MY NORTHERN EXPOSURE

THE KAWA AT THE POLE

BY

WALTER E. TRAPROCK

F.R.S.S.E.U., N.L.L.D.

AUTHOR OF "THE CRUISE OF THE KAWA"

WITH TWENTY-ONE FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS

G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS

NEW YORK AND LONDON

The Knickerbocker Press

1922

Copyright, 1922

by

G.P. Putnam's Sons

Made in the United States of America

DEDICATED

TO

IKIK, SNAK, YALOK, LAPATOK AND KLIPITOK

(THE ONLY ESKIMOS I EVER LOVED)

AND

SAUSALITO

[Pg 7]

FOREWORD

BY

Irving T. Grosbeak, R.O.T.C.

AT DURFEE COLLEGE, XENIA, O.

For hundreds of years men have struggled amid snow and ice to reach one or the other of the earth's poles. Why? What has attracted them? What has been the lure which has led them from warm firesides and comfortable radiators to suffer the rigors of a most annoying climate?

We search in vain among the writings of modern polar explorers for a satisfactory answer to this question.

In earlier days we find credible reasons for this fanatical zeal, reasons which were material and commercial. In the dark ages we know that hardy Norsemen sought an Ultima Thule beyond the Arctic Circle. The Irish also claim credit for the earliest discoveries. They would. These voyages were mere forays undertaken with the hope of ad[Pg 8]vantages in barter and exchange. Following the establishment by Columbus of the globular theory of earth formation we read, likewise, of many futile attempts to reach the fabled wealth of India by short cuts and northwest passages. The adventurous Cabots, fearless Frobisher and gallant Gilbert were mainly occupied with material aims, the securing of additional colonies for the crown, additional gold for the royal treasury. They were out for the cush.

But when we turn to modern days in which the forbidding character of the northland has been well understood we are more puzzled to find a reasonable explanation for its fascination. We meet frequently that strange phrase, "the lure of the North," which is later described in terms of unspeakable hardships. We are told that this or that expedition was undertaken in order "to add to the sum of human knowledge" though that addition proves to be a series of tidal observations and barometric readings which could have been arrived at with sufficient exactness by scientific computations.

Moreover, without belittling the courage and determination of our gallant Peary, it is evident that his exploit was not discovery in its strictest sense. The pole had been located for centuries as being[Pg 9] the exact point of convergence of the meridional lines. Its precise position was known. To reach it, then, was a problem in transportation rather than one of actual discovery. This problem Peary solved magnificently and since that memorable April 6th, 1909, the flags of the United States, Delta Kappa Epsilon (Gnu Chapter), the world's Ensign of Peace, the Navy League and the Red Cross have flapped concertedly at the top of the world.

And yet the mystery has remained. We can not read the stories of these brave men, from the most successful to the least, without wondering what it was which actually drew them into the regions of eternal ice and snow. We can but suspect some great, unrevealed truth, some untold secret lying back of the veil of fog, shrouded in the darkness of the long Arctic night.

May we not well ask, "Has the entire truth been told? has the last word been spoken which will forever answer the natural question, why go there?"

It has remained for Walter E. Traprock to answer that question in no uncertain terms. The writer has no hesitation in saying that since the perusal of Dr. Traprock's log the entire northern question has been illuminated with perpetual sunshine.

[Pg 10]

It is not within the province of this foreword to go into details. The reader can, at the close of this book, lay it down with the thought that he knows the whole story of the North, the truth, the whole truth, and a lot else.

But it would be wrong for us to lay our pen aside without a word of explanation as to how the Traprock Polar Expedition came to be undertaken, for the circumstances were at once so dramatic and unusual as to warrant their preservation in definite form. In the spring of 1921, following Traprock's amazing discovery of the Filbert Islands, a meeting of the Explorers Union of the United States was held in the Federation Rotunda in Cambridge, Mass. The name of Traprock was in every mouth and to many it was distinctly unpalatable. A three days meeting resulted in the formation of the Traprock Polar Expedition. One half of the necessary funds was supplied by the Federation, the remainder being pledges by individuals.[1] But here is the dramatic truth which has never before been stated.

THE FEDERATED EXPLORERS NEVER EXPECTED DR. TRAPROCK TO RETURN!

[Pg 11]

The entire expedition was a deliberate plot on the part of jealous scientific men to forever remove from the field of action their most brilliantly successful rival. How this dastardly effort failed is told in the succeeding pages, which add fresh lustre to the crown, fresh laurel to the brows of America's intrepid son, Walter E. Traprock.

A mere statement of the fact that the first condition of Traprock's contract was that he should not only reach the Pole himself but that he should take his ship there will indicate the handicaps which were imposed from the start.

Did Traprock flinch or evade? Did he hesitate or shilly-shally?

Let the ice-bergs answer! Let the seals bark reply! Let the north wind howl its answer.

Better still, let the testimony of Traprock be graved on the Palisades of Time, that the world may know forever just exactly "Why Explorers Leave Home!"

Irving T. Grosbeak. Hall of Applied Ceramics, Durfee College, Xenia, O.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] All of these individual pledges are still outstanding.—Ed.

[Pg 13]

CONTENTS

[Pg 15]

"The Camera Cannot Lie"

ILLUSTRATIONS

Dr. Walter E. Traprock and Snak Triplett the Undaunted Un Déjeuner à la Bougie What the Well-dressed Explorer will Wear The Big Hunting The Two Bears The Nine o'Clock Bottle Intensive Optimism The Avowal About to be Captured Something New in Dramatics After the Bath Dinner is Served A Far-off Fashion Plate [Pg 16] A Nimrod of the North An Arch Archeologist The Battle on the Brink Ode to the Aurora A Moment Musical Dirty Work at the Igloo? A Consultation

Photographs by N. COURTNEY OWEN

[Pg 17]

MY NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Chapter I

The Origin of the Expedition. A memorable meeting. Inklings of a plot. My innocent enthusiasm. Our personnel. I put the proposition up to Triplett.

[Pg 19]

MY NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Chapter I

"Mush!"

The cry of command rang out on the frosty air.

"Mush!"

Again the surrounding ice echoed the word which seems, more than any other, to tell the whole story of the North.

At its repetition, my sturdy followers hurled their bulks against the trace-collars while a babel of exhortation shattered the silence. "Let's go!" "We're off." "Attaboy!"

The Traprock Polar Expedition was on its way!

We had reached the edge of the great polar-pack. Those of my readers whose knowledge of ice packs is limited to those which can be wrapped in an ordinary hand-towel can, of course, form no impression of the magnitude and desolation of the scene which lay before us. As far as the eye could see....

But I am far north of my narrative. It would[Pg 20] be an obvious injustice to my companions and fellow-polarists to omit mention at this time of the personnel of our extraordinary expedition, the most complete and carefully organized that ever set out toward the Big Peg.

Let us go back, then, in memory to the eventful meeting of the Explorers Union, held in Cambridge on Friday, April 1st, 1921. I can see the picture with vivid distinctness, the shining bald-heads and snowy crowns of the aged members, o'er arched by the larger but no more dignified dome of the Rotunda itself, the bright spots of light on the polished mahogany table, the swift fingered secretary, who had gorgeous henna hair, I remember—I can see it all;—and I can hear clearly the voice of old Dr. Waxman, the President, (whose exploits in the Ant-Arctic will be well remembered,[2]) as he rose and said,

"Well then, gentlemen, it is settled. Traprock must go."

The company as one man echoed the President's remark.

"Traprock must go!"

With the sound of this verdict ringing in my ears I delivered a short speech of appreciation. Little[Pg 21] did I realize at the time the sinister influences which had been at work to bring about the very result which so filled my heart with pride. Little did I know that among the men who sat by my side that evening sharing with me the hand and hip of friendship, passing me an occasional peanut from the store which the President was cracking with his gavel, little did I imagine that among them were some to whom the words "Traprock must go" meant a far different thing from what it did to me. But as old Tertullian has it, "Nemo me impune lacessit"—"What you don't know won't hurt you"; and so from a full heart I thanked them.

At the end of twenty minutes, President Waxman interrupted me to ask, "When can you start?"

I heard one of the older members whisper, "Not 'when can he start?' When can he stop?"

"Now." I answered with characteristic brevity, giving the whispering member a look which he will never forget.

The meeting broke up forthwith. Before leaving the Rotunda, Adolph Banderholtz, Secretary-for-Polar-Affairs of the Explorers Union (which I shall hereafter refer to as the E.U.) handed me a typewritten list of names.

"These are our nominations for the expedition,"[Pg 25] he said with his shallow smile. "You will find them admirably equipped in their respective departments. Good-bye."

TRIPLETT THE UNDAUNTED Captain Ezra Triplett, the navigator of Dr. Traprock's metamorphic yawl needs no introduction to students of marine accomplishment. To lay-readers perhaps a brief preamble is in order. Born a not-too-simple son of New Bedford, Mass., Triplett has climbed the rope-ladder of success from cabin-boy to Captaincy, from poop-deck to mast-head. Gifted with uncanny nautical skill this Captain Courageous is equally at home on ice. Seldom if ever has the camera been more successful in catching the very soul of the sitter, who in this case is standing. But whether assis or debout Ezra Triplett is always master of the situation. The animals in the background are not dogs but Amoks, those wild vulpines of the North which have been trained by hand to obey their master's voice. The whip, coiled snake-like about the Captain's friendly artics, is an entirely superfluous emblem of authority, for this remarkable man achieves his results by the power of the human eye alone. In this connection it should be noted that Triplett is limited to a single

optic. The one on the right as one faces the photograph is phony, the original having literally leaped out of its socket many years ago during an exciting kangaroo hunt. The eye, rolling away into the bush, was never recovered in spite of a handsome reward-notice in the Sydney, Melbourne and Adelaide press. Thus Triplett lost not only the sight of the eye but the eye itself. What the Captain achieves with his single orb is nothing short of amazing and we have frequently seen him face-down such fearless fellow-men as George Jean Nathan merely by turning towards them his blind eye. Both attitude and costume are superbly characteristic, the massive oak-timbered frame filling to repletion the bearskin jerkin with its practical one-man-top. As a protection for the nether limbs Triplett invariably wore light woolen pajamas with gee-string exits and entrances. This scant covering was ample even in the severest weather, owing to the fact that Triplett's own limbs are clothed with a heavy coat of natural fur which, in his own words, is "grown on the place."

Triplett the Undaunted

He extended a limp hand which I hurt as much as possible by using a peculiar grip taught me by an old swaboda in the Malay peninsula. He went deathly white and faded from my view. I fear I do not always realize my strength.

Banderholtz is one of the type of arm-chair explorers which I particularly detest. Everything he does is superficial. In the early days when airplanes were safer than they are now because they would not rise more than six feet from the ground, he gained a great reputation as a birdman on the strength of once having been up in a captive-balloon in the Bois de Boulogne.

But this is no place for personal animosities. I caught the midnight train to New York, rang for the Porter and insisted that my section be un-made and a table furnished. Now that the matter was settled I was burning with a desire to work out the details. All night I toiled away, the click of my typewriter being the only sound except an occasional curse from the occupants of nearby berths. An old gentleman in upper-seven disturbed me somewhat with his snoring but gradually the sound[Pg 26] blended itself with the snorts of the sea-lions which I was already hearing in imagination and I became oblivious to all interruption. When the train pulled into Grand Central my preliminary work was complete. My various lists, personnel, food, equipment, scientific objects, etc. had all been sketched out. The remaining weeks of April were devoted to the detail of complete organization, all of which I attended to personally.

Since I have already spoken of the E.U. list of names, I may as well dispose of the subject at this time. Quite naturally it was composed, in the main, of scientific men, men famed each in his particular field. I knew them by their works, and a casual glance at the list convinced me that our expedition would compare with the best in its scientific departments.

The first name was that of Warburton Plock, whose reputation in anthropology, zoology and biology fitted him to size up and classify any living thing. Plock's work on simians and femurae is the accepted monkey-manual in most menageries. I shall never forget the impression it made upon me the first time I read it.

The important studies of cartography, oceanography, topography and kindred subjects were[Pg 27] allotted to Elmer E. Miskin, of the E.U. library forces. Miskin was what one might call a self-made explorer. He had worked his way up from the bottom of the paper basket, through a long course in filing and cataloguing. While a boy in the grade schools of his native town of Peapack, N.J. he had shown early promise by winning five consecutive gold stars in map-drawing and one of his prize-winning creations with the Orange Mountains represented by caterpillars glued on the cardboard now hangs behind the door of the Principal's office of the Hooker Avenue School. This was his first experience in the field.

Three other names complete the E.U. list, Croyden Sloff, magnetician, electrician and victrologist, Winchester Wigmore, snow- and ice-expert and Bartholomew Dane, egyptologist.

It was with surprise that I saw the name of Warburton Plock. We had met frequently in the old days when we used to gather round the keg at the E.U. meetings and our feelings had always been antipathetic. But I resolved that no fancied grudges should cloud the sky of our venture and immediately wired Plock a cordial telegram saying, "Am counting on your loyal support and hope I shall get it."

[Pg 28]

It is hardly necessary to say that my own selections for travelling companions included my old friends Herman Swank, the artist, and Reg Whinney, scientist, whose loyalty and devotion during my South Sea travels have forged links of friendship which can never be broken. Swank's enthusiasm at the prospect of actually painting the aurora borealis from life was unbounded. He at once thought of his colleagues in the colorful modern school. "I'll have them skinned a mile," he cried.

Other men may possibly excel in special lines, but I am confident that as an all-round scientist, Whinney can give them all cards and spades. His fund of general information saved me thousands of dollars for he combined several people in one. For instance he knew quite enough about medicine to be our official doctor. As soon as he received the polar invitation he set about studying polar diseases, snow blindness, scurvy, chill-blains, frost-bite and so on. He was an expert photographer and got results from a 3¼ × 4¼ Kodak that surprised everybody including himself. He had also become keenly interested in radiography and brought a complete outfit aboard with him, using his own body as a spool upon which to coil his antennae until they could be rigged in a proper manner. Most[Pg 29] men have two sides, but Whinney had at least a dozen. He combined many men in one. Way back in our college days I recall that he was taken on the Christmas trip of the Glee Club because he could play the banjo and he made the banjo-club because he

could sing. He wasn't good at either but he averaged well.

In addition to Swank and Whinney, I made another selection based on painstaking thought. I asked my life-long friend, Sydney Freemantle Frissell, to go along as recreationist and entertainer. Northern expeditions, especially through the long hours of the Arctic night are very dull affairs. Along about midnight, with morning three months away, the party is apt to die. Then is when a man like Frissell is invaluable. He has no brains whatever, but the most amazing vitality and can wake up any assembly by sheer audacity. I deliberated a long time as to whether to get Ed Wynn or Frissell, but finally decided in favor of Frizzy as he could come and Wynn couldn't.

Needless to say, our Captain was the same staunch old oak-framed navigator, Ezra Triplett, who had gotten the Kawa into so many tight holes in the past.

"What ship?" he asked when I put it up to him.

[Pg 30]

"Kawa," I said.

"Done, by thunder," he roared.

Honest Ezra Triplett! Loyal, staunch friend, quaint, saturnine, creature that he is.

"Doc," he said, "I'd like darn well to take one of my wives along. It's gonter be kinder lonely up there in the ice with all you boys off gunnin'."

I smiled indulgently at the old man's foibles.

"Which one do you want to take?"

"The gal from Sausalito," he explained. "I ain't seen her in about a year, an' I'm gettin' kinder fed-up on ... you know ... Noo York."

I nodded. "We'll have to keep it secret. You know I've absolutely forbidden it. She can join us at St. Johns and come aboard as wardrobe woman. No one must suspect that she is your wife."

Triplett shifted his quid and slowly winked his false eye.

"She ain't," he said.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] "Ants of the Ant-Arctic" by W.W. Waxman, F.O.B.

[Pg 31]

Chapter II

Our triumphant departure. A man missing. Wigmore's gallant embarkation. The Kawa herself. A new idea in construction. A few boresome details.

[Pg 33]

Chapter II

From her berth in the Harlem, the Kawa steamed, or to be more exact, gasolined, to the landing stage of the N.Y.Y.C. station at the foot of East Twenty-second St. Our progress had been one of triumph. Every passing ship had hailed us by bell, whistle or horn, to which was added the hoarse blare of sirens from the converted breweries which line the banks. Gay stevedores threw their caps in the air and tossed lumps of coal in our direction, surely a magnificent tribute with coal at its present price. Street urchins shouted unintelligible remarks and all manner of citizens joined in the usual riparian rites. Passing under the stern of a United Fruit Company steamer, the cook waved a farewell from his galley and dumped a bucket of potato peelings in our path.