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The Winter Trail
This poem, written for the "Polar Star," the Southern Party's 1913 Christmas
"newspaper," by an unnamed poet, describes the essence of travel along
the Arctic coast in winter:
Trials of the Winter Trail
Hoar frost clinging to ice cold tent;
A ringing shout "Wake up"! well meant.
A gentle movement greets the ear,
A tousled head will soon appear.
A hand stretched forth, weak with cramp;
A sputter from the Primus lamp.
A shivering form, both stiff and sore
Crawls slowly out, then shivering more
Cooks oatmeal mush, always the same
Upon the primus's angry flame.
Breakfast done, we sally forth;
Brilliant flashes in the north.
The dogs to feed, the sledge to load,
And we are once more on the road.
The pace is fast for a mile or so
Scattering ice, or cutting through snow.
The flickering flame from the lamp ahead
Shows the gleaming trail of the leading sled'.
Darkness lifts, a ruddy glow
Where "Old Sols" rays were wont to show.
A sudden gust, a lowering sky
Whirling flakes, and the drift blows high.
Dusk approaches; a warning shout,
A widening crack, then a sharp lookout.
A burst of speed and we cross the lead,
To hurry now we have no need.
Among rough ice; a sandspit near;
A native house, the men appear.
A silent greeting; a willing hand,
A crowded passage; no room to stand.
A cheerful glow from the stove near by;
Kamiks turned and hung to dry.
A frozen meal, except the tea;
Soon slumbering 'neath the furs are we.
 
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