The trail was faulted in several places, but we picked it up each time without much difficulty.
The following day was a bitterly disagreeable one.

On this march we had in our faces a fresh southwest wind that, ever and again, spat snow that stung like needles and searched every opening in our clothing.

But we were so delighted that we were across the young ice that these things seemed like trifles.

The end of this march was at "Camp Nansen," named in honor of Nansen's "Farthest North." This return journey was apparently destined to be full of contrasts, for the next day was one of brilliant sunlight and perfect calm.

Despite the good weather the dogs seemed almost lifeless.