Atkinson had not gone much farther when he decided that he had better give it up, so he turned and faced the wind, steering by keeping it on his cheek.  We discovered afterwards that the wind does not blow quite in the same direction at the end of the Cape as it does just where the hut lies.  Perhaps it was this, perhaps his left leg carried him a little farther than his right, perhaps it was that the numbing effect of a blizzard on a man’s brain was already having its effect, certainly Atkinson does not know himself, but instead of striking the Cape which ran across his true front, he found himself by an old fish trap which he knew was 200 yards out on the sea-ice.  He made a great effort to steady himself and make for the Cape, but any one who has stood in a blizzard will understand how difficult that is.  The snow was a blanket raging all round him, and it was quite dark.  He walked on, and found nothing.

Everything else is vague.  Hour after hour he staggered about:  he got his hand badly frost-bitten:  he found pressure:  he fell over it:  he was crawling in it, on his hands and knees.  Stumbling, tumbling, tripping, buffeted by the endless lash of the wind, sprawling through miles of punishing snow, he still seems to have kept his brain working.  He found an island, thought it was Inaccessible, spent ages in coasting along it, lost it, found more pressure, and crawled along it.  He found another island, and the same horrible, almost senseless, search went on.  Under the lee of some rocks he waited for a time.  His clothing was thin though he had his wind-clothes, and, a horrible thought if this was to go on, he had boots on his feet instead of warm finnesko.  Here also he kicked out a hole in a drift where he might have more chance if he were forced to lie down.  For sleep is the end of men who get lost in blizzards.  Though he did not know it he must now have been out more than four hours.

There was little chance for him if the blizzard continued, but hope revived when the moon showed in a partial lull.  It is wonderful that he was sufficiently active to grasp the significance of this, and groping back in his brain he found he could remember the bearing of the moon from Cape Evans when he went to bed the night before.  The hut must be somewhere over there:  this must be Inaccessible Island!  He left the island and made in that direction, but the blizzard came down again with added force and the moon was blotted out.  He tried to return to the island and failed:  then he stumbled on another island, perhaps the same one, and waited.  Again the lull came, and again he set off, and walked and walked, until he recognized Inaccessible Island on his left.  Clearly he must have been under Great Razorback Island and this is some four miles from Cape Evans.  The moon still showed, and on he walked and then at last he saw a flame.