When Taylor and I got first down we were greeted with a weird and wonderful sight:  constant drifts of snow had formed a great overhang and the ice cliff was wreathed in a mass of snowy curtains and folds which took all manner of fantastic turns and shapes.  A fresh wind was blowing continuously that made it most unpleasant for those above, and it was a relief to us all when the last man was passed down in safety, it was Scott himself.

We quickly harnessed up again and swung out over the sea ice towards Glacier Tongue, the cliffs of which stood out in a hard, white line to the northward, a couple of miles away.  Arrived at the Tongue, Bowers and I clambered up a ten-foot cliff face by standing on Wright’s and Crean’s shoulders.  We then reached down and hauled up the sledges and the others, harnessed up again, and proceeded to cross the Glacier, which was full of small crevasses.  We reached the northern side of it and went down an easy snow slope to the sea ice beyond.  As far as one could see this ice continued right up to and around Cape Evans, seven miles away to the N.W.  It was now 6.30 p.m.; Scott halted us and discussed our readiness to make a night march into the winter quarters.  There was not one dissentient voice, and we gladly started off at 8 o’clock for a night march to our snug and comfortable hut, picturing to ourselves a supper of all things luxurious.  Our feet seemed suddenly to have taken wings, but, alas, the supper was not to be, for thick weather set in, and when, by 10 o’clock the wind was blowing hard and it was pitch dark, Scott suddenly decided to camp under the shelter of Little Razorback Island, where by that time we had arrived.  We passed a filthy night here, for the snow on the sea ice was saturated with brine and, in no time, our sleeping-bags became wet and sticky.

Next day we were called at six to find a blizzard with a high drift making it impossible to move, so we remained in our bags until 4 p.m., when we shifted on to the narrow platform of rock situated on the south side of Little Razorback.  We had one small meal here, but our condition was not a pleasant one, since little food remained and fuel was short.  There was undoubtedly a chance that the sea ice would break up and drift away in this high wind.  Had that happened we should have been left to starve on the tiny island.  The position was not an enviable one.  We got back into our bags, which were, as stated, wet and beastly, after a scanty supper and tried to sleep, but our feet were wet too, and cold, so that few of us could do more than close our eyes.  The night passed slowly enough, and we turned out at 7 a.m. to cook what remained of our food before attempting to make Cape Evans.  We were glad that it had stopped snowing and, although the light was bad enough, we could just make out the ice foot showing up bold and white on the south side of the Cape.  After the meal we struck camp, formed marching order, and started half running for winter quarters.