1912 (29 page)

Fur seals were some of the worst hit by over-hunting: in 1825 James Weddell calculated that around 1.2 million fur seals had been killed on South Georgia alone. He realised the devastating impact of indiscriminate killing and proposed that, by not killing the females until the young were capable of taking to the Antarctic waters, the southern sealing grounds could provide a sustainable yield of one hundred thousand furs per year. It was
a radical thought about sustainability, way ahead of its time, and it was largely ignored. When Wilhelm Filchner reached South Georgia, decades later, fur seals numbered in the low hundreds, while elephant seals survived only as isolated communities scattered across the island. Today, South Georgia's seal population has largely recovered, with the number of ‘furries' estimated at three million—probably their highest level.

By the late nineteenth century the most lucrative financial endeavour in the Southern Ocean was whaling. In 1851 Herman Melville's fictional Captain Ishmael opined, ‘For many years past, the whale-ship has been the pioneer in ferreting out the remotest and least known parts of the earth. She has explored seas and archipelagoes which had no chart, where no Cook or Vancouver had ever sailed.' Where governments had been largely uninterested in exploring polar regions, whalers had carried on regardless. The increasingly industrialised world had become hungry for whale oil and the North Atlantic could not keep up with demand; supplies were dwindling fast, and South Georgia soon became a whaling centre.

These days the whaling station of Grytviken lies empty, save for a museum catering for tourists. But a century ago it was a hive of industrial activity. Between late 1904—when a Norwegian, Carl Anton Larsen, established a whaling factory—and 1914, almost thirty thousand whales were caught there. Dead whales were moored in the bay, waiting to be processed; when finished with, the abandoned carcasses would drift towards the shore. Even today, if you disturb the surface shoreline the smell of rotting meat and oil is overwhelming.

It was against this backdrop that the Germans arrived in October 1911. Larsen's stunning financial success meant the island now supported twelve hundred people. The Germans found Grytviken was a Scandinavian preserve, with only a small British contingent, but they were warmly welcomed.
Although disgusted at the level of waste, Filchner got along famously with Larsen and the Norwegian lent him a ship to ferry his men around.

Over the next two months the Germans frenetically studied the island. They returned to the former International Polar Year station and took magnetic measurements to see how the Earth's field had changed over the intervening thirty years; they took meteorological measurements for comparison with those they planned to gather in Antarctica; and, in their little spare time, they visited the outer islands of the Scotia Arc, the island system around the Scotia Sea that includes South Georgia.

When not making measurements, Filchner was busy readying equipment and organising supplies for their time south. The preparation was marred by the disappearance of one of the crew while fishing in the bay off Grytviken. The man fell overboard—some said accidentally, but others suspected suicide. And the ship's doctor, Ludwig Kohl, was diagnosed with appendicitis and could not continue to Antarctica, staying behind to be nursed by Larsen's daughter, whom he later married.

Despite this, the
Deutschland
left on time, departing South Georgia in December 1911. But, with conditions changing fast, Shackleton worried that the Germans now ran the risk of getting caught in the sea ice.

Heading south into the Weddell Sea the
Deutschland
made good time and in just a week sighted pack ice. But Filchner's hope that the way might be clear was soon dashed: the Weddell Sea was crowded with bergs. Slowly, the Germans pushed on, and their efforts were rewarded. By 28 January the amount of ice suddenly lessened, allowing the
Deutschland
to make considerably faster progress. By 29 January they had reached
further south than the pioneering British sealer Weddell, ninety years before.

There came hints they were near land. Sounding measurements continued to show great depths below the ship but the dead weight now routinely came back to the surface with blue clay attached, showing the seabed was covered in fine sediments laid on the ocean floor by vast ancient glaciers—something not possible far from shore. Shortly after, the water rapidly became shallower and, by the following afternoon, a gently rising icecap more than two hundred metres high and crowned by a pinnacle of rock loomed on the horizon. It was the first hard evidence of land in the far south Weddell Sea. The German team named the new coastline Prinzregent Luitpold Land, in honour of the expedition's sponsor.

After catching several penguins that made the mistake of approaching the
Deutschland
, the Germans were able to follow a similar approach to the Japanese and analyse the birds' stomachs, finding only basalt stones, implying the recently discovered mainland was all the same rock type. Hoping to find a more suitable landing place, the German expedition pushed on south from Luitpold Land, but reached just a little north of 78°S before they met an eight- to fifteen-metre-high ice cliff surrounding a small bay. The situation here was different: at a depth of more than 1150 metres, the seabed was considerably futher down. The party had discovered a hitherto-unknown ice shelf, a cousin to the Great Ice Barrier in the Ross Sea.

Keen to get as far south as possible, the expedition tried heading west—but there was no way through. To the Germans' dismay, the ice shelf directed them towards the northwest and conditions looked decidedly more threatening, risking the safety of the
Deutschland
. They could go no further; the ice shelf was a true barrier to the south. Reluctantly, Filchner realised they had to return east, from where they had come. The Germans had
found the southernmost extent of the Weddell Sea and, in spite of their monarch's lack of support, named it the Kaiser Wilhelm Ice Barrier.

Returning southeast on 2 February, the
Deutschland
edged into the recently discovered bay at the junction between Luitpold Land and the new ice barrier. Behind, the ice sheet continued to the south, the surface broken by impressive nunataks that continued off over the horizon. Filchner baptised their new anchorage Vahsel Bay.

Just as the expedition appeared to be on the verge of success, personality clashes threatened its survival. Fights broke out on board and Filchner started recording in his diary that some of the expedition members were plotting against him. Part of the problem was the frustration the men felt in seeing the land and not being able to reach it. Behind the pack ice of the Weddell Sea is one of the world's most inaccessible coastlines, and landing to explore the interior proved far more difficult than the Germans had anticipated.

Filchner's book on the expedition only hints vaguely at problems on board.
To the Sixth Continent
is a remarkably dry account that gives almost no insight into what happened behind the scenes. Filchner was a Prussian officer, and had no desire to air his dirty laundry in public. It was only towards the end of his life that he published his
Exposé
, with signed affidavits testifying to his account. Since then his diary has become available to scholars and, read together, the two accounts give a totally different insight into the expedition.

It was clear early on that Filchner and his captain were different in character and that, thanks to the expedition committee, the line of command had become confused. Filchner drank little and considered tobacco a vice, while Vahsel liked alcohol—a lot—and had a host of health problems: colds, rheumatism, exhaustion, heart concerns and, if those weren't
enough, syphilis, which no doubt made all his other complaints considerably worse in the frigid conditions. Filchner had hoped the individual cabins on board the
Deutschland
might help, so that ‘the personal tensions inevitable on polar voyages should rarely reach a dangerous level.' It was not to be. The ship's officers and crew split down lines of allegiance to the two men.

With its unenviable atmosphere of tension and suspicion, the team was in danger of falling apart. Summer was nearing its end and the expedition was falling drastically behind schedule. Yet more problems surfaced. The captain now insisted the main aim of the journey was to beat Weddell's southernmost record of 1823, and this had been achieved. Given all the preparations for sledging and scientific observation on shore, Vahsel's new stance bewildered Filchner. Landing was anathema to Vahsel. Perhaps, because of his experience in the sea ice on the
Gauss
, he feared being caught a second time. Filchner pleaded with the captain to land, so they could set up a base from which scientific exploration might start.

Finally, in February, Vahsel yielded—but the chosen site was controversial. The captain had suggested they place their base on an iceberg attached to the shelf, where it would be within easy reach of the ship and connected to the inland ice. Filchner was not so sure: it seemed too close to the sea edge and at risk of falling into the ocean. Vahsel maintained it would be okay; but with Filchner desiring a second opinion, the captain reluctantly agreed to consult the Norwegian ice pilot Paul Björvik, one of the few seamen on board who had any experience of ice. Vahsel went away and returned shortly after, confirming he had Björvik's word that this was the best spot. Filchner consented. The next phase of the expedition could start.

With the site chosen, supplies were hurriedly unloaded in preparation for the winter. Seeing Björvik, Filchner remarked on its fine location. ‘Very bad,' Björvik replied. ‘I have always had the opinion that you should build no station on a floating iceberg but only on the inland ice, and if possible a couple of kilometres inland.' When the bosun also voiced displeasure and accused Filchner of making decisions without listening to experienced men, the German leader realised Vahsel had never asked Björvik his opinion.

Filchner was furious. He challenged Vahsel, who retorted angrily that the crewman had lied. Filchner wrote wearily in his diary on the 13 February, ‘I don't trust the captain any more.' It was too late to do anything. The expedition was committed to the decision and the location would have to do.

In four days the hut frame was raised and the roof completed. For a brief moment, concerns over the wisdom of the site were forgotten. Cigars were lit, beers cracked and chocolates eaten in celebration. By 17 February the expedition hut was completed: animals, provisions, coal and scientific equipment had been unloaded for a winter of work and the following year's attempt on the South Geographic Pole.

The celebrations did not last long. Within twenty-four hours there was an explosive boom and the expedition was in crisis. Filchner would later write ruefully, ‘In the Antarctic ice one should never celebrate too loudly if, for once, everything is going well for the moment; generally things soon turn out differently.' It could not have been much worse: a sudden spring tide had exposed a weakness in the shelf and a large part had broken off, taking the new base with it.

The berg cast adrift was a staggering size, close in area to Singapore and containing the equivalent of some fifty billion cubic metres of water. It must have been an awe-inspiring sight for the men on the
Deutschland
. Filchner had been incredibly
unlucky: even today a berg of this size is a rare sight in the south.

The
Deutschland
fired up its engines and set off in hot pursuit, chasing the berg that was floating away with the expedition's raison d'être. The Germans worked tirelessly towards a single aim: to salvage as much of the equipment and animals as possible, and ferry them back on to the
Deutschland
using the ship's lifeboats. Incredibly, most of these were saved.

With admirable optimism, they immediately started another base on the ice, intending to move a tonne of supplies on shore, led by the loyal Kling. Vahsel's delays and intransigence over landing, though, prevented this modest plan being completed; on 4 March the captain declared they must return to South Georgia if the ship was to escape being frozen in. The
Deutschland
would have to return next year for a second attempt. Filchner somehow kept calm in front of the men as the vessel turned north.