December 20 began with bitter weather, a breeze from the south-east, grey and thick.  We lost the trail, and for some time had to go by compass.  But as usual it suddenly cleared, and once more the plain lay before us, light and warm.  Yes, too warm it was.  We had to take off everything —­ nearly —­ and still the sweat poured off us.  It was not for long that we were uncertain of the way:  our excellent beacons did us brilliant service, and one after another they came up on the horizon, flashed and shone, and drew us on to our all-important depot in 88deg. 25’ S. We were now going slightly uphill, but so slightly that it was unnoticeable.  The hypsometer and barometer, however, were not to be deceived, and both fell in precisely the same degree as they had risen before.  Even if we had not exactly noticed the rise, the feeling of it was present.  It may perhaps be called imagination, but I certainly thought I could notice the rise by my breathing.

Our appetite had increased alarmingly during the last few days.  It appeared that we ski-runners evinced a far greater voracity than the drivers.  There were days —­ only a few days, be it said —­ when I believe any of us three —­ Bjaaland, Hassel, and myself —­ would have swallowed pebbles without winking.  The drivers never showed such signs of starvation.  It has occurred to me that this may possibly have been due to their being able to lean on the sledges as they went along, and thus have a rest and support which we had to do without.  It seems little enough simply to rest one’s hand on a sledge on the march, but in the long run, day after day, it may perhaps make itself felt.  Fortunately we were so well supplied that when this sensation of hunger came over us, we could increase our daily rations.  On leaving the Pole we added to our pemmican ration, with the result that our wild-beast appetites soon gave way and shrank to an ordinary good, everyday twist.  Our daily programme on entering upon the return journey was so arranged that we began to get breakfast ready at 6 p.m., and by 8 p.m. we were usually quite ready to start the day’s march.  An hour or so after midnight the fifteen geographical miles were accomplished, and we could once more put up our tent, cook our food, and seek our rest.  But this rest soon became so insufferably long.  And then there was the fearful heat —­ considering the circumstances —­ which often made us get out of our sleeping-bags and lie with nothing over us.  These rests of twelve, fourteen, sometimes as much as sixteen hours, were what most tried our patience during the early part of the return journey.  We could see so well that all this rest was unnecessary, but still we kept it up as long as we were on the high ground.  Our conversation at this time used to turn very often on the best way of filling up these long, unnecessary waits.