Virgo-havn. Friday, June 5th
The “Fram’s” crew have continued filling the water-tanks to-day. They fill the lifeboats with fresh water ice and the motor-boats tow them to the ship’s side, where they empty bucket after bucket into the tanks. They are finished by 5 P.M. and they are ready to sail northwards.
The weather prospects are good. The frost is over for this year and one can see the bare patches amongst the snow growing bigger and bigger, as it melts and runs away down the hillside in several little brooks, which increase in size as they descend, carrying gravel and sand right out to sea. A wide stretch in front of the beach is muddy and thick in rainbow sections with one part gray, another brown, turning into red or yellow, according to the color of the mud which the hill stream has carried with it. The weather is mild and we no longer require our mittens and leather hats. When we take a little walk ashore, we have not gone far up the hill before perspiration breaks out on us.
This barren Virgo-havn which we came to a fort-night ago and which seemed so deserted has now awakened to life. Even unaccustomed eyes can see how the birds are preparing for the joys of family life. The capercailzies, which were arriving in flocks when we first came, are now settling down in pairs,—the dark brown hen flies seawards with a crooning note, followed by her mate. With a splash they alight on the water by the side of the island, where they land, and together search like two every-day citizens for a suitable nesting place. A flock of little auks flies throughout the day round a high hilltop which rises from the beach. Their wings fill the air with a whirring noise, and their squawking nearly deafens us as we pass near their nests, for they are apprehensive of our intentions. Large plundering sea-mews swirl around overhead in the hope of espying an egg.
Yes! spring is really here, taking hold of this island, where conditions of life are so poor that only a great thaw gives anything a chance to grow.
The last boat-load of water has been towed to the side of the “Fram”: the whistle recalls those of us who are ashore, and we see that the vessel is ready to leave. Everything on deck is secured and fast. The photographer Berge, Wharton and I shall go eastwards with “Hobby” towards Northeastland, where the chances of meeting the six are greatest. We pack all our belongings together and row towards “Hobby,” as “Fram” is to leave in half an hour’s time.