xt day the wind was due south at thirty miles per hour. Dodging big
ramps and overturning on sastrugi, at the same time dragging well
upwind of the course to save leeway, twelve miles went by without the
two-hundred-and-fifteen-mile mound coming into sight. Finally, a search
with the glasses through falling snow revealed it a good two miles back.
As we particularly wanted some photos of the ramps at this camp, we made
across to it and had lunch there, Hurley exposing the last of the films.

At two hundred and nine miles "Lot's Wife" appeared--a tall, thin mound
which Hurley had erected during a lunch-camp on the way out.

On the 27th, with a thirty-five-mile wind and a good deal of drift, we
did not see the two-hundred-and-three-mile mound until we almost ran
into it. By three o'clock the great event occurred--the depot was found!
We determined to hold the Christmas feast. After a cup of tea and a bit
of biscuit, the rest of the lunch ration was put aside.

Webb set up his instrument in the lee of the big mound and commenced a
set of observations; I sorted out gear from the depot and rearranged the
sledge load; Hurley was busy in the tent concocting all kinds of dishes.
As the tableware was limited to three mugs and the Nansen cooker, we had
to come in to deal with each course the moment it was ready. Aiming at a
really high-class meal, Hurley had started by actually cleaning out the
cooker.

The absence of reindeer-hair and other oddments made everything taste
quite strange, though the basis was still the same old ration with a
few remaining "perks." After the "raisin gliders," soup and a good stiff
hoosh, Webb finished his observations while I recorded for him. It is
wonderful what sledging does for the appetite. For the first week of
the journey, the unaccustomed ration was too much for us; but now when
Hurley announced "Pudding!" we were all still ravenous. It was a fine
example of ye goode olde English plum-pudding, made from biscuit
grated with the Bonsa-saw, fat picked out of the pemmican, raisins and
glaxo-and-sugar, all boiled in an old food-bag.

This pudding was so filling that we could hardly struggle through a
savoury, "Angels on runners," and cocoa. There was a general recovery
when the "wine" was produced, made from stewed raisins and primus
alcohol; and "The King" was toasted with much gusto. At the first sip,
to say the least, we were disappointed. The rule of "no heel taps"
nearly settled us, and q