Roald Amundsen photographed in 1906 after completing the first single vessel navigation of the Northwest Passage. The key to Amundsen’s success was a combination of the right ship and the right lifestyle. For his journey he chose the Gjøa, a small, shallow draft 70 foot vessel able to maneuver the labyrinth that is arctic Canada. His lifestyle during the journey was patterned after the Inuit, not only in clothing but also in the small size of his crew. Only five men traveled with him, a number that could be supported by the land with (relative) ease.
Franklin’s camp at the mouth of the Coppermine River by George Back. Back was an accomplished artist who created several images of the arctic expeditions he participated in.
Becasue I see people online writing about Ice Ghosts. I hesitated to post a link to this in the fear I may come across as a know it all for encouraging people to avoid what on the surface looks authoritative by saying ‘you should actually read this first’. I like to give people the credit to be able to pull the facts from opinions when reading popular history and know what doesn’t match with everything else they’ve read, but lack of ethics on the authors part is something that should make people avoid buying their product altogether and it isn’t always obvious without knowing the background. I had bought the book when it came out and was jarred like 5 or 10 pages in by the inaccuracies, then read this and wish I’d known what an ass in plain english the author was before I gave him my money. Needless to say I can’t reference what my first wait….what? Moment was since I got rid of it after reading this. Think it was the Fitzjames writing his ‘wife’ thing.
I need to find James Fitzjames’ letter cited in this edition of All the Year Round by Charles Dickens (article starting on page 318) because the snippets of him describing his fellow crew mates are so endearing. Naturally, here is his bit about Harry Goodsir:
“6th, towards midnight.–I can’t make out why Scotchmen just caught always speak in a low, hesitating, monotonous tone of voice, which is not at all times to be understood; this is, I believe, called ‘cannyness.’ Mr. Goodsir is ‘canny.’ He is long and straight, and walks upright on his toes, with his hands tucked up in each jacket pocket. He is perfectly good-humoured, very well informed on general points, in natural history learned, was Curator of the Edinburgh Museum, appears to be about twenty-eight years of age, laughs delightfully, cannot be in a passion, is enthusiastic about all ‘ologies, draws the insides of microscopic animals with an imaginary pointed pencil, catches phenomena in a bucket, looks at the thermometer and every other meter, is a pleasant companion, and an acquisition to the mess…. 10th.–A clear fine sunset at a quarter to ten, and Goodsir examining ‘mollusca’ in a meecroscope. He is in extasies about a bag full of blubber-like stuff, which he has just hauled up in a net, and which turns out to be whales’ food and other animals.”
One of my favourite historical phenomena is technology that’s based on a totally off-the-wall theory about how the world works, but ends up being sort of effective because it’s close enough. Like those old-timey plague doctor masks, whose enormous beaks are an enclosed breathing apparatus stuffed full of dried aromatic herbs on the theory that disease is communicated by the odour of decay – which is completely wrong, of course, but the masks ended up being reasonable effective at their purpose anyway because it turns out that sticking a big wad of dried plant matter in front of your airway is a pretty effective way to avoid inhaling aerosolised bodily fluids.
My favorite is the fact that scurvy was cured, and then un-cured because a bunch of perfectly sensible and intelligent people didn’t know what a vitamin was.
A Pretty Taste for Paradox 
