Originally we had planned to establish our station several miles from the edge of the Barrier, in order not to subject ourselves to the danger of an unwelcome and involuntary sea trip, which might have occurred had the part of the Barrier on which we erected our house broken off.  This precaution, however, was not necessary, as the features which we observed on our first examination of the area offered a sufficient guaranty for the stability of the Barrier at this point.

In a small valley, hardly two and a half miles from the ship’s anchorage, we therefore selected a place for our winter quarters.  It was protected from the wind on all sides.  On the next day we began unloading the ship.  We had brought with us material for house-building as well as equipment and provisions for nine men for several years.  We divided into two groups, the ship’s group and the land group.  The first was composed of the commander of the ship, Captain Nilsen, and the nine men who were to stay on board to take the Fram out of the ice and to Buenos Aires.  The other group consisted of the men who were to occupy the winter quarters and march on to the south.  The ship’s group had to unload everything from the ship upon the ice.  There the land group took charge of the cargo and brought it to the building site.  At first we were rather unaccustomed to work, as we had had little exercise on the long sea voyage.  But before long we were all “broken in,” and then the transfer to the site of our home “Framheim” went on rapidly; the house grew daily.

When all the material had been landed our skilled carpenters, Olav Bjaaland and Jorgen Stubberud, began building the house.  It was a ready-made house, which we had brought with us; nothing had to be done but to put together the various numbered parts.  In order that the house might brave all storms, its bottom rested in an excavation four feet beneath the surface.  On January 28th, fourteen days after our arrival, the house was completed, and all provisions had been landed.  A gigantic task had been performed; everything seemed to point toward a propitious future.  But no time was to be lost; we had to make use of every minute.

The land group had in the mean time been divided into two parties, one of which saw to it that the provisions and equipment still lacking were taken out of the ship.  The other party was to prepare for an excursion toward the south which had in view the exploration of the immediate environs and the establishment of a depot.

On February 10th the latter group marched south.  There were four of us with eighteen dogs and three sleds packed with provisions.  That morning of our start is still vividly in my memory.  The weather was calm, the sky hardly overcast.  Before us lay the large, unlimited snow plain, behind us the Bay of Whales with its projecting ice capes and at its entrance our dear ship, the Fram.  On board the flag was hoisted; it was the last greeting from our comrades of the ship.  No one knew whether and when we should see each other again.  In all probability our comrades would no longer be there when we returned; a year would probably elapse before we could meet again.  One more glance backward, one more parting greeting and then—­forward.