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Overview
Roald Amundsen—hero or villain? Amundsen's South Polar conquest is an extraordinary tale that combines risk, intrigue, and personal conflict. A man of striking intelligence and a single-minded thirst for world records, Amundsen's astute planning and shrewd strategy propelled him into first place. Such a man, with everything to lose, will stop at nothing to secure his goal. His story is a testament to utter brilliance and ruthlessness. From the author of the highly acclaimed Into the White, and full of life-threatening challenges, deception, disappointments, and triumph, Amundsen's Way is an adventure story in the purest sense.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781760871192 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Allen & Unwin Pty., Limited |
| Publication date: | 05/06/2019 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 320 |
| File size: | 5 MB |
| Age Range: | 10 - 14 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
EARLY SEPTEMBER 1910 – MADEIRA
Flies gather in their thousands, a vibrating black swarm animating the air. A man might jump overboard to escape but the dogs don't mind. They rip into the chunks of flesh carved off the horse carcass, savouring the succulent meat and gnawing on bone fragments. It's the second such feast this week and a welcome respite from the usual ration of dried fish they've been getting on the four-week sea voyage from Norway.
Captain Thorvald Nilsen regards the scene with a sour expression. 'Yet more muck to clean up.'
Twice a day the decks of the Fram are sluiced with buckets of salt water. Necessary toil for the twenty men aboard when travelling with a cargo of ninety-seven sledge dogs. Fouling is only one issue. The fighting has been more or less constant. Not surprising given they're occupying every available space on deck. Until accustomed to living in such close quarters, the dogs will remain chained. They're a vicious lot. Already they've attacked the Madeira official who attempted a health inspection the evening of their arrival on the Portuguese island; and all of Captain Nilsen's carrier pigeons have disappeared, leaving only feathers. The captain scarcely needs a reason to deliver a swift kick to the unlucky dog that gets under his feet.
'Mind your manners,' he bellows when growled at.
The dogs have been divided up, with men assigned to each group. Among Roald Amundsen's dogs are three inseparable friends that he has christened 'the Three Musketeers'. United in their hatred of the chief, they snarl whenever he approaches. Amundsen considers it safest to deliver the horsemeat on a long stick, which he also uses to offer a back scratch. 'You'll come around,' he says soothingly. 'All in good time.'
Captain Nilsen scoffs.
Amundsen appreciates the reason for the captain's dark mood. He too is unsettled by what lies ahead. There is still much uncertainty. But the time is fast approaching when the whole affair will be resolved.
One by one Amundsen's dogs flop onto their sides, their bellies full to bursting. Not a bad spot to sleep off a feeding frenzy, in the shade of the tarpaulins that have been rigged up against the powerful sun. Here, off the coast of north Africa, the heat is cruel punishment for creatures with such an overabundance of fur. Just as well they won't be staying long in Madeira, their only port of call on the five-month sea journey to Antarctica. Of course the dogs don't know they're heading to Antarctica. Neither does the crew.
Captain Nilsen is getting tired of keeping Amundsen's secret. For months he's perpetuated the lie that the Arctic is their final destination, that they will round the bottom of South America and sail up the other side, all the way to the Bering Strait, where they'll enter the Arctic Ocean and drift in the sea ice across the North Pole. The crew, the expedition sponsors, Fridtjof Nansen (Amundsen's mentor and the owner of the ship), even the Norwegian parliament and the king and queen have been sold the same lie. But why head north now when the prize has already been seized by not one but two men – Peary and Cook both claiming to have reached the North Pole.
'You better be lucky down there at the South Pole. Because you'll be thrown into prison if you're not! And probably me too.' Captain Nilsen finds it increasingly hard to hold his tongue when it's just the two of them.
'Luck has nothing to do with it,' is Amundsen's cool reply.
The captain knows Amundsen well enough to realise he will achieve his aim; but he won't make any friends in the process. Least of all Captain Scott, the English polar explorer who has made clear his intention to be the first person to reach the southernmost point on the globe. He's already on his way.
Several of the crewmen are suspicious by now. The more experienced ones have voiced the opinion that it would be madness to erect a hut on the Arctic sea ice, yet the hut they built in Amundsen's garden and then took apart was loaded into the ship's hold. Still others have questioned the logic of bringing sledge dogs all the way from Norway, when they'll supposedly be passing Alaska, home of the finest huskies.
'Now that we're in Madeira,' Nilsen's tone softens, 'do you think it might be time to let the cat out of the bag?'
Amundsen smiles. 'Well of course. That was always the plan. Get to Madeira, figure out who wants to join us. Whoever doesn't can return to Norway with my brother.'
Leon. Captain Nilsen does not envy that hapless man. He'll be the one to notify Fridtjof Nansen that Amundsen has absconded with the Fram – Nansen's precious vessel, the first ship purpose-built for polar research. Leon will also have to tell the king about Roald Amundsen's radical change of plan. He alone will shoulder the burden. They'll be long gone by then. Not even a king's decree will reach the Fram once it leaves Madeira.
CHAPTER 2'This one's pregnant.' Oscar Wisting runs a hand over the dog's belly.
'Just what we need, more disgusting dogs cluttering up my deck,' mutters the captain.
Oscar jerks his head in surprise. 'What? Don't you like them?' He's already formed a deep attachment to his ten dogs. Camilla is one of his favourites. And now he has an excuse to increase her rations. They greet their master with howls of uncontained joy, especially on the days when Oscar mixes the dried fish with a generous dollop of beef fat and boiled cornmeal. The more intelligent dogs have worked out that this treat is dished up every third day. Others just apply their intelligence to stealing from neighbours.
The night is warm. The crew gathers on deck. They've been told an important announcement is coming. Hjalmar Johansen squeezes in beside Helmer Hansen. Both men are seasoned Arctic adventurers. Both have their suspicions that all is not what it seems aboard the Fram.
'What do you think?' says Johansen knowingly. 'Are we finally going to find out what's going on?'
The two men chuckle. They've shared their theories with a few others aboard and there's a certain nervous tension in the air. Amundsen appears before the assembled men. He's an imposing figure, tall, with a regal bearing. The serious set of his face, his unwavering gaze and his large hooked nose lend a heroic cast to his appearance. He is, after all, a world-famous explorer, the first man to navigate the Northwest Passage. The one man who succeeded where so many had died trying. They're all a bit awed by his reputation. All except Johansen, that is. He has his own impressive reputation.
Amundsen's brother Leon, who has been heavily involved in expedition planning, stands to one side with Captain Nilsen, who flicks the edge of a rolled-up chart back and forth with his fingernail in an obsessive fashion. Leon's eyes dart from man to man. Roald stands erect, his expression unreadable.
Finally the great explorer speaks. 'Thank you for waiting so patiently, and thank you for your hard work. Our first weeks together have been most enjoyable. As you're aware, I've chosen each of you for your strong character. Ours is an ambitious expedition and I require a certain type of individual, capable of adapting to changing conditions. You each have much to contribute and I trust we will end our association not only as colleagues but as friends. I have no doubt that you will be tested greatly in the coming months, but I have perhaps one of the greatest tests for you tonight.' Amundsen pauses and asks the captain to unroll his chart.
And there it is. Antarctica. Johansen chortles to himself. He finally understands the need for secrecy, and the absurd excuses for all the odd preparations.
'I have deceived you,' says Amundsen flatly. 'We will not be heading round the Horn and up through the Bering Strait towards the North Pole. We are in fact heading due south. To Antarctica. To the South Pole.'
Amundsen examines the men's faces. This is shattering news and they're clearly dumbfounded. Except Johansen, of course, who has a grin spreading from ear to ear. Johansen elbows Helmer in the ribs. He too starts to smile. They're going to race Captain Scott to the South Pole. No wonder Amundsen had to keep his true intentions a secret.
'Anyone who wishes to be released from his contract must leave the Fram by tomorrow morning and return to Norway with my brother Leon. I will cover all the costs of your return travel.'
The smiles prove contagious. Each man turns to his neighbour and starts to talk. Several crewmen draw closer to Nilsen's chart and point at the big black dot at the centre of the continent, drawing a line with their fingers out to the coast.
Captain Nilsen's voice rises above the hubbub. 'We need you each to signal your commitment to the new plan.'
Amundsen is already circulating among the men. He's noticed Johansen, read his enthusiastic expression. 'Up for adventure, Johansen?'
'Never been readier.'
Amundsen nods mildly at the man Fridtjof Nansen insisted he bring on the expedition, practically made it impossible to refuse. The fact still irks him.
Adolf Lindstrøm doesn't wait to be asked. 'You'll need a cook,' he says, clasping Amundsen's shoulders and planting a kiss on each cheek.
The familiarity doesn't bother the chief – not from Lindstrøm, his beloved Northwest Passage cook. 'Good on you, Fatty,' he says.
'And you, Helmer?' Another veteran of the Northwest journey, Helmer is a restless spirit with unstinting loyalty. Amundsen barely needs to ask. Oscar Wisting is swept along by the excitement. He's suddenly laughing with the national ski champion, Olav Bjaaland, at the boldness of the plan, at what's being asked of them. Both lack experience and yet both are quick to offer their support.
Jørgen Stubberud squeezes in to shake Amundsen's hand with his strong carpenter's grip. 'You've got me hook, line and sinker, sir.'
Relief eases the knot in Amundsen's chest as more men pledge themselves to the expedition. For a whole year he's held his secret so close. Now, with so many hands to shake, so many agreeing to accompany him, Amundsen allows the tension to leave his body. Who would have thought that revealing his hand would be so freeing?
'Looks like you'll be going home on your own,' Amundsen says to his brother. 'I'll get the men to write to their families – tell them of the change in plan. You can take the letters with you.' He reaches into his pocket and retrieves two envelopes. 'Two from me to deliver. One to Nansen. One to the king.'
Leon swallows hard.
Amundsen ignores the feeble gesture and proffers a slip of paper. 'You'll need to send a telegram too.'
Leon looks down. The wording is simple and direct:
Captain Scott Terra Nova Christchurch Beg Inform You Fram Proceeding Antarctica. Amundsen.
'This is it, Leon,' says Amundsen with obvious delight. 'Whether Scott likes it or not. The race is on.'
DECEMBER 1887 – BUNDE FJORD, NORWAY
The fifteen-year-old shivers as he wedges his bedroom window open with a rag. Even if the wind picks up, it won't slam shut. He hopes it will snow in the night, forcing the temperature in his bedroom well below zero. The colder the better. Suffering is part of the pleasure. Tucked under his bedclothes, Roald waits until his breath turns white. Only then does he reach for his book.
Sir John Franklin's men are starved. On the Coppermine River there is no game to hunt. They've covered a thousand kilometres and mapped a small section of the Arctic coast. Fort Enterprise lies a week's march away, but they are exhausted. They have nothing to eat. They make do with foraged lichen and boil up the leather from their spare boots. Two men find a maggot-ridden carcass abandoned by a pack of wolves. It's a hearty meal for dying men.
'What are you doing?' Roald's mother exclaims, bustling into the room. 'You'll catch your death of cold.'
'Leave it open, I like the fresh air,' Roald says from behind the cover of Journey to the Shores of the Polar Sea.
'Nonsense.' Roald's mother wrenches the rag free and snaps the window shut. 'I've just lost your father. I don't want to lose a son.'
Roald does not need reminding that his father is dead and his older brothers have all left home. 'Leave me please, Mother,' he says with tenderness. 'I'm enjoying my book.'
'Sir John Franklin,' Roald's mother muses, tilting the cover of the book. 'Is that the Arctic explorer?'
'The very same,' says Roald distractedly, his gaze once again glued to the text.
'Don't you get any ideas now,' she says, heading for the door. 'You're going to go to medical school.'
Roald doesn't want to be a doctor; he would rather become an Arctic explorer and be hungry, frozen and close to death. Roald slips out of bed and once again wedges his window open.
CHAPTER 3'So where have these books been hiding?' asks Johansen, his tone implying slyness on the part of the chief.
'Hiding in plain view.' Amundsen's reply is curt. 'They've been on the bookshelf since we left Norway. You just didn't notice them.'
Johansen picks up a copy of The Voyage of the Discovery, Captain Scott's account of his first journey to Antarctica and his attempt to push as far south as possible. Judging by its dog-eared appearance it's been pored over. Other books are scattered across the dining table. All great men, these pioneers of Antarctic exploration – James Clarke Ross, Borchgrevink, Armitage, Ernest Shackleton, and of course Robert Falcon Scott. Johansen gives a half laugh. He's written his own book. With Nansen in the North was the title. A written account of an epic journey. Maybe not a classic of polar literature. But who knows, maybe he'll chronicle his Antarctic adventures and call it: With Amundsen in the South.
Since learning of their true destination, the men have behaved like schoolboys, joking, singing and debating their prospects of being first at the southernmost point of the globe. Unlike schoolboys, they're motivated to do their homework. They all feel ill-equipped.
Settled into the corner of the wardroom, Helmer has his nose in the first volume of The Heart of the Antarctic, which chronicles Shackleton's journey to 88 degrees south – so far, the world record. Clothing, travel and food, dog driving and survival in conditions of almost unbearable severity – there's not much Helmer doesn't know after spending so many years exploring the Arctic. He's always hungry for adventure, but he's troubled by how little he knows about the great white continent.
'You'll have to hurry through that Shackleton,' says Stubberud to Helmer. 'No point me starting the story at Volume Two.'
'Easy now, big boy. We've got months yet,' Helmer scoffs.
'Well, I'll need months. I'm not much of a reader,' says Stubberud. 'I prefer to smoke my pipe of an evening.'
There's one book on the table that should be of particular interest. Belgica Diary: The First Scientific Expedition to the Antarctic. Nobody has noticed but the name of the author is stamped on the spine as plain as day – Roald Amundsen.
Amundsen picks up the book he wrote almost fifteen years ago. Serving as first mate on a Belgian expedition to Antarctica was his big break, working without pay to get his foot in the door. Securing a place on any kind of polar expedition was nearly impossible without experience. As a lad he'd ventured out on his own in and around Norway, but claiming to be well-organised, a strong skier and an able seaman counted for little. To be taken seriously he'd had to climb up from the bottom and prove himself in many surprising ways. Working amid the appalling filth and butchery of the Norwegian sealing fleet had little to recommend it, but in so doing Amundsen had obtained the necessary qualifications to command his own boat. That had been his ticket to Antarctica, and while the Belgica expedition was hellish in all respects, it did mark the beginning of an illustrious career. Amundsen closes the book. Some of the memories are still painful. He's invested much in his Antarctic ambitions. Now it's time to bring it all to bear.
Up on deck Captain Nilsen stands firm at the wheel and glances intermittently at the sails. Nilsen follows the old Portuguese shipping route that will initially take them out across the Atlantic Ocean and towards Brazil. From there, they'll meet the south-east trade winds which will whip them back towards South Africa where their journey will tend ever southward. Human civilisation dissolves into the eastern horizon. The dogs indulge in a chorus of celebratory howling.
'We're nothing but a floating kennel,' sighs Nilsen as he scans the sky. He's got other concerns – sailing the Fram all the way to Antarctica with two sails instead of four on the foremast and two where there could be three on the jib-boom. He'd love a full set, but the budget wouldn't stretch. He checks the hour. Time for Sverre Hassel to take over the next watch. The captain looks forward to being relieved of his duties by the dog handler. He stretches his neck first one way then the other, waiting for the reassuring click as he watches Sverre argue his way along the deck with tender-hearted Oscar cradling something in his jacket.
'What's the fuss, you two?'
Oscar looks annoyed. 'My dog, Camilla, she had her puppies – four of them. Last night.'
'And?' The captain yawns.
'A couple of other dogs got hold of them. Ate three. Only this one left.' Oscar peers into his jacket.
'Nature's a cruel mistress …' The captain feels no pity. His own pigeons met a similar fate.
'Sverre wants to toss it overboard,' Wisting says suddenly. 'Because it's female.'
Captain Nilsen gives a shrug.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Amundsen's Way"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Joanna Grochowicz.
Excerpted by permission of Allen & Unwin.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
7 MARCH 1912 – HOBART,
December 1887 – Bunde Fjord, Norway,
1886 – Hardangervidda, Norway,
1898 – the Belgica expedition,
1903 – Ogchotku, Northwest Passage,
April 1895 – Arctic Circle,
Epilogue,
Pic Section,
Bibliography,
Acknowledgements,
About the Author,