One of the most celebrated and exciting of all books on Antarctic exploration. Cherry-Garrard was the youngest member of the ill-fated 1912 expedition of Robert Falcon Scott to the South Pole, and he later wrote this authoritative account of Scotts race against the Norwegian, Roald Amundsen, to be the first to reach the Pole, and of its disastrous outcome.
This is (in my opinion) the best book ever written on arctic exploration !
Some quotings:
And when the worst came to the worst their strenght of mind triumphed over their weakness of body.
If you want a good polar traveller get a man without too much muscle, with good physical tone, and let
his mind be on wires - of steel. And if you can't get both, sacrifice physique and bank on will.
Dog-driving is the devil! Before I started, my language would not have shamed a Sunday School, and now -
if it were not Sunday I would tell you more about it.
12 November, 1912.
Lat. 79° 50' S.
This Cross and Cairn are erected over the bodies of Capt. Scott, C.V.O., R.N.; Dr E. A. Wilson, M.B.,
B.A. Cantab.: Lt. H. R. Bowers, Royal Idian Marines. A slight token to perpetuate their gallant and successful
attempt to reach the pole. This they did on 17th January 1912 after the Norwegian expedition had already done
so. Inclement weather and lack of fuel was the cause of their death.
Also to commorerate their two gallant comrades, Capt. L. E. G. Oates of the Inniskilling Dragoons, who
walked to his death in a blizzard to save his comrades, about 18 miles south of this position; also of Seaman Edgar
Evens, who died at the foot of the Beardmore Glacier.
The Lord gave and the Lotd taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
Relief Expdition.
(Signed by all memeber of the party.)
There was some discussion as to the inscription, it being urged that there should be some quotation from
the Bible because 'the woman think a lot of these things'. But I was glad to see the concluding line of
Tennyson's 'Ulysses' adopted: 'To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield.'
The victim was a third penguin. He was without a mate, but this was an opportunity to get one.
With all the speed his little legs could compass he ran to and fro, taking stones from the deserted next,
laying them beneath a rock, and hurrying back for more. On that same rock was my friend. When the
visctim came up with his stone he had his back turned. But as soon as the stone was laid and the other
gone for more, he jumped down, seized it with his beak, ran round, gave it to his wife and was back on
the rock (with his back turned) before you can say Killer Whale. Every now and then he looked over his
shoulder, to see where the next stone might be.
I watched this for twenty minutes. All the time, I do not know for how long before, that wretched bird was
bringing stone after stone. And there were no stones there. Once he looked puzzled, looked up and swore
at the back of my friend on the rock, but immediately he came back, and he never seemed to think he had
better stop. It was getting cold, and I went away: he was coming for another.