1911 came like the opening of a new volume of an exciting book.  This was the year in which Scott hoped to reach the Pole, the ideal date he had given being December 21.  This was the year that Campbell and his party were looking forward to so eagerly—­if only they could be successful in landing their gear and equipment in King Edward VII.  Land—­and, for the less showy but more scientific sledgers, 1911 held a wealth of excitement in store.  Griffith Taylor and Debenham knew pretty well that next New Year’s Day would see them in the midst of their Western journey with the secrets of those rugged mountains revealed perhaps.  I do not know what my own feelings were, it would be impossible to describe them.  I read up part of Shackleton’s diary and something of what his companion Wilde had written.  Just this: 

    12 miles, 200 yards.—­1/1/08.

“Started usual time.  Quan (pony) got through the forenoon fairly well with assistance, but after lunch the poor chap broke down and we had to take him out of harness.  Shackleton, Adams, and Marshall dragged his sledge, and I brought the ponies along with the other load.  As soon as we camped I gave Quan the bullet, and Marshall and I cut him up.  He was a tough one.  I am cook this week with Marshall as my tent mate.”

The more one read into Shackleton’s story the more wonderful it all seemed, and with our resources failure appeared impossible—­yet that telegram which Captain Scott had received at Melbourne: 

   “Beg leave to inform you proceeding Antarctic.
   ——­Amundsen.”

We all knew that Amundsen had no previous Antarctic sledging experience, but no one could deny that to Norwegians ice-work, and particularly ski-ing, was second nature, and here lay some good food for thought and discussion.  Where would the “Fram” enter the pack?  Where would Amundsen make his base?  The answers never once suggested anything like the truth.

Actually on New Year’s Day Amundsen was between 500 and 600 miles north of us, but of Roald Amundsen more anon.

How strange to be once more in open water, able to steer whatever course we chose, with broad daylight all night, and at noon only a couple of days’ run from Cape Crozier.  Practically no ice in sight, but a sunlit summer sea in place of the pack, with blue sky and cumulo stratus clouds, so different from the gray, hard skies that hung so much over the great ice field we had just forced.  The wind came fair as the day wore on and by 10 p.m. we were under plain sail, doing a good six knots.  High mountains were visible to the west-ward, part of the Admiralty Range, two splendid peaks to be seen towering above the remainder, which appeared to be Mounts Sabine and Herschell.  Coulman Island was seen in the distance during the day.