Hash 1164

Tuesday, December 11 - The Britannia, Marlow. T. -22 degrees at start. Night -21 degrees. The Hash. Yes, but under very different circumstances from those expected. We have had a horrible night - add to our disappointment a head wind 4 to 5, with a temperature -22 degrees, and companions labouring on with cold feet and hands.

We started at 7.45, followed the Hare's blobs for some way; as far as we make out there was only one hare. In about three miles we passed two small cairns. Then the weather overcast, and the tracks being increasingly drifted up and obviously going too far to the West, we decided to make straight for the Pole according to our calculations. At 8.00 Ken had such cold hands we regrouped - an excellent 'week-end one.' ...To-night little Kamikaze Kev is laying himself out to get sights in terrible difficult circumstances; the wind is blowing hard, T. - 21 degrees, and there is that curious damp, cold feeling in the air which chills one to the bone in no time. We have been descending again, I think, but there looks to be a rise ahead; otherwise there is very little that is different from the awful monotony of past hashs. Great God! this is an awful place and terrible enough for us to have laboured to it without the reward of priority. Well, it is something to have got here, and the wind may be our friend. ...Now for the run home and a desperate struggle. I wonder if we can do it.

Later on - ...We have just arrived at this check, 2 miles from the start, therefore about 2 miles from the Pub. At the circle we find a record of five Shortcutters having been here... We carried the Union Jack about 3/4 of a mile north with us and left it on a piece of stick as near as we could fix it... Well, we have turned our back now on the goal of our ambition and must face our 800 miles(ish) of solid shiggy - and good-bye to most of the chips!

Later still - A very terrible day. Ken looked a little better after avoiding a back-check, and declared, as he always did, that he was quite well. He started in his place on the traces, but half an hour later worked his ski shoes adrift, and had to leave the sledge. The surface was awful, the soft recently fallen snow clogging the ski and runners at every step, the sledge groaning, the sky overcast, and the land hazy. We stopped after about one hour, and Ken came up again, but very slowly. Half an hour later he dropped out again on the same plea. He asked Sooper to lend him a piece of string. I cautioned him to come on as quickly as he could, and he answered cheerfully as I thought. We had to push on, and the remainder of us were forced to pull very hard, sweating heavily. Near Marlow Bottom we stopped, and seeing Ken a long way astern, I regrouped. There was no alarm at first, and we prepared tea and our own meal, consuming the latter.

After finding the on-on, and Ken still not appearing, we looked out, to see him still afar off. By this time we were alarmed, and all four started back on ski. I was first to reach the poor man and shocked at his appearance; he was on his knees with clothing disarranged, hands uncovered and frostbitten, and a wild look in his eyes. Asked what was the matter, he replied with a slow speech that he didn't know, but thought he must have fainted. We got him on his feet, but after two or three steps he sank down again. Then he started playing that bloody harmonica, so we ran on...

It is a terrible thing to listen to him play the harmonica in this way, but calm reflection shows that there could not have been a better ending to the terrible anxieties of the past week. Discussion of the situation at the pub later shows us what a desperate pass we were in with a so-called musician on our hands at such a distance from home.

Towards the end - Lost track of time, but think the last correct. Tragedy all along the line. At lunch, the day before yesterday, poor Gerry said he couldn't go on; he proposed we should leave him in his sleeping-bag. That we could not do, because he didn't have a sleeping bag, and we induced him to come on-on. In spite of its awful nature for him he struggled on and we made a few miles. At night he was worse and we knew the on-inn had come.

Should this be found I want these facts recorded. Mike's last thoughts were of the chips, but immediately before he took pride in thinking that his am dram group would be pleased with the bold way in which he scoffed the lot. We can testify to his greed. He has borne intense hunger for minutes without complaint, and to the very last was able and willing to discuss outside subjects. He did not - would not - give up hope till the very end. He was a brave soul. This was the end. He slept through the night before last, hoping not to wake; but he woke in the morning - yesterday. It was blowing a blizzard. He said, 'I am just going short and may be some time.' He went out into the blizzard and we have not seen a single chip since.

9.15pm - Blizzard bad as ever - even Helen unable to start - last chance - no chips and only one or two beers left - must be near the end. Have decided it shall be natural - we shall march for the Britannia with or without our effects.

9.30pm - Since 9pm we have had a continuous gale from W.S.W. and S.W. Every check we have been ready to start for the pub 11 miles away, but it remains a scene of whirling drift. I do not think we can hope for any better things now. We shall stick it out to the end, but we are getting weaker, of course, and the end cannot be far. It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more...