Polar Reaches: The History of Arctic and Antarctic Exploration
by Richard Sale
The Mountaineers
Books
ISBN: 0 89886 873 4
Price: US$29.95
When I was young my parents and grandparents always kept a supply of
history books on our shelves: ancient history, world history, American
Civil War history, and European history dominated the collection. Occasionally
these books would feature some aspect of polar exploration, even the
American Civil War material since the final surrender of the Confederate
fleet involved a ship patrolling the Bering Sea. I always found these
accounts of Arctic and Antarctic adventures among the most memorable.
I'm not certain why that would be, except that the poles seemed so
wildly exotic. Having been brought up in the deep south of the United
States, for me honest-to-goodness snow and ice were rare delights. Even
today my ability to relate to those tales is still wholly dependent
on my imagination as I have yet to see either polar region, save from
the comfort of a passenger jet at 35,000 feet.
Consequently, the poles are particularly visual places for me, even
if that vision is only what I have imagined. Having hoped for reams
of Hurleyesque photos in Polar Reaches: The History of Arctic and
Antarctic Exploration, by Richard Sale, it was an immediate disappointment
that most are small, the majority are monocolor lithographs or halftones,
and the largest illustrations in this 225 mm by 287 mm volume are a
handful of just under a half-page size and two of full-page size. (Interestingly,
the best color photos were taken by the author, who has made numerous
trips to the north and south polar regions.) It is not just the sweep,
scope and subtle colorings of the landscapes that are missing from the
photographic reproduction, but the details. Take the ghoulish photo
of the exhumed body of Arctic explorer Charles Francis Hall, for example;
the caption says his body, wrapped in a Stars and Stripes, was stained
with the dye in the flag. Can you see it? You can, just, if you have
a magnifying glass handy.
Though the quality of reproduction of the illustrations leaves something
to be desired, Sale's choice of historical artwork is excellent: in
one, just-rescued explorers stare soullessly at the reader; in another,
a hundred arctic fox pelts hang on a Greenland trapper's hut; a wingless
airplane, intended to serve as an Antarctic sledge tractor, appears
in another; and dozens of engravings, sketches, oil paintings and photos
show the might of the polar climates, with ships hopelessly frozen in
the ice.
Sale's manuscript must therefore have been intended mainly for a textual
volume, not a picture book. And what kind of history book is it? It's
a primer for people who find polar exploration fascinating, who don't
really know much about it, and who would like to learn about how Western
man first entered lands which the aboriginals had occupied 10,000 years
earlier.
And in that, The Mountaineers Books, a firm based in Seattle, Washington,
has published a very respectable book. Anyone seeking a good, all-round,
general background in polar exploration couldn't do much better than
starting with Sale's account. Its mixture of hard fact and traveler's
yarns compels the reader on to the next chapter. His chronological balance
is enlightening to novices in polar affairs, who would never have imagined
arctic exploration to have been the significant preoccupation it was
for the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century trading companies. Sale effectively
explains how it was not only that, but also one of the driving forces
in the discovery of the New World long before the Pilgrims were dining
on turkey and pumpkin pie.
The author conveys a glory to the Arctic adventurers, a glory which
I suspect may have drifted largely to the Antarctic heroes over the
course of the last hundred years. For those with only a basic knowledge
of polar things, the names Shackleton, Amundsen, and Scott come easily
to mind, the name Peary less so, and Franklin, perhaps to one in two
hundred. The first three were Antarctic explorers, or at least that
is what they became most famous for and that is how Joe Average knows
them. But Peary in the early years of the last century, and Franklin
60 years before him, were Arctic men, and they were men with characters
as strong as the one with which Sir Ernest led his men to South Georgia
in their little boats. Those Arctic men's experiences collected over
a thousand years made it possible for others to head for the South Pole
in only 50.
No surprise then, that Sale spends two-thirds of his book recalling
the adventures of those who headed north, starting with the Greeks whose
knowledge of geometry made them aware of the Bear's Circle (the Great
Bear of the constellation was called Arktos by the Greeks, and his latitudinal
circle still carries his name); Irish monks who paddled tiny hide currachs
to Iceland; Vikings who sailed west not to explore but because they
had been banished from their homeland; the Basque cod fishermen; and
then as the first global circumnavigations neared, the Danes, English,
Dutch, French and Italians who headed up the globe to find a route to
Cathay, northeast as well as northwest, only to be stopped by the frozen
Kara Sea. After the seaborne adventurers came the ice-dwellers, those
who set up camps on the frozen ocean, hoping to drift to the pole, and
the aviators who began their journeys even before the 20th century.
Only then, after balloonists had tried in vain to overfly the North
Pole, did Antarctic explorations begin with anything like an equal momentum.
Each one of the explorers' accounts is remarkable, and in total must
amount to a warehouse of records. Sale therefore had to be brief and
selective in his allotted 224 pages, and he succeeds in doing so without
forfeiting the bold and often cruel nature of their polar narratives.
His rendering of their tales is effective, and the necessary paring
down of copy is prevented from losing its grip by peppering the text
with fanciful and sometimes morbid titbits: a mascot dog's name; why
cricket was played on the ice; how many calories can be obtained from
chewing shoe leather; what it is like for flesh to slough off a frostbitten
foot; how a Russian fought the boredom of being icebound by continually
taking apart and reassembling his pistol until one day a part went missing
and he went mad; and why the timbers of the British ship Resolute,
left bound in the Arctic ice in 1852, figured in private 'conferences'
150 years later between a certain female White House intern and the
American President.
Sadly, Sale's text is damaged by one serious omission and several flaws.
The most unforgivable of these is the book's complete lack of maps -
something an armchair adventurer absolutely has to have to hand. I ended
up setting the book on the floor, next to a spread of old National Geographic
maps. In a book about exploration it is just plain stupid not to include
maps. And the publisher won't get full marks in either the proofreading
department or in their choice of typeface: whatever it is, it is awful
and has the ability to tire a reader's eyes faster than the glare off
an ice field.
Too bad about the shortcomings: the repro (tolerable), the lack of
maps (disgraceful), and the proofing (sloppy) because this is a book
in which the author has done a fine job. Kind of like the Franklin expedition,
in which all the detailed planning and advanced technology was scuppered
by the producer of its tinned provisions: the manufacturer cut corners
in preparing the food, and is thought by scientists to have given the
crew a fatal case of botulism.
Review by Bob Pickens