On that part of the way which we now had before us there was little prospect of meeting with surprises; nor did any fall to our lot.  In day’s marches that varied from seventeen to twenty geographical miles, we went forward over practically level ground.  The nature of the surface was at first ideal; but as we came farther north and thus nearer to the sea, our progress was impeded by a great number of big snow-waves (sastrugi), which had probably been formed during the long period of bad weather that preceded our departure from Framheim.  We did not escape damage on this bad surface.  Stubberud broke the forward part of the spare ski he had lashed under his sledge, and Johansen’s sledge also suffered from the continual bumping against the hard sastrugi.  Luckily he had been foreseeing enough to bring a little hickory bar, which came in very handy as a splint for the broken part.

As we were now following the direction of the meridian, or in other words, as our course was now true north, the daily observations of latitude gave a direct check on the readings of the sledge-meter.  As a rule they agreed to the nearest minute.  Whilst I was taking the noon altitude my companions had the choice of standing by the side of their sledges and eating their lunch, or setting the tent and taking shelter.  They generally chose the latter alternative, making up for it by going an hour longer in the afternoon.  Besides the astronomical observations, the barometric pressure, temperature, force and direction of the wind, and amount of cloud were noted three times daily; every evening a hypsometer reading was taken.

If I were to undertake the description of a long series of days like those that passed while we were travelling on the flat Barrier, I am afraid the narrative would be strikingly reminiscent of the celebrated song of a hundred and twenty verses, all with the same rhyme.  One day was very much like another.  One would think that this monotony would make the time long, but the direct opposite was the case.  I have never known time fly so rapidly as on these sledge journeys, and seldom have I seen men more happy and contented with their existence than we three, when after a successful day’s march we could set about taking our simple meal, with a pipe of cut plug to follow.  The bill of fare was identically the same every day, perhaps a fault in the eyes of many; variety of diet is supposed to be the thing.  Hang variety, say I; appetite is what matters.  To a man who is really hungry it is a very subordinate matter what he shall eat; the main thing is to have something to satisfy his hunger.

After going north for seven days, we found that according to observations and sledge-meter we ought to be in the neighbourhood of the sea.  This was correct.  My diary for November 23 reads: