It blew and snowed all day of the 18th, and for several hours of the 19th. Then the snow ceased, but the wind continued with increased force, keeping up a blinding cloud of drift.

We broke camp, leaving all but two days’ rations, and our tent and gear, and went in to the land about six miles distant. The march, short as it was, was as disagreeable as I had experienced for a long time, the bitter wind finding every opening in our clothing and filling it with snow, which then melted, so that when we reached the land, we were all thoroughly wet. Close to the land we got out of the drift, but did not escape the wind.

I was the first to set foot on the “new land,” a level patch of fine dark earth and gravel, and was greeted by numbers of purple Arctic flowers, and a few steps showed patches of grass, and moss, and old tracks and droppings of reindeer and hare. A few minutes later a skua gull flew over, and while the tent was being set up, a brant.

The tent completed, I filled Egingwah and Ooblooyah with coffee, and started them to reconnoitre the adjacent country thoroughly. They were gone about five hours, one going southeast, and the other southwest.

Ooblooyah returned with two hare and reported seeing two others, also old musk-ox tracks. Egingwah saw one hare.

One of the hare went into the pot immediately, then we turned in, to turn out again at midnight and finish the other.

Koolootingwah and Ooblooyah were then sent with two sledges and all the dogs except three played-out ones, to reconnoitre a valley up the bay, for the musk-oxen which were our crying need now. Egingwah at the same time started out for hare again. All this time it was thick and blowing with frequent snow squalls, keeping everything wet.

Egingwah returned after several hours with two hare, all that he had seen. While he was skinning these, a flock of eleven brant flew over and settled in a bit of water not far away, where he secured one of them. A little later a burgomaster gull was seen. The “O-o-o-he, O-o-o-he” of the purple sandpiper was constantly in our ears. The blue flies so abundant at Columbia seemed to be entirely absent here.

At 10 P. M. my other two men returned unsuccessful.

They reported the valley an attractive one, with a lake which they thought contained salmon, and showing plenty of grass, moss, and willow.

They found old tracks, droppings and antlers of deer, but nothing recent, and no traces of musk-oxen.

Numbers of hare and ptarmigan were seen, and six of the former and one of the latter secured. Also a number of brant.

The wind had ceased now, and the sun was trying to shine, but it remained very thick with a constant drizzle of wet snow.

I was much disappointed at the failure to secure game here, particularly when combined with the enforced delay by stormy weather.

I could to a certain extent counteract this, and increase my radius of action with the limited dog-food I had, by sending a man and team back from here, and this I decided I must do.

Numbers of lemming burrows were observed here, also snowy owl exuviæ containing their skeletons and hair.

The sun shone occasionally during the 21st but the land remained hidden continuously by dense fog.

With much trouble we succeeded in drying out most of our clothing, and then broke camp and got out to the cache, and proceeded on our way.

A snow-bunting was seen and an additional number of brant. The flock which seemed to be hanging around here numbered about eighteen. The one shot was a female and the eggs in the ovaries were small.

The hare killed here (ten in all) were small, very thin, and the meat tough.

In getting away from the shore camp we marched through about a mile of knee-deep slush and water, thoroughly wetting our feet of course, and came out to the cache; fitted Koolootingwah out and started him for the Roosevelt; left a small cache of provisions, and the various specimens; loaded the two sledges with the remaining stuff (about nine days’ rations of pemmican) and went on ten paced miles.

This was a disagreeable march; no sun, only fog and clouds and snow squalls, straining the eyes and rendering it very difficult to keep a course; strong head wind and deep soft snow, but it was good to be moving again.

It was thick all day while we slept, and continued so, with the land invisible. Just after we pitched the tent, there was a brief, sharp flurry of hail, which rattled on the tent in great shape, and startled the dogs.

Another wearing march, though an improvement on the previous one; and I had no reason to complain as we covered sixteen paced miles in seven hours fifty minutes, including ten minutes for lunch, and fifteen for examining some moraine tumuli. Though the sun did not shine through the clouds, it was warm enough to thaw the surface of the snow, and this layer of wet snow made very heavy snowshoeing. As a compensation the sledges ran measurably easier.

I kept the same pace as on previous marches, one-half mile in ten minutes, then waited for the dogs to come up. In this march the dogs made each half mile in twelve and one-half minutes, as against full fifteen minutes in the two previous marches.

The densest of fog shrouded us for the first five hours, and I kept my course by the wind-marks in the snow; then it cleared overhead, and the sun shone brilliantly, but the land remained shrouded.

There was a persistent “fog eater” (fog bow) ahead of us during this time. From 3:30 till 7, we could just make out the low shores on our left. We pitched our tent on a little patch of just-dried glacial clay in what seemed to be a small bight of the shore, and having plenty of water about us the supper was quickly cooked.

Then the fog shut in again completely, and nothing could be seen but a bit of the shore nearest us, and this very dimly.

The ice traversed in this march was a succession of swells of moderate height. The light and shade after the sun came out, allowed the undulations of this remarkable ice-foot to be very clearly seen, and I was more and more reminded of the ice-cap.

I quote from my Journal:

June 24th.—Occasionally (though rarely) this country affords complete and surprising changes for the better. The last twenty-four hours have been a case in point. A day of comfort, of interest, of accomplishment after the five days of storm, delay and disappointment.

It continued foggy all day at the last camp, but began to clear when I started breakfast, and at 11 P. M. when we got under way, it was as fine and clear as could be desired.

I went on ahead of the sledges. Two miles from camp brought me to a low point, then a walk of some two miles or more over bare, dry gravel, where I saw a sandpiper, two brant, the recent tracks of four deer in the snow, the place where they had slept, and picked up a perfectly bleached buck antler.

Then joining the sledges we came to a low point six miles from camp. Two hours from this with good going, at a three-mile-an-hour pace, brought us to another low point under the mountain for which I have been setting my course during the last fifty-three miles.

Though this striking peak looked very steep from the east, I was satisfied as we came along that it was practicable and after a brief reconnoissance, I gave the word to pitch the tent, that we would devote the rest of the day to the ascent.

I felt this was an opportunity not to be lost; the brilliant weather, the chance to perfect my principal angles, and the practical certainty that the elevation would enable me to see what there was beyond, and, I hoped, show me the desired north end of Jesup Land.

After preparing lunch of corn-meal mush and tea, we started for the ascent.

From the summit 2,000 feet above the sea-level and of a more truly Alpine character than any that I have seen in northern Greenland, or Grant Land, the view was more than interesting. East lay the wide white zone of the ice-foot; west the unbroken surface of Nansen’s Strait, and beyond it the northern part of that western land which I saw from the heights of the Ellesmere Land ice-cap in July, 1898, and named Jesup Land, though Sverdrup has later given it the name of Heiberger Land. South, over and beyond some intervening mountains and valleys, lay the southern reaches of Nansen’s Strait. North stretched the well-known ragged surface of the polar pack, and northwest it was with a thrill that my glasses revealed the faint white summits of a distant land which my Eskimos claimed to have seen as we came along from the last camp.

From this point I followed the western shore of Grant Land south until it began to trend eastward, hoping to find Sverdrup’s cairn and record, but without success, though we all searched the shore carefully.

I then headed directly across the strait to the northern extremity of the western land. The ice in the Strait was to all appearance a continuation of that forming the glacial fringe of the Grant Land coast.

Again I quote from my Journal:

June 28th.—Two red-letter days which have seen the realisation of another of the objects of this present trip, i. e., the attainment of the northern point of Jesup Land.

With my feeling of satisfaction is a feeling of sadness and regret that this may be the end of my Arctic work. From now on may simply be putting in shape what I have already done. Twenty years last month since I began, and yet I have missed the prize.

Oh, for the untiring energy and elasticity of twenty years ago with the experience of to-day.

It seems as if I deserved to win this time.

The fog which all day of the 26th hid Jesup Land, dissipated before we got under way and showed the entire coast clearly.

Still keeping on a direct line for the foot of the bluffs of the northern point, one and one-half miles from camp brought us on to sea ice, and as the snow was soft and deeper on this, and there was more water on it, I gave up my “bee-line” course and kept off to the left on the ice of the Strait.

At twenty miles we touched the ice-foot at a low bluff point, and found quite a deep bay (five miles at least) separating this from the northern point.

The snowshoeing had been very heavy thus far, our shoes sinking deeply into the saturated snow, and coming up at each step loaded with several pounds of it; but from here it was worse, the snow still softer and underlaid with water, and the last two miles of the five to the cape, over hummocky ice was almost continuous wading through one pool after another.

This bay makes up into a wide low valley between the mountains on the east coast, and the mountains extending back from the north point.

As the region seemed rather inviting, it was carefully examined with the glasses, and tracks of musk-oxen or deer made out in the snow. This was very pleasing to me as my dogs are sadly in need of an addition to their pemmican ration.

Just before stepping on the gravel of the foreshore which makes out from the bluffs of the north point, I saw two hare, a step or two farther three more, then another. At 3.50 A. M. I stepped ashore, followed a few minutes later by my men. A little before this, a flock of nineteen brant flew over us.

I sent Egingwah away at once after the hare, told Ooblooyah to look after the dogs, and slinging the binoculars over my shoulders, started west for the crest of the foreshore to see what was beyond.

There was more moss on the gravel here than at any place we touched on the Grant Land coast, also an occasional tuft of grass and frequent purple flowers. In the calm air, and brilliant sunshine, the place had a very warm and inviting look (heightened by the sound of running water) which even my aching legs and ankles, and icewater-saturated feet could not lessen. Only a few steps and I came on the recent tracks of six deer in a patch of snow, and this put me on the alert and made me go cautiously.

About a mile from the sledges as I rose over a gravel ridge, there were four deer, two close by, a doe and fawn farther on.

I dropped down at once, watched them a moment or two, then turned to signal to Egingwah.

He had secured one hare, and fired at another, then I saw him start towards me on the run. He had seen the deer almost as soon as I. When he came up, I sent him on, and in a short time he had two of them down, the doe and fawn making off up the foreshore to the west.

It was now just thirty-five minutes since I had landed, and we had two deer and a hare. I sent Egingwah back to Ooblooyah to bring up the dogs and sledges and while he was gone the cry of the purple sandpipers was continuous about me and I saw a white fox skulking along the rocks.

When the boys came up, the tent was pitched near the deer, and convenient to water, and I made coffee.

Then Ooblooyah was sent after the doe and fawn and after photographing the deer, Egingwah and I skinned and cut them up, and fed the dogs generously.

Both were does, neither pregnant, nor very large, and very thin though evidently putting on flesh, the skin of course in bad condition and antlers in the velvet. A very noticeable feature was the length of the hoofs, and the development of the dew claws into regular spoons as large as a hare’s ears, thus giving the deer natural snowshoes, which they need in this country not only for the snow, but for the boggy saturated ground as well, at this time of year.

Some time after the work was completed and I was sitting in the tent reloading my camera, when Egingwah came running to say the doe and fawn were coming back, and regretting that he had no gun. I gave him my revolver which carried the same cartridge as the carbine and told him to try that. Before the deer got in range however, they smelled or heard the dogs, and started off for the little valley again.

Then we saw Ooblooyah returning, and he seeing the deer, ran back and ambushed the doe as she entered the ravine. Hearing his shot, Egingwah went off to him, and at 11 A. M. they were back in camp with the meat of the doe. I had told Ooblooyah to bring the fawn in alive if possible, and being unable to catch it, the boys had left it and the skin of the doe, until they had further instructions.

I had a pot of tea, and another of cooked meat ready, as we had had only our coffee and biscuit since our breakfast thirteen hours before (not that this was a great hardship, but it was enough to give us robust appetites).

Our zest was increased by the fact that for the last five days, we had been living on preserved eggs and mush in order to save the pemmican for the dogs. This is a very good diet in ordinary climates, but by no means takes the place of meat for work under these conditions.

After eating, the two men turned in, but I remained up till 3 P. M. to get a latitude observation. All this time it was calm and brilliantly sunny and warm.

At 9 P. M. I turned out after practically fruitless attempts to sleep, owing to the heat in the tent, and the swarms of big blue flies which, attracted by the meat, swarmed round and into the tent and over us. During an hour or two of this time, there were some heavy squalls which shook the tent viciously, and overturned my transit but without injuring it.

Coffee finished, and the dogs fed again, they were all hitched to the one sledge, and we started at 11 P. M. for the summit of the cape.

A big snow drift on the east side enabled us to take the sledge to an elevation of about 600 feet.

Here it was left, and the dogs fastened, and we went on up an easy ascent of loose rocks alternating with banks of snow, reaching the summit (about 1,600 feet) comfortably in an hour and a half from camp.

On the summit we built a cairn similar to that on the summit of Cape Columbia, in which I deposited a brief record and a piece of my silk flag as usual.

The clear day greatly favoured my work in taking a round of angles, and with the glasses I could make out apparently a little more distinctly, the snow-clad summits of the distant land in the northwest, above the ice horizon.

My heart leaped the intervening miles of ice as I looked longingly at this land, and in fancy I trod its shores and climbed its summits, even though I knew that that pleasure could be only for another in another season. While I was thus engaged my men made out three deer in a valley south of us.

With the completion of my work on the summit, and the building of the cairn, we came down to the sledge and dogs, from whence I returned to camp, while the two men went after the deer we had seen. I started to return without snowshoes, so the men might take them along, but as I went into the wet snow to my hips at every step, I changed my mind and retained them.

Just below the lower edge of the snow as I came down, a flock of not less than one hundred brant were feeding and sunning themselves. When I came within fifty yards they rose.

Back to camp at 4 A. M. for my breakfast.

Then I started with my transit for the end of the low point (extremity of the foreshore) to select a place for a cairn, and take a few angles. After going less than a mile, I was obliged to give it up and return to camp, the saturated clayey earth letting my feet sink in nearly to the top of my boots at every step, and taking all my strength to pull out. With snowshoes I could have got along, but I had left those at the snow-bank a mile or more on the other side of the camp, and was too lazy to go after them. I was forcibly reminded of the travelling Trevor-Battye found in Kolguev.

After this I brought more rocks for the tent guys, then took a nap to make up for the previous night.

At 2 P. M. the men returned. They found at close quarters that the three deer seen from the summit of the cape had increased to six and a fawn, all of which were secured (three bucks and three does). They scarcely had the dogs fastened when yesterday’s fawn came trotting up to within fifty yards of the tent, then started off again.

Egingwah went after him, followed him up to the mother’s skin, and brought both in.

We all had another square feed, the dogs as well, more stones were added to the tent guys, and the men were soon snoring.

By this time the wind was blowing very fresh, clouds were gathering, and there was every indication that this spell of fine weather was at an end.

I had no reason to complain. It had lasted long enough for me to get and see what I wanted.

When we awoke about midnight, snow or, more likely, rain was so evidently imminent, that I had the men cover the deerskins with the floor cloths, feed the dogs to repletion, and sew up some holes in the tent. This was barely completed when the rain began, driving furiously before a strong southwest gale.

But with a waterproof tent, gravel underneath, all belongings that were not in the tent protected with waterproof covers, the dogs and ourselves well fed, and an ample supply of food at hand, we could take this kind of weather with a good deal of equanimity.

I quote from my Journal:

July 1st.—Am glad to be over this first stage of our return journey short as it is.

The storm continued throughout the 29th and 30th, rain falling during the middle of the day, and snow the rest of the time, with continuous strong southwesterly wind.

This morning it moderated, and I got out at once and moved everything down to the ice-foot where we had left one sledge. A small cairn with a piece of box embedded in the top of it was built not far from the ice-foot upon the low foreshore. While this was being done a lemming was caught, thus adding this animal to the fauna of Jesup Land. No previous cairn exists on or near this cape nor does it appear from Sverdrup’s narrative or his map that he reached this point. The two sledges were then loaded and we started on our return, but not by the way we had come.

While not exactly an open polar sea, our outward track was now impracticable to anything unable to swim.

The four days since we came over it had worked surprising changes and what with the direct melting, and the water poured on to it from the land, the ice was completely flooded.

We made a long detour into the bay lying between our camp and the next point to the east, picking up the rest of the meat the boys got on the 28th, and landed on the point after four hours of wading.

I reached the land a little farther up the bay than the sledges, and saw a deer grazing.

After the sledges came ashore, the tent was set up, I made tea, all our gear and clothing, saturated by the trip, was spread out on the gravel to dry, as the sun gave symptoms of appearing; then I sent the boys to bring in the deer which they did in about an hour, (a buck with small horns in the velvet).

This made twelve obtained thus far. A fresh track was seen between the tent and the sledge which we left; and another deer was seen on the opposite side of the bay.

Our camp here was well located, the tent pitched on a mound of fine, dry gravel close to a small brook by which the dogs were fastened, and which at a pool a little farther up furnished us with clear cold water.

I found two poppies and a bit of sorrel in bloom here.

From the top of the bluffs back of the tent, where I could look across the Strait, I made out a good deal of water on the ice, but I hoped we should not find it as bad as during the last march. It was evident, however, we were going to have lots of trouble going back and were going to be wet all the time.

Camping in this region in June, July, and August, if on land, and it is clear and calm, and one is not under the necessity of travelling every day, can be very pleasant.

But if it blows or snows, or both, or if one is on the sea or bay ice and obliged to get somewhere at a certain time, it is sure to be very unpleasant.

The sun shone enough to quite perceptibly dry our things, but as it got lower, the fog and clouds gathered again.

The dogs were fed nearly all they would eat, as meat carries very much lighter inside them than on the sledge, and I hoped that with the rest and good feeding here, they would do better work going back.

The two boys skinned out the deer heads and tried to dry the skins.

I must confess to a feeling of sadness and regret at leaving this last camp. It was a striking picture, the deer and hare, feeding in the brilliant sunshine under the high bluffs, the call of the birds, and the sound of running water. And the picture will be repeated again and again, summer after summer, but I, to whom it belongs, should never see it again.

I quote from my Journal:

Southwest Camp, Grant Land. 2 P. M. July 3d.—Back here again, across the channel, with less discomfort and hard work than I had reason, in the light of past experience, to expect.

It rained continuously during the 2d, with fresh southwesterly breeze, making it not exactly impossible, but disagreeable for us to travel, and preventing the drying of the deerskins. As before, however, with a waterproof tent over us, and plenty of food for our dogs and ourselves, we were physically very comfortable, and slept much of the time, my two men almost literally all the time.

I knew, however, that every hour of the rain was making our return road more difficult, and as soon as the rain ceased (about midnight), we broke camp and started, getting away from the extremity of Twenty-mile Cape at 2 A. M. this morning. The entire bay which we crossed on the 1st, was now a continuous sheet of water.

The first two or three miles of the channel were very decent. After that, it was only by following the deep snow along the pressure ridge (a road impracticable without our snowshoes and broad-runner sledge) that we were able to advance. On each side were lakes of water, and deep morasses of slush.

When we took a step without snowshoes we would go in to mid-thigh or even hip.

Fortunately the dogs feel the effects of the rest and generous fare on Jesup Land, and we made practically the same time as in going over.

Of course our feet and legs were soaked in the ice-water from the very start, crossing the morasses from one piece of decent going to another.

At noon we reached the edge of the ice-foot on this side, and found it a broad river, which we had to ford to get to the site of our camp.

We have crossed without any time to spare. In one or two days at most, the channel will be impassable for two or three weeks (depending upon local conditions) until the snow has all melted and the water drained off.

On this side the change has been very pronounced since we left.

Where there was just enough bare gravel for us to set the tent a few days ago, are now acres of snow-free ground.

Looking over this region I am struck with the pronounced igneous or even volcanic character of the rock specimens, something very much like pumice and slag being abundant. Is it possible that the twin snow-mountains back of us are extinct volcanoes?

The march from Southwest camp to Observation Camp was the hardest and most disagreeable of all, and the thirty-six hours the most uncomfortable of the entire trip.

We got away from Southwest Camp at 2 A. M. of the 4th. The promise of the previous afternoon of good weather, had not been kept, and all but the base of the land was buried in cloud (Jesup Land of course invisible). For an hour we got along fairly well following the raised edges of a tidal crack, then fog descended upon us and we waded and floundered through pools of water to the land at West Point (which is really one of three islands). Along the shore of this, and the next island, was decent going on deep snow, and so across the ice-foot to the edge of the tidal crack west of Northwesterly Point and along this to the point itself.

From here to off Intermediate Point we had more trouble as the tidal crack was not so well marked.

It had commenced to snow at Northwesterly Point and from Intermediate Point we had it very uncomfortable. The snowfall steadily increasing blotted out every thing over a hundred feet distant, and was accompanied by a penetrating wind from the northeast and yet was damp enough to melt on our clothing, and saturate us wherever we had escaped wetting in our constant wading.

Impossible to pick a route, we could only work along in a general direction, guided by the wind.

For several hours it looked as if we would have to camp in the slush on the ice; then it lightened enough to let us pick a way, and at last after wading the broad ice-foot river, I stepped on the point at Observation Camp. Every thread on me was soaked with snow-water, and every joint and muscle ached with the exertion of pulling out the slush-laden snowshoes at every step. I was not inclined to complain however, for the gravel here, wet as it was, was much preferable to a foot of icy slush as a bed.

I still had a dry coat and dry stockings to sleep in, though my trousers and underwear were all I had, and should have slept fairly comfortably, but for a blinding headache from the fumes of the Primus stoves, which of course went particularly wrong now. This headache lasted me until I got out for a tramp after Ooblooyah had laboured five hours sewing my trousers, which the heavy snowshoeing and lifting on the sledges had completely wrecked.

It snowed incessantly after we arrived, making it impossible to pick a road through the icy swamps east of us.

A seal was seen near the ice-foot just before we got ashore here, and ten brant flew about our camp at Southwest Camp.

When I turned out, I was old and stiff in every joint, my feet and ankles swollen and my left foot almost out of commission from some wrench. The doctor’s salve brought it round a good deal, and I hoped to be able to use it when the weather cleared.

One thing was sure, I simply could not have done the work I was doing now, when I left the Roosevelt or for a good many days after.

It was rather a disagreeable 4th of July celebration for us, wading through ice-water, and the weather such that I could not even fly the flag.

I hoped this constant snowfall would squeeze all the moisture out of the air, so that we might have some more fine weather, though I feared that we were going to have the same weather for our return that I had in July, 1899, in Princess Marie Bay.