It may be mentioned as a curious fact that the snow with which we filled our water-tanks on the Barrier did not melt till we were in the River La Plata, which shows what an even temperature is maintained in the Fram’s hold.

About midday on Easter Sunday we were at the mouth of the River La Plata, without seeing land, however.  During the night the weather became perfect, a breeze from the south, moonlight and starry, and we went up the river by soundings and observations of the stars until at 1 a.m. on Monday, when we had the Recalada light-ship right ahead.  We had not seen any light since we left Madeira on September 9.  At 2.30 the same morning we got a pilot aboard, and at seven in the evening we anchored in the roads of Buenos Aires.

We had then been nearly once round the world, and for over seven months the anchor had not been out.

We had reckoned on a two months’ voyage from the ice, and it had taken us sixty-two days.

The Oceanographical Cruise.

According to the programme, the Fram was to go on an oceanographical cruise in the South Atlantic, and my orders were that this was to be arranged to suit the existing circumstances.  I had reckoned on a cruise of about three months.  We should have to leave Buenos Aires at the beginning of October to be down in the ice at the right time (about the New Year).

As we were too short-handed to work the ship, take soundings, etc., the following four seamen were engaged:  H. Halvorsen, A. Olsen, F. Steller, and J. Andersen.

At last we were more or less ready, and the Fram sailed from Buenos Aires on June 8, 1911, the anniversary of our leaving Horten on our first hydrographic cruise in the North Atlantic.  I suppose there was no one on board on June 8, 1910, who dreamed that a year later we should go on a similar cruise in the South.

We had a pilot on board as far as Montevideo, where we arrived on the afternoon of the 9th; but on account of an increasing wind (pampero) we had to lie at anchor here for a day and a half, as the pilot could not be taken off.  On Saturday afternoon, the 10th, he was fetched off by a big tug-boat, on board of which was the Secretary of the Norwegian Consulate.  This gentleman asked us if we could not come into the harbour, as “people would like to see the ship.”  I promised to come in on the way back, “if we had time.”

On Sunday morning, the 11th, we weighed anchor, and went out in the most lovely weather that can be imagined.  Gradually the land disappeared, and in the course of the evening we lost the lights; we were once more out in the Atlantic, and immediately everything resumed its old course.

In order to save our supply of preserved provisions as much as possible, we took with us a quantity of live poultry, and no fewer than twenty live sheep, which were quartered in the “farmyard” on the port side of the vessel’s fore-deck.  Sheep and hens were all together, and there was always a most beautiful scent of hay, so that we had not only sea air, but “country air.”  In spite of all this delightful air, three or four of the crew were down with influenza, and had to keep their berths for some days.