“The temperature still continued to rise, reaching 33° Fahr. on November 14. The thaw consequent upon these high temperatures was having a disastrous effect upon the surface of our camp. ‘The surface is awful!—not slushy, but elusive. You step out gingerly. All is well for a few paces, then your foot suddenly sinks a couple of feet until it comes to a hard layer. You wade along in this way step by step, like a mudlark at Portsmouth Hard, hoping gradually to regain the surface. Soon you do, only to repeat the exasperating performance ad lib., to the accompaniment of all the expletives that you can bring to bear on the subject. What actually happens is that the warm air melts the surface sufficiently to cause drops of water to trickle down slightly, where, on meeting colder layers of snow, they freeze again, forming a honeycomb of icy nodules instead of the soft, powdery, granular snow that we are accustomed to.'”

— Ernest Shackleton, South

“Yesterday we noticed that the yardarm on the only remaining mast had slewed round and partly set the sail (roller topsail). Later in the day we heard a distant crash—the mast had gone. Nothing but the funnel is now visible from our camp. The hull has sunk several feet. Her end is near: soon she will be gone.”

— Thomas Orde-Lees