1912 (26 page)

Fortunately, because of his friendship with Edgeworth David, Shirase had been happy to send examples of his geological samples to the Australian. The results of David's analysis were incorporated into a later report on the geological work of Shackleton's
Nimrod
expedition, guaranteeing at least some of the Japanese science was known to a wider readership.

There were other equally important findings. Alongside the weather and ocean observations, the Japanese were able to show just how quickly the ice scape could change. After the Norwegians had departed in the
Fram
, the Japanese were in the area long enough to report that the Bay of Whales was considerably larger than had been supposed. By the time Shirase left, the bay had opened up fifty kilometres into the interior.

The expedition also provided observations on the make-up and movement of the Great Ice Barrier. During the Dash Patrol, halfway to their furthest point south, Shirase crossed what we now know to be Roosevelt Island, in the eastern part of the barrier. At the time, this prominent feature in the landscape was not known to be an island. Conditions were poor and the gradient uncertain, but the 300-metre-high ‘small hill' was south of a towering ‘ice cliff' that ‘looked as if it had been thrown up by some cataclysmic event, such as a volcanic eruption'.

The Norwegians had also been intrigued by the area. They felt this same snow-covered rise to the south of the Bay of Whales must be land, and the hummocks in the immediate area were disturbances caused by the flow of ice around it. It was a fundamental observation. Today, this ‘small hill' is the origin of some of the largest tabular bergs released into the Southern Ocean.

Scott's suspicions about the region had been right: the eastern Ross Sea was an important part of the Antarctic story.

Not six weeks after the Tokyo parade for Shirase's men, Emperor Meiji died and the nation went into mourning. The emperor who had heralded a new start for Japan had passed away—and so, it seemed, had the nation's interest in Antarctica. This could not have come at a worse time for Shirase. There had been talk of continuing the research in the Southern Ocean for a further two years, but the funding simply was not there: the extra year south had added a lot to an already huge bill. Though Shirase had returned home a hero he was also met with bad news. Fundraising had continued after the expedition sailed, but there remained a major shortfall: ¥53,000.

There was not enough money to pay the salaries owed, and rumours circulated that the Supporters' Association had spent far too much on entertainment. True or not, it still meant Shirase was left to meet the commitment. Unlike Shackleton's case, the government did not step in, and with no imperial champion Shirase was left largely on his own, financially crippled. The
Kainan-maru
was sold to its previous owner, Gunji, for ¥20,000 and returned to fishing. The remaining money had to be raised through a string of different ventures.

Shirase spent the next five years touring Japan, giving lectures. He sold his house in Tokyo, too—but it was not enough. During the years 1921 to 1924 Shirase returned to the Kuril Islands to put his knowledge of foxes to good use. By managing a fur farm he was able to earn some of the money owed. He returned to mainland Japan and grew his own vegetables to live off. Yet Shirase's interest in Antarctica did not wane. In 1927 he finally met Amundsen, when the Norwegian visited the imperial family in Tokyo to show them the details of a planned flight over the North Geographic Pole.

In an attempt to gain wider recognition of the Japanese effort, Masakichi Ikeda appears to have assumed the role of the official expedition scientist. He sent a map to the Royal Geographic
Society in London, incorporating the Japanese Antarctic findings with those of Amundsen. In it, Ikeda names two prominent mountains in King Edward VII Land as Mount Nobu and Mount Okuma, while the inlet at the eastern extremity of the Great Ice Barrier was declared to be Murakami Inlet, after one of the major expedition supporters—though it eventually became Okuma Bay.

The map was duly noted, filed away in the archives, and forgotten. Indeed, the society and its most senior people seem to have ignored the expedition after this. The secretary of the RGS, Scott Keltie, wrote to Lord Curzon in September 1912 and remarked, unimpressed, ‘A member of the Japan Antarctic Expedition has sent to the President a note of some of their discoveries, which do not amount to very much. I suppose I had better acknowledge it?' Sir Clements Markham's history of polar exploration,
Lands of Silence
, makes no mention of the Japanese effort and no reports on their findings were made in the society's journal for years.

It would be another two decades before Japan's effort in the south was properly acknowledged. In 1929 the pioneering American air explorer Richard Byrd flew along the edge of the Ross Sea and named many of the features he saw on the way. Bays identified and reported by the Japanese were renamed, and when alerted to this they protested loudly. It was not really Byrd's fault, as no English translation of the expedition report was available at the time, and he dutifully published an article in the American Geographical Society's
Geographical Review
that gave the names Kainan Bay and Okuma Bay to two of the most prominent spots.

It was probably as a result of this renewed attention that, in the same year, the Norwegian Ivar Hamre published his short
summary of the expedition. The Japanese were finally finding their way onto the map, long after the other 1912 expeditions had received credit for their work. Shirase petitioned his government to accept as a gift the region of the Ross Sea where the Japanese flag had been raised, allowing it to make a territorial claim. The offer was turned down. Shirase saw tremendous opportunities to exploit the south, later writing: ‘Study the treasures under the Antarctica and make use of them even after my death.'

By the early 1930s Japan's presence in the Southern Ocean was increasing: whaling vessels frequently headed south, prompting interest in the region at home, while the Japanese Polar Research Institute was established in 1933 and Shirase appointed honorary president. But the government still would not settle Shirase's final debts and these were only fully repaid in 1935, not long before he died. In 1981 a statue of Shirase flanked by penguins was placed in the grounds of the temple close to where he was born, and in 1990 a dedicated museum was opened in Nikaho. Today the circular building and its staff provide a unique insight into the Japanese expedition. Each year, on 28 January, there is a festival dedicated to Shirase called the Walk in the Snow: a tribute to a man who briefly inspired a nation and never gave up his belief in the importance of Antarctic exploration.

The official narrative of the expedition summed up the Japanese effort: ‘Leaders in unity unify their followers.' This was not strictly true, as there had been some notable disputes on board—but these were nothing compared to the German Antarctic Expedition of 1911 to 1912, led by the hapless Wilhelm Filchner. Although not hamstrung by debt, as the Japanese had been, the German expedition south saw attempted murder, mayhem and a hefty dose of madness. And yet it was one of the most important expeditions of them all.

Modern weather station in the Heritage Range of the Ellsworth Mountains, 2011. Photo taken by Chris Turney with an Eastman Kodak No. 2 Folding Autographic Brownie (model 1924–1926).

Wilhelm Filchner and the Second German Antarctic Expedition, 1911–1912

Facts send theories to the four winds.

S
IR
C
LEMENTS
M
ARKHAM
(1830–1916)

On the morning of 16 July 1910 change was in the air. The fine summer weather southern England had enjoyed during the first half of the month was on the wane. London awoke to a fresh northerly breeze and reports of an impending storm. But the poor conditions did little to dampen the enthusiasm of a small, select crowd at Waterloo station, gathered to officially send off Robert Scott and the British Antarctic Expedition. Flowers and gifts were presented; there were huddled exchanges.

Shortly before the train was due to set off for Southampton and a waiting ship, the British leader and his wife boarded, with Ernest Shackleton crying out, ‘Three cheers for Captain Scott!'

Scott looked back and, with a wave of his bowler hat, shouted: ‘See you at the Pole.'

But the call was not directed at Shackleton. It was to a smartly presented army officer planning to lead a German expedition south at the same time, Wilhelm Filchner.

Born in the Bavarian town of Bayreuth in 1877, Filchner seemed destined for a career in the arts. As a young man he had displayed an uncanny talent for painting copies of masterpieces. But the call to adventure proved too strong. By fifteen he had turned his back on canvas and oils, and joined the Prussian Military Academy.

Filchner first came to public prominence at twenty-three after an infamous lone journey on horseback through the Pamir Mountains of central Asia. Sponsored by the army, his sojourn led to accusations of spying and a ban from travelling in Russia, making his book
Ein Ritt über den Pamir
a national bestseller—and his name as a daring German explorer.

Buoyed by success, Filchner went on to develop an impressive scientific background, studying among other things geophysics and the latest surveying techniques. His newfound skills were soon put to good use when he was given the leadership of a national mapping expedition of the Earth's magnetic field in Tibet. Commendations and honours swiftly followed the successful expedition, and Filchner's reputation for successfully blending science and adventure was assured.

Shackleton's efforts in Antarctica greatly appealed to the young German. Although the British team had blazed trails around McMurdo Sound, the other side of the Antarctic remained largely unknown. The sealer James Weddell had seen birds during his furthest-south voyage, in 1823, but could only speculate he was close to land. In 1902 the Scottish scientist and explorer William Speirs Bruce had fallen well short of Weddell's mark, due to particularly thick sea ice, but had discovered Coats Land in the eastern Weddell Sea. Filchner's plan was in the Shackleton mould: to push through the Weddell Sea ice and
cross the interior of the unexplored continent, all the way to the Ross Sea.