower glacier and the final stretch into base, and we were all on edge as we harnessed the dogs and loaded sledge well clear of the now rather insignificant looking hole that had caused us so much anxiety. All of us had seen bigger and more frightening ones but we had seen them before we were onto them. The ones that were big enough to swallow a double decker bus, and without any exaggeration, many of them were of this awesome size, we considered the safest.
The rest of the trip down was too exciting by far what with sledges capsizing and more crevasses to navigate, but we reached the bottom with no further trouble, a feeling of great relief, and worn out rope brakes.
The last fourteen miles to the luxuries of the base hut were a ‘doddle’ and we talked about other moments of the last few months. The other many crevasse incidents, the total eclipse of the sun we were fortunate enough to see, the time when we camped on the ANTARCTIC CIRCLE and joked about ‘tearing along the dotted line’ and many more memories that were going to stay with us for ever.
A lot of crevasses were crossed on the lower glacier but from now on it was always – ‘ALWAYS CROSS AT RIGHT ANGLES’
Ben Hodges, Stonington – GA – 1962 & 1963