The most important matter for a novice is to learn how best to attach his ski to his feet. There are various ways in which this can be done. In all alike the attachment is such that the foot can be freely bent and the heel raised, while the fore part of the foot is kept firmly in contact with the ski. The roughest attachment is a mere loop or strap of leather, fastened to the two sides of the ski, and gripping the front part of the foot. This, however, permits the foot to wobble, a most disagreeable condition for a beginner. Such fastenings were all that Nielsen and Svensen used, and they seemed quite comfortable with them. The common binding, and the best for a traveller, is more complicated. The broad strap, going over the fore part of the foot, is divided longitudinally on each side about the level of the sole. Through the two loops thus formed there passes a stout piece of cane covered with leather, the middle of which goes round the back of the foot near the heel, whilst the two ends are brought forward and drawn together in front of the toe, where they are fastened down firmly to the wood of the ski. This fastening has to be adjustable, so that the cane loop may be drawn close against the heel. There are several sorts of adjustment; one is shown in the illustration. Another, perhaps better, is a kind of vice that opens and shuts by a screw; it grips the two ends well and enables either of them to be pushed forward ahead of the other. A small strap, sewn on to the back of the boot, low down, holds the cane in place. The same result may be less well attained by using an additional strap that passes both under and above the instep, and is sewn on both sides to the leather covering of the cane. This form of attachment is usually employed by winter skisters in the Alps. For advancing over level ground, all the fastenings may be loose; but for hill climbing they need to be tight, so that the feet are firmly attached to the ski and can direct them with certainty. Beginners will certainly find tightly-attached ski much easier than loose to walk or glissade on.
The next question is that of footgear. For moderate cold, such as you meet with in summer in the arctic regions, ordinary climbing boots do well enough; but leather Lapp shoes are better. These seem to be known by different names. I find them called “pjäxa-schuhe” in a Swedish-German catalogue, which mentions two qualities, Norrbotten (price 8s. 6d.), and Norwegian (price 14s. 6d.). A particular kind of band is made, called a pjäxband, a kind of putti, for winding round the top of the boot to keep out snow.
Within these leather boots thick goathair stockings should be worn. So far as I know, they can only be purchased in Norway and Sweden, the price varying according to the length. For very great cold, such as that of arctic winter, shoes of reindeer fur, stuffed out with hay, are required. The adjustment of ski to these is a less simple matter, for if the hay is badly packed the cane is likely to rub against the heel and produce a painful raw.
One more part of the equipment for skiing has yet to be mentioned. It is the staff. Racing skisters use two sticks, one in each hand, but for glissading the two have to be held together like a single staff. To facilitate this, there are specially constructed staves made to fit together. The ordinary ski-staff is provided with a kind of plate near the spike, to prevent the point penetrating too far into soft snow, and to give resistance for a push off. Travellers using ski in mountain regions will probably find it best to carry an ordinary ice-axe and make shift with it. An axe is far less convenient than a longer bamboo staff, for mere purposes of skiing, but its other uses, when ski are laid aside on steepening slopes where real climbing is required, overbalance its obvious defects. It would be easy to devise some form of small, circular plate to slip over the point of the axe a little way up the stick, and wedge there, quickly removable when the axe is required for step-cutting.
The skister’s equipment is really simple enough, but its various parts are not easily purchasable in England. The following manufacturers of ski showed exhibits at the Stockholm Exhibition of 1897: Helmer Langborg, 6 Birger-Jarlsgatan, Stockholm (who also sells the various kinds of boots, goathair stockings, gloves, pjäxbands, &c.); L. H. Hagen & Co., of Christiania; L. Torgensen & Co., of Christiania (who also make arctic sledges); Langesund Skifabrik, Langesund, Norway (a very good exhibit); Fritz Huitfeldt, of Christiania (gold medal at the principal Norwegian show for ski). I give this list of names quite ignorantly, just as I copied them down. I have no knowledge about the estimation in which they are held, their relative expensiveness, or anything else concerning them. One or two of these firms issue priced catalogues, which, I suppose, may be obtained on application. Ski are also made and sold in Austria; they will be found advertised in the publications of the German and Austrian Alpine Club. Ski of this make are sold in winter at the chief Alpine centres, but they are very inferior to ski of Scandinavian manufacture.
Little need be said about how to learn the use of ski, but one or two hints, even from so poor a performer as the present writer, may be suggestive to an absolute novice. The first desideratum is to fasten the ski properly to the feet, so that the boards run truly with the feet, not with an independent motion of their own. The trouble at first is to keep the two ski constantly parallel with one another, and in the direct line of advance. People whose habit is to turn out their toes in walking, however slightly, will find themselves constantly impeded by that trick. To keep the ski parallel, the feet must be parallel. The motion is not one of walking but of shuffling. The ski are not raised from the ground, but merely pushed forward, the knees being kept bent, and the action resembling a sort of easy run. If the snow is in good condition, the ski will slide forward a little at the end of each step. The use of a staff or a pair of staves is to prolong the distance of this sliding. If a staff is used it is grasped in both hands and thrust into the snow on one side every time the foot on that side is advanced. If two staves are used, one in each hand, each is thrust back (like a walking-stick) against the snow, turn about, the left when the left foot is advanced, and vice versâ. Another way is to take three quick steps and to thrust with both staves at the moment of the fourth step. Yet another trick is to thrust with both staves at every third step; this changes the foot each time, but is more difficult. About four miles an hour is an average kind of pace on the flat with fairly good snow. Fifty kilometres in 4h. 20m. 17.5sec. was, I believe, the record for flat racing two or three years ago.
The ascent of hills on ski involves new problems. If the snow be soft enough for the ski to sink into it about half-an-inch, and if the slope be gentle, there is no difficulty in walking straight up. If the slope gradually and steadily steepens, there will come a point at which the ski no longer hold, but slide backward when the weight of the body is thrown upon them. The beginner must then zigzag, pressing the edge of the ski into the slope but, otherwise advancing as on the flat. This is easy enough; the trouble comes at the angles of turning, where his legs are almost sure to slide asunder, or he will tread with one ski on the other. In turning round, even on the flat, it is at first no easy matter to avoid fastening one ski down by treading on it with the other. You should begin turning by moving the foot which is on the side towards which you are going to turn; keep the legs well apart and make the rear ends of the ski the approximate centre of rotation. In turning round on a hillside it is easier to turn with the face, rather than the back, towards the hill. Another way of walking uphill in suitably soft snow is to turn the toes well out and lift each ski over the other; this is more difficult than zigzagging. In very steep places neither method can be applied; you have to advance sideways with the ski kept horizontal, an easy but slow method of progression.
Downhill the real fun begins, and the difficulty of maintaining the balance becomes serious. The weight must be thrown forward, the knees kept bent, and the staff, or pair of staves held as one, used as in glissading. The ski must be kept strictly parallel and close together, with one foot a little in advance of the other. The problem is to adjust the balance to every varying degree of slope and alteration in the slipperiness of the snow. Such alterations have to be foreseen and prepared for. The beginner must expect to fall often on hands and knees and to sit down with undesirable frequency when he least expects. He will find it much easier to fall than to rise again. He should practice glissading on a gentle slope, then on a steeper. Slopes that he finds too steep for direct descent can be negotiated by zigzags, but much time will be lost at the turns.
Whether ski could be advantageously used in summer in the Alps is doubtful. The ascent, still more the descent, of Mont Blanc between the Grands Mulets and the Vallot Hut would certainly be facilitated by them, but they are unsuited even for a broad snow-arête. Agreeable, however, as ski would be on any snowfield, and valuable as a protection against concealed crevasses, they are far too heavy to be carried by a mountaineering party for incidental use. Still they might be employed with advantage in certain places. For example, if a party of climbers were to make the Concordia Hut the centre for a week’s climbing, they could not do better than provide themselves with ski. Thus equipped, all the surrounding mountains, anywhere between the Lötschenlücke and the Oberaarjoch, would be brought within their easy reach. The new Monte Rosa Hut would likewise be an excellent ski centre, and so would the Becher Hut by the Übelthal Glacier in the Stubai Mountains of Tirol. For winter climbing in the Alps ski have already established their utility. I understand that several of the easy Oberland passes, such as the Strahleck, have been crossed on them, whilst at lower levels their value is even more obvious. Whether ski-running will ever attain in western and central Europe the rank as a sport which it holds in Norway and Sweden is a question that only the future can decide.
CHAPTER XII
GEOGRAPHICAL RESULTS
Before taking leave of the reader it seems advisable to indicate briefly the general geographical results of our two seasons of exploration in the interior of Spitsbergen, and to state what is now known about the structure of the surface of one of the most interesting areas of arctic land. On Nordenskiöld’s chart, the best map of Spitsbergen existing at the time when we began our labours, both Garwood Land and King James Land are described as covered with “inland ice.” Now, if the phrase “inland ice” merely means glaciers, so that it may be correctly applied to the glaciers of any district of snow-mountains, such as the Alps or Caucasus, it is a useless phrase, and ought to be abolished. Most persons of whom I have inquired receive from it a different impression, and judge it to be descriptive of a complete and continuous icy mantle enveloping a whole country, as Greenland, for instance, is enveloped. In fact, Nansen, in his book on Greenland, always uses the term “inland ice” to describe the great interior ice-covering. “Ice-sheet” is apparently a better descriptive term for such a mantle, and I shall accordingly so employ it. The term “inland-ice,” being essentially vague, should, I think, be erased from geographical literature, or only used as an indefinite term for the land-ice of an unexplored region, the exact nature of which is unknown. As long as a flowing body of land-ice is contained within definite watersheds and mountain ranges, it is a glacier and not an ice-sheet. The juxtaposition of no matter how many glaciers does not form an ice-sheet, but merely a glacial area. It is necessary to be thus particular in definition because, as has been stated above, neither Garwood Land nor King James Land, nor any large part of Spitsbergen, except New Friesland and North-East Land, is covered by an ice-sheet. They are all merely glacial and mountain areas. The discovery of this fact is the principal geographical result of our second expedition. That it is a not unimportant result I now proceed to demonstrate.
NEW FRIESLAND FROM HINLOOPEN STRAIT.
The old theory that glaciers not only polish but systematically excavate their beds is practically abandoned. Its supporters naturally considered that the larger the mass of ice the more vigorous would be its excavating action. A great arctic ice-sheet was regarded as an extraordinarily powerful excavator. We now know that moving land-ice does not so operate upon its bed, but, beyond polishing the surface of the rock it covers, has mainly a conservative effect upon it. In the case of a country like the interior of Greenland, wholly buried under ice, the buried land-surface undergoes modelling to a very slight degree, except round the coast. On the other hand, in the case of a glacial region, where mountains rise above the mean level, and where rock-faces are exposed to the rapid denudation that takes place at all snowy elevations, great developments of surface-formation are going forward. In the case of an ice-sheet, the forces acting on the land-surface are conservative; in the case of a glacial region, the acting forces are formative. Hence the immense importance of clearly distinguishing between these two types of ice-bearing country.
Without pausing to describe the particular places or views in Spitsbergen that suggested particular conclusions to my mind, let me rather, for briefness, indicate how it seems to me that one or two well-known mountain groups in Europe have been acted on by glaciers—for instance the Mont Blanc and Bernese Oberland ranges. Both, in their present developed condition, have been carved out of more solid masses which may be described as originally wrinkled plateaus, the original wrinkles having been approximately parallel to their length. Of course the denuding forces, whatever they were, operated simultaneously with the elevating forces; but the two may be considered separately for convenience’ sake, and we may speak of the plateau as first elevated and afterwards denuded. It must, however, be understood that during the earlier stages of the elevating process, water, not snow and frost, was the denuding agent. The culminating point of each plateau was approximately in the position of the highest point of the present ranges. The original main drainage must have run along the lines of the wrinkles; now, in both cases, it runs at right angles to that direction.
In order to indicate my meaning, it is not necessary to reconstruct entirely the original form of the plateau and its lines of drainage; one or two instances will suffice. In the case of the Mont Blanc range,[15] I suggest that originally there was a glacier with its head near the present summit of Mont Blanc, having for its left bank a ridge (or plateau-edge), now represented by the Aiguille du Midi and other aiguilles, the Aiguille Verte, the Aiguille du Chardonnet, and the Aiguilles Dorées; whilst its right bank was approximately coincident with the modern watershed as far as Mont Dolent, except between Mont Blanc de Courmayeur and the Tour Ronde, where it has been denuded away. This ancient drainage system has been broken down, and now the snows of the upper reservoirs are all discharged by such glaciers as the Mer de Glace or the Glacier d’Argentière, which cut across one or other of these old containing ridges or plateau-edges. Similarly with the Bernese Oberland, I suggest that the original crinkled plateau was drained along depressions approximately parallel to its length, whereof one was a high glacier basin with its head near the top of the present Finsteraarhorn and flowing W.S.W. over the Grünhornlücke and the Lötschenlücke and down the Lötschenthal. The old watersheds to right and left of this glacier have been driven back by the general disintegration of the plateau-edge, and broken utterly down in various places, so that its snows are now drained away at right angles to its direction by the Great Aletsch and Walliser Viescher glaciers.
In fact, in these cases it is with the glacial drainage as in the Himalayas it is with the rivers. When the great Asiatic plateau was elevated, whereof Tibet alone retains anything approximating to the original surface condition of the whole, the drainage ran off along the hollows in the line of the crinkling of the surface coinciding with the strike of the strata. Now, however, by the operation of rivers eating their way back into the plateau at right angles to the strike of the strata, all the great rivers flow at right angles to their original direction. The Indus was originally a stream no bigger than the Swat River, flowing down the edge of the elevated region. It ate its way through the Nanga Parbat range into the depression which goes on to Gilgit, and thus it stole all the waters of the upper Indus of to-day, which in the remote past, I believe, discharged themselves (over a high region since excavated into mountain ranges) into the Kunar River, and before that into the Oxus. Similarly the Gilgit River has eaten back through the Rakipushi range and stolen the waters of the Hispar-Hunza valley and the Hunza stream has eaten back through the Boiohaghurdoanas range, and so reached the Kilik Pass. It is noticeable that, in each case, the river has broken its way through a range in the immediate proximity of its highest peak, that is to say, just where the fall and gathering of snow has been greatest and the denudation most energetic.
In the case of rivers the eating back process is well recognised and understood. It is not really the work of the river, but it is accomplished by the various forces of atmospheric denudation, by frost and thaw, by avalanches and so forth, all taking place about the head-waters of the stream. I suggest that, under the action of similar forces, glaciers likewise creep back, and that the modelling of snow-mountains out of high plateaus is largely due to this process. According to this theory, though glaciers do not excavate their beds to any great extent, they widen them by carrying away the results of atmospheric and other denudation, and similarly they eat back at their heads. The most striking examples of this process I have seen are in Garwood Land. There, far in the interior, are a series of cliffs, several hundred feet in height. What the origin of these cliffs may have been is immaterial to the question under consideration. They form the front of the remains of the old plateau, which is being and has been eaten away. At the foot of the cliffs are the snowfields of the great glaciers which flow thence in a south-east direction to the head of Wybe Jans Water. By the melting of the snows above the cliffs and on their ledges, and by the action of frost and thaw, the rocks are rapidly broken up. The débris fall upon the glaciers below, and are carried away. If there were no glaciers in this position, the débris would pile up, a slope would be formed, and would presently reach up to the top of the cliff, and protect it from further denudation. The presence of the glaciers below prevents the débris from collecting. The cliff thus continues its existence, and merely moves backward by a steady progress, just as the cliff retreats over which Niagara falls. Where weaker rocks are encountered, or denudation is locally more energetic, the cliff eats backward more rapidly. An embayment is formed, which tends both to widen and to creep backwards, becoming in time a tributary valley. Of such valley heads which have crept back into the plateau we saw several examples; one in particular I remember in the midst of King James Land, which had annihilated a portion of a mountain range dividing two great glaciers, and had thereby caused what had originally been the chief névé basin of one of these glaciers to drain into the other instead of down its own tongue. When two neighbouring embayments, reaching back from the lower level into a plateau, send arms to join one another, or meet obliquely, a nunatak is formed. The nunatak near our farthest point in Garwood Land was produced in this manner.
BLUFFS OF THE SASSENDAL.
Keenly possessed by the memory of these phenomena, I went recently to Grindelwald, and was immediately struck by the resemblance in character between the great bluffs of the Bernese Oberland—the Eiger, Mettenberg, and Wetterhorn—and the bluffs of Spitsbergen’s Sassendal. The latter, as we know, were formed, and are still in process of development, by means of the torrents draining the snowfields above, which eat away the plateau and cut back into it, thus carving out a row of flat-topped steep-fronted hills that jut forward into the ever-widening main valley. It seemed evident that the ancient Oberland plateau had been similarly cut down, the excavation not having been accomplished by the grinding action of glaciers pushing forward and filing down their beds, but by the action, first, of torrents, before the plateau was elevated above the snowline, afterwards of glaciers; both torrents and glaciers creeping backwards at their heads, where faces of rock are exposed to rapid atmospheric denudation, and the débris that fall are transported to low levels by the movement of the flowing ice.
It was thus, I suggest, that the Upper and Lower Grindelwald glaciers and the Rosenlaui Glacier invaded the plateau and crept back into the heart of the mountain mass, isolating as high individual peaks the Wetterhorn and Schreckhorn. Originally they were “corrie glaciers,” plastered on to the north face of the plateau—just such glaciers, in fact, as is the Guggi Glacier, which lies in the hollow between the Jungfrau and the Mönch. They have crept farther back than it, because they had the better start, but the Guggi Glacier now emulates their former vigorous initiative. The cliffs at its head are being continually broken and worn away by the action of frost. The rocks that fall from them either tumble on to the névé and are carried down or roll into the bergschrund, and so get under the ice, where no doubt they are ground to dust, and may do some excavating in the process. That, however, can only be in the upper regions; lower down, the waters below the glacier are the excavating agent, rather than the glacier itself, except, perhaps, at the edge of some sub-glacial cliff beneath an icefall. In this way the rocks of the north face of the ridge between the Jungfrau and Mönch are being eaten away, and the ridge itself is not merely being lowered, but its crest is being pushed backward towards the south. Every yard of its movement is made at the expense of the Jungfrau Glacier. Let the process go forward for a sufficiently long time, and the area now occupied by the upper basin of the Jungfrau Glacier will be occupied by a snow-basin lying at a lower level, and draining northward down the Guggi Glacier.
Similar, I suggest, was the development of what is now the Great Aletsch Glacier. Originally, according to this theory, the Lötschen Glacier stretched back to the Finsteraarhorn, and had for its left bank a ridge parallel to, but south of, the range of which the Aletschhorn is now the culminating point. The Aletsch Glacier’s original head was on the south face of this range, but the glacier ate its way backwards, its head advanced to the north, finally broke its way right through the range and drew off a portion of the ice of the Lötschen Glacier.[16] The snout of the Lötschen Glacier was thus disconnected from its former névé, and a pass (the Lötschenlücke) was formed between them. The névé, at what is now called the Place de la Concorde, flowed as a great icefall over the remnant of the old left bank of the original glacier. It no doubt deepened and widened the breach, and, as it did so, lowered the level of the snow in the upper reservoir, whose various branches were thus likewise enabled, each in its place, to creep backwards at the expense of the plateau. In this manner were formed the Ewig Schnee Feld, the Jungfrau Firn, and the other névé tributaries of the present great glacier. The great icefall gradually diminished in turbulence as the cliff beneath it was broken and rounded away, till now it is merely represented by the crevassed area just below the Concordia Hut.
If there is any truth in the theory thus briefly propounded, in a form which must be considered altogether incomplete and preliminary, it follows that the distinction I have endeavoured to make between an icesheet and a congeries of glaciers is a distinction of the first importance; for under an icesheet none of the processes are going forward which are vigorously proceeding in a glacial region. The old idea of Spitsbergen was that its interior consisted of a great icesheet, fringed at the edge by a number of boggy valleys and green hillsides. Our explorations have shown the utter falsity of this conception. Let me now briefly indicate the outlines of the true geography of the main island.
Whether at one time the whole island was enveloped in an icesheet which was gradually withdrawn from the west towards the east, or whether the west part of the island has merely been longer raised above the sea than the east part, I do not attempt to determine. At any rate, it seems to be a fact that the forces of denudation have been longer at work, or, at least, more vigorously at work, all down the west part of the island, and that the resulting mountain formation is most developed in the west, and becomes continually less developed as you proceed toward the east. All down the western region you find highly specialised mountain-forms—peaks and ranges of considerable abruptness and marked individuality. As you advance eastward the mountains become generally more rounded, till the original plateau-form, and even parts of the undenuded plateau itself, are encountered.
Bearing in mind this general structure of the land-surface, it will now be easy to describe the character of different parts of the main island. The whole of the north coast, as might be expected, bears evidence of a more rigorous climate than districts further south. This was specially noticed by us when proceeding down Wijde Bay, at whose mouth the snow lay down to sea-level in the month of August, whilst, twenty miles in, the snowline was almost 1000 feet above sea-level. The northern rim, therefore, may be regarded as a separate geographical division. At the north-west angle of the island is a region of very bold mountains and large glaciers. It is well represented by the beautiful and often described Magdalena Bay. Nothing is known about the interior south-east of it, but some old Dutch charts mark a valley leading from the extremity of Mauritius or Dutch Bay up to a sequestered lake in the hills. Whether the draughtsman intended his winding valley and river to represent a glacier and the lake a snowfield, or whether a true lake and river existed here in the eighteenth century, can only be settled by some one going to look.
Passing southward down the west coast, we come to the seven parallel glaciers ending in the sea, known to the whalers as the Seven Icebergs. These all appear to flow down from a high common snowfield which stretches east toward Wood Bay and south almost to the head of Cross Bay. South-eastward this high plateau is broken by a series of névé-valleys, the chief of which discharge themselves towards Ekman and Dickson bays. Their general direction is south-south-east. South of this plateau region comes the mountainous area of King James Land, whose character has been described in this volume. The main watershed runs north and south. A series of parallel glaciers drain south-south-east from it to Ice Fjord. The valley system on the west is less regular, but the glaciers are equally numerous and fine.
The deep north-and-south depression filled by Wijde Bay and Dickson Bay is bordered on the west by a range of mountains, a group of which intrude between and divide the bays. Some of these are of striking form, but no one has ever been amongst them or accurately determined their position. East of the two bays comes the plateau region. Its edge is cut up by a few deep valleys, down which the icesheet of New Friesland sends glacial tongues to Wijde Bay, but east of Dickson Bay the marginal valleys are longer, and no glaciers come out of their mouths. The portion of the plateau between Dickson and Klaas Billen bays is a good deal cut up by deep valleys, such as the Rendal, the Skans valley, and the Mimesdal (all well known to geologists), but there are no large glaciers found upon it. Further east comes a great glaciated area approximating to an icesheet in appearance, but with many exposed faces and peaks of rock. From it several large glaciers flow into the sea, namely, the glacier that ends in the head of East Fjord of Wijde Bay, the glacier that fills a wide valley debouching into Hinloopen Strait opposite the South Waiigat Islands, some more glaciers that empty into Bismarck Strait and that neighbourhood, the series of great glaciers at the head of Wybe Jans Water, and the Nordenskiöld Glacier (specially explored by us) near the head of Klaas Billen Bay. All these glaciers are divided from one another by more or less well-marked watersheds.
The neck of Spitsbergen, which may be defined as bounded on the north by a line from the mouth of Nordenskiöld Glacier to Wiche Bay, and on the south by the Sassendal and the depression across to Agardh Bay, is a district that would well repay exploration, and is easily accessible from the Post Glacier at the head of Temple Bay. Nowhere are better illustrated than here the phenomena of mountain formation by plateau degradation under the action of rivers and glaciers. In the east are the remains of an ice-sheet; in the west are deep and wide glacier and river valleys. Between the two are many mountain ranges, and some peaks of considerable height and abruptness.
A line drawn from the head of Van Keulen Bay to Whales Bay forms the southern limit of the next region to the south—the region that I call Adventure Land, using the old name which in the case of Advent Bay has been clipped of its last syllable in the present century. It is a country of boggy valleys, rounded hills, and relatively small glaciers. Originally it was one large plateau formed of soft, almost horizontally bedded rock, except along its west margin. It has therefore been penetrated by wide valleys radiating in all directions and cut down almost to sea-level. A range of rather fine peaks lies along the west coast; behind them are some large glaciers descending north into Green Harbour and south to the mouth of Low Sound. Then the undulating country begins. Several valleys lead inland from Coles Bay, whilst from Advent Bay starts the Advent Vale with its many branches. From Low Sound a series of boggy valleys strike in to north and south. At the north angle of its head opens the deep valley of the Shallow River (after the Sassendal the largest valley in Spitsbergen), whose upper part has never been explored. The eastward prolongation of Low Sound, which was known to the Dutch as Michiel Rinders Bay is very poorly charted, but we know that at its north angle there is a secluded inner harbour, with a big ramifying valley leading back from it, while at its extreme east corner three large glaciers debouch together. One of these probably connects by a high snowfield with the head of Strong Glacier descending to Whales Bay.
Last comes the south division of the island, over which we had a panoramic view in 1897 from the summit of Mount Hedgehog. Unfortunately a roof of cloud covered the glaciers, and we could only see tops of mountains rising clear above it. The north-west angle of this region was explored in 1897 by Mr. Victor Gatty,[17] who found it to consist of a ring of snowy mountains surrounding the névé of the Fox Glacier, which discharges into the so-called Recherche Bay. A gap or col, south-east of Dunder Bay, separates this group from a range of hills running for some distance south along the coast, and called Roebuck Land. The extremity of these hills abuts against the right foot of Torell Glacier, one upper bay of which rests against the hills immediately south of Recherche Bay, whilst another stretches inland to the east as far as the main watershed of the island. There are one or two other approximately north and south ranges of hills lying west of this watershed. East of it the plateau-character resumes its predominance. The southernmost part of the island, south of Horn Sound, is dignified by the boldest mountain range in the country, that of the Hornsunds Tinder, which lie west of the watershed, and run almost due north and south. East of them are at least two lower parallel ranges, beyond which the ice-covered country seems to dip to the sea.
Of the other islands in the Spitsbergen group, North-East Land is the largest. It is known, from Baron Nordenskiöld’s exploration, to be covered with a true icesheet, the edge of which descends to the sea all along the south-east coast. The north coast and the small islands off it altogether resemble the northern belt of the west island. The west belt is a low undulating region, from which the icesheet has retreated in relatively recent times.
In the sea east of Spitsbergen are two islands whose existence has long been known. They were named Wiche Land, after an old navigator. Walrus hunters have landed on them, but they were first really explored in 1897 by Mr. Arnold Pike.[18] The west island, now called Swedish Foreland, has a high flat-topped backbone. The east island, King Karl’s Land, consists of two hills, about 1,000 feet high, united by a low flat isthmus. There is no ice-sheet on either island and only small unimportant glaciers.
I have never landed on Barents or Edge Islands, though I have seen them from east and from west. Neither possesses an icesheet. Both are practically devoid of glaciers down their west coast, and have large glaciers in the east. The whole of the south-east of Edge Island is occupied by a great glacier ending in the sea. Barents Land has several sharply pointed peaks, but the Edge Island hills are mainly flat-topped, like those along the east coast of the main island.
Prince Charles Foreland now alone remains to be considered. It is very badly represented on the existing chart. At its southern extremity is an isolated hill. Then comes a very flat plain of about fifty square miles, raised but a few feet above sea-level. North of it is a mountain range consisting of fine, sharp snow-peaks. It is cut off on the north by a deep depression, running in a south-west direction from Peter Winter’s Bay, which, though marked south of St. John’s Bay on the chart, lies some miles north of it. North of Peter Winter’s Bay and Valley the mountain range is continued; but the peaks, though fine in form, are not so high as those of the south group, but they send down eastward an almost uninterrupted series of glaciers into Foreland Sound. Further north are yet lower snowy hills, which end in the bold headland called Bird’s Cape or Fair Foreland.
FAREWELL.
APPENDIX
Account of Herr G. Nordenskiöld’s Traverse over the Glaciers from Horn Sound to Bell Sound in 1890.[19]
June 15th, 1890.—At six o’clock in the evening we landed by boat at the foot of Rotges Mount at a spot where a small valley gave access to the mountain above. We imagined that on the other side of this mountain we should meet with the smooth inland ice and that it would extend all the way along to Bell Sound. After taking a hurried farewell of our comrades, we buckled on our ski, put our knapsacks on our backs, and commenced our course up the little valley. When we reached its highest point, however, we found that it was connected with another valley which led down to Horn Sound. We were therefore obliged to climb the face of the mountain on the north side of the valley, which was extremely laborious, because the snow was frozen so hard that we could not use our ski on the steep slope. One of us went in front and stamped holes for the feet in the hard crust—tough work in which we constantly relieved each other. The rest followed in his steps. At midnight we had mounted a ridge, uniting two summits, and here we rested for an hour. The temperature of the air was 28° Fahrenheit and the altitude 994 feet above sea-level.
We continued on the 16th in a northerly direction, but were obliged to stop again after a few hundred steps, because a thick mist shrouded the whole landscape. When, after a little while, this cleared off, we hurried up and descended the other side of the ridge towards a huge glacier. Down this we made good speed and in a short time were close to the smooth snow-slopes. The mountains in this district are built up of the so-called Hekla-Hook strata—hard slates, quartz, and dolomite. The mountains which belong to this system always possess much more precipitous and wilder outlines than those which are built up of the softer rocks belonging to newer formations. Many of the former are probably extremely hard or perhaps impossible to climb; for example, Hornsunds Tind. This is probably the case with many of the steep-pointed peaks around the wide expanse of snow over which we travelled. They gave the landscape a wild and desolate beauty.
In the north, on the other side of the glacier, lay another mountain range with several lofty summits. In the west a heavy bank of fog obscured the view the whole time. Probably the sea would be visible in this direction in fine weather. Sometimes the fog-bank was driven up the glacier by the wind, and enwrapped us so completely that we were obliged to retreat for a time. In the east numerous summits were visible, and the glaciers in this direction did not appear to be connected with the inland ice. The snow-mantle which covered the glacier-ice was perfectly smooth; there was not even a spot to break the dazzling whiteness, not the smallest unevenness on which the eye could find a resting-place. This accounted for one under-rating the distances in this district more than usual, as happened to us in the case of the mountain on the southern (? northern) side, because we thought we only had before us a snow-covered sloping valley, not worth thinking about, which from its depth could not possibly take more than half an hour to traverse. In reality it was only after several hours’ walking that we gained the summit of the opposite ridge.
It was long after midday on the 16th when we reached that summit. The height above the sea at the spot where we crossed was only 2215 feet, but on the east and west were several considerable heights. We attempted to scale one of these which lay nearest to us on the east, so as to obtain an uninterrupted view over the country; but, after we had with great difficulty dug a few hundred steps in the hard surface and crept up so far, it was found impossible to go any farther. We were then 2457 feet above sea level and could easily recognise again from this point the highest point of Hornsunds Tind. The mountains to the west of us seemed to be of considerable height and also easy to ascend. In the north the snow-covered ridge on which we were fell almost precipitously down to a considerable glacier. We were therefore obliged to make a little to the west before we could begin our descent.
Even here the slope was steep and covered with a crust, hard and shining like ice, so that our advance became pretty dangerous to our necks, and ended in our losing our balance and rolling down the slope at top speed without being able to stop. After we had happily reached level ground, collected ourselves, and gathered together our widely scattered baggage, we set forward over the glacier. It sloped gently downwards and promised a connection with the wide field of inland ice in the north-west. A little further down the glacier the outlook became more extended. We had now only a few kilometres left to the inland ice proper,[20] which spread out before us like a level white sheet bounded in the distance by blue peaks. Late in the evening we put up the tent and rested a few hours at the edge of the glacier. After a long search we were lucky enough to discover water on a slope. It was the first water we had seen since leaving the coast. As it was so early in the year we found neither pools nor runlets on the surface of the glacier. Our supply of spirits was rather scanty and only sufficed for warming up our food, not for melting the snow; hence, while travelling over glaciers and the inland ice we suffered much from thirst, and were often compelled to eat snow, which is said to lower the strength considerably.
On June 16th we rose at 11 P.M., and began our journey over the inland ice proper. The temperature of the air was 31° F. The weather was lovely, not a cloud was visible in the sky, and the atmosphere was wonderfully clear. We first passed a number of mighty moraines, which were heaped up where the smaller glacier joined the inland ice. At the very brink of the latter flowed a small brook. The surface of the inland ice itself was perfectly even, covered with fairly hard frozen old snow. No crevasses could be distinguished along the whole of our route, and only in a few places did slight hollows betray the existence of such.
We first went toward some high mountains which rose out of the ice some kilometres distant. They formed the spurs of a range of mountains, running north and south, which continued up to the end of the mountains at Cape Ahlstrand, east of Recherche Bay. In the west, along a width of more than ten kilometres, the inland ice opened into the sea (it bears the name of Torell Glacier). In the east the horizon was bounded by the inland ice. To the north-west it extended, shut in between two mountain chains, unbroken to Recherche Bay, to whose large glacier it joins on. That was the way we took.
After some hours’ journey, in the early morning of the 17th we reached the foot of the mountain mentioned above, which forms the southern point of the eastern range of mountains. At the foot of the mountain we found several small watercourses, and therefore chose this place for a halt. A large number of fallen blocks at the mountain’s foot afforded a strange sight. The part of the inland ice from the east here joined that from the north. A bank of gravel, which stretched like a black streak towards the west, probably formed the middle of the moraine. The height above the sea at this point was 358 feet.[21]
After some hours’ rest we continued north-west over the inland ice, which was smooth in all directions and free from crevasses. We had already been a long time out on the endless white plain when, at nine o’clock in the morning, we pitched the tent to get a little sleep. The height of our resting-place above the sea was 1011 feet. We had walked by night because, notwithstanding that the temperature does not rise above 39° F. in the shade, the heat when the sun was high was quite unbearable. After midday signs of a change of weather appeared, and heavy clouds began to rise behind the mountain summits. We hastily got up again, but after a few hours’ walking we were enveloped in a dense mist. We continued, however, for some hours, steering our course by a pocket compass which we had brought with us. On the night of the 18th we stopped because we feared to make our way among the northern coast mountains, which could not be very far distant from us now. All the spirits were finished, and our store of provisions was by no means abundant.
Next day (19th) we tried to advance toward the coast in spite of the fog, which had lifted at intervals and given place to a heavy snowstorm, a terrible hindrance to our progress. The snow was very wet and fastened in large lumps on Björling’s ski, which were not covered with sealskin. Our ski, too, which had been stripped of part of their skin-covering by the hard snow-crust, slid very heavily. Björling preferred to go on foot and carry his ski on his back, but he found this pretty hard work. We soon noticed that we were already quite amongst the mountains and, after searching about for a long time in the fog for a way forward, we finally came to a halt, recognising the necessity of waiting until it lifted somewhat.
We set up our tent near a steep snow-slope, evidently leading down into a broad valley. As it drew on towards evening the fog lifted a little. Right down in front of us spread a broad valley, apparently the continuation of a bay. In the south-south-west there appeared to be sea, and in the north we thought we could also see the water. I thought that the bay in the north-west was Dunder Bay, and that we must have strayed somewhat too far to the west. Our provisions were scarce; there would only be sufficient to last the four of us one day; it was therefore necessary to find the ship without delay. Björling, partly on account of the unfitness of his ski, was thoroughly exhausted and was unable to travel any farther. I therefore determined to leave him in the tent with the sleeping-bags and the remaining stores, and with Erikson and Joakim, unencumbered by impedimenta, to endeavour to reach the ship and thence send to rescue Björling. The way to the ship however was longer than we supposed, for the Lofoten did not lie in the harbour in the inner part of Recherche Bay as I had expected. The bay being ice-packed, the ship lay off Cape Lyell, a circumstance which added a good ten kilometres to our distance.
It was only after nine hours’ unbroken march, tired and hungry indeed, that we reached the Lofoten, and our way would certainly have been longer still had we not, after walking a few hours almost due east, thought we could see water on the horizon, and so were induced to take a more northerly course. After we had followed this direction for a time, Erikson declared he could see a ship in the distance. Our joy was great when I ascertained with the field glass that three masts were visible a long way off to the north. The ice over which we had passed was continuously smooth. Only the last few kilometres nearest the sea were very full of crevasses, generally covered by snow-bridges, which we could cross on our ski without difficulty. Luckily for us the ice on the inner harbour of Recherche Bay was strong enough to bear, so we avoided a long detour.
We continued on the other side of the bay to Cape Lyell over a large glacier, terminated in the north by a precipitous ice-wall, below which begins a wide expanse filled up with moraines and cut up by numerous crevasses. We did not see this precipice at first from above, and were nearly falling over it on our ski, but just managed to pull up at the last moment. After following the edge of the glacier for a good distance to the west, we at last succeeded in finding a place where a snowdrift had built a bridge upon which we could get down. At last we stood on the beach, and only a couple of gunshots off lay the Lofoten. Firing our revolvers and shouting loudly, we aroused the captain’s attention and were soon safe on board. It was six o’clock in the morning of the 19th.
My first care was to send some men back to rescue Björling. Unfortunately it was several hours before any one could start. Klinckowström had gone away in one of the boats with part of the crew to the east side of Recherche Bay, hoping to meet us there. A message was sent off to him immediately, and his boat’s crew were soon on board. Klinckowström offered to go himself with two men to rescue Björling. The three skisters were soon ready for their journey. As they rowed in a light boat to the bottom end of Recherche Bay they shortened the way considerably. Following the west side of the bottom of the glacier between the mountain and the ice, they found ski tracks which they endeavoured to follow right up to the tent. After an absence of about six hours they returned. They had been able to follow the tracks for about a couple of hours or so, but the snow, which had fallen heavily high up among the mountains, had stopped them completely. Under such circumstances nothing remained for them but to turn back with their errand unaccomplished. There was however no very great reason for anxiety, for the sleeping-bags and provisions enough for one man for several days had been left in the tent.
It cleared up again a little on the 20th, so I sent off Joakim, who had been my companion and consequently knew the position of the tent; two men accompanied him. On the morning of the 21st one of them came back with the news that they had certainly found the tent but that Björling had left it. They had found a card with this communication—that “after waiting in vain for one and a half days he had started with all possible speed to the west beach of Recherche Bay.” He had however clearly mistaken Dunder Bay for this, and started in quite the wrong direction, as his tracks plainly showed. Joakim followed up this track while the other two returned on board. I now sent a boat round Cape Lyell to Dunder Bay to meet Björling there. Joakim, after following his track for a distance, had overtaken Björling who was on his way south; he came back then with the boat, and on the afternoon of the 21st we were all together on board again.
The ski expedition thus described shows that the inland ice of West Spitsbergen differs considerably from that of North-East Land as well as of Greenland. It consists in this (at least at the time of year when we undertook our expedition), namely, a perfectly level tract covered with snow without any of the crevasses and mounds which generally make expeditions over glaciers and inland ice so dangerous and difficult. Glacier-rivers, fountains, and glacier-lakes, which are so often met with in Greenland, are here altogether absent. Similar formations are also wanting in North-East Land’s inland ice, but its surface is more uneven; crevasses and channels are very common. This circumstance—viz., the fact that the inland ice of West Spitsbergen seems to be very much easier to traverse than glacier ice in general—gives a certain importance to the plan of measuring an arc of meridian in this district, a proposal which has been suggested several times. A number of triangulation points ought to be established on the mountains, which are surrounded on all sides by the inland ice. This might have been thought to be very difficult, but, far from proving an obstacle, the inland ice forms a capital medium for connecting the points of triangulation. To convey instruments and equipment on proper sledges for some tens of kilometres over this smooth surface would surely be no very severe task.
A few remarks are called for by this pleasant account of a very interesting little expedition. The inland-ice referred to was not any part of an ice-sheet and in no wise resembled the icesheets of Greenland and North-East Land. It was merely the snowfield of Torell Glacier, which consists of two great arms, one coming from the north and reaching to the watershed behind Recherche Bay, the other from the east, where it is limited by the main mountain-backbone of the island, the orographical continuation of the Hornsunds Tinder. The time of the expedition being the month of June, the glaciers and snowfields were still deeply covered with winter snow, which buried the crevasses out of sight. Later on, no doubt, there would be no difference in character between Torell Glacier and the Nordenskiöld and other glaciers explored by us. The same waterlogged snow, the same large lakes, the same deep and broad torrents, must be formed in all the glacial regions of Spitsbergen. Hence it follows that the month of June is specially favourable for expeditions over glaciers in this part of the world, for then the chief impediments to progress have not been formed, the weather is likely to be fair and the surface of the snow to be hard and smooth. Unfortunately it is not till the end of June that, under present steamship arrangements, the island is cheaply accessible. An exploring party desiring to land upon Spitsbergen at the end of May could only do so by coming up in a vessel specially hired to bring them.