Returning from a hunting trip, Orde-Lees, traveling on skis across the rotting surface of the ice, had just about reached camp when an evil, knoblike head burst out of the water just in front of him. He turned and fled, pushing as hard as he could with his ski poles and shouting for Wild to bring his rifle.
The animal–a sea leopard–sprang out of the water and came after him, bounding across the ice with the peculiar rocking-horse gait of a seal on land. The beast looked like a small dinosaur, with a long, serpentine neck.
After a half-dozen leaps, the sea leopard had almost caught up with Orde-Lees when it unaccountably wheeled and plunged again into the water. By then, Orde-Lees had nearly reached the opposite side of the floe; he was about to cross to safe ice when the sea leopard’s head exploded out of the water directly ahead of him. The animal had tracked his shadow across the ice. It made a savage lunge for Orde-Lees with its mouth open, revealing an enormous array of sawlike teeth. Orde-Lees’ shouts for help rose to screams and he turned and raced away from his attacker.
The animal leaped out of the water again in pursuit just as Wild arrived with his rifle. The sea leopard spotted Wild, and turned to atttack him. Wild dropped to one knee and fired again and again at the onrushing beast. It was less than 30 feet away when it finally dropped.
Two dog teams were required to bring the carcass into camp. It measured 12 feet long, and they estimated its weight at about 1100 pounds. It was a predatory species of seal, and resembled a leopard only in its spotted coat–and its disposition. When it was butchered, balls of hair 2 and 3 inches in diameter were found in its stomach–the remains of crabeater seals it had eaten. The sea leopards’s jawbone, which measured nearly 9 inches across, was given to Orde-Lees as a souvenir of his encounter.
In his diary that night, Worsley observed: “A man on foot in soft, deep snow and unarmed would not have a chance against such an animal as they almost bound along with a rearing, undulating motion at least five miles an hour. They attack without provocation, looking on man as a penguin or seal."
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
February 20, 2010
Terrifying SEA LEOPARDS
(Now more commonly called "leopard seals".) From "Endurance", by Alfred Lansing:
January 2, 2010
the Donner Party
Have you ever heard of the Donner Party? Everyone has, yet not many have read the real, fascinating story! Intellectually fascinating, I mean, because an intellect such as my own would never be attracted to the mere sensational story of cannibalism and death. The book I refer to, of course, is Ethan Rarick’s book Desperate Passage: The Donner Party’s Perilous Journey West. I kept a list of the fifty or sixty members of the party and crossed them off as they died!
The patterns of death are fascinating. The many children (some born along the way) died in droves--they were fed well, but were very susceptible to infectious disease. Married men did fairly well; single men, however, almost all died. I was surprised to learn that a young, unfettered single man at his physical peak actually had a worse chance of survival than a middle-aged widow with many young children to feed.
In general, the women (almost all married) fared better than men. Among those who were in their twenties, only one woman died, while only one man lived. Of course, women need fewer calories than men; moreover, once their bodies run out of calories, they have more body fat to draw upon. But I suppose that having the moral and practical support of a family made a big difference.
This story also illustrates one of my favorite maxims--that man can get used to anything. Take a look at this journal entry from a 12-year-old girl, describing her night spent on the salt plains in Utah, miles from shelter of any kind--it sounds like typical adolescent hyperbole, until you realize she is telling the literal truth.
Now, what happened, to be clear, was that the Donner party got stuck in early winter a few miles below a pass in the Sierra Nevada mountains. The pass became impassable just before they got there, and they were forced to winter in the valley, in jury-rigged huts, sending up the occasional expedition to check on the pass. Ultimately one of these expeditions succeeded and brought back several different rescue parties--but before that, there were long months of waiting. So the cannibalism wasn’t a momentary act of desperation--it became a routine for them. They ate their cattle, sucked the marrow out of its bones, ate their pets, and drank soup made from their boiled shoes. But after all of those expediments failed, they started eating dead bodies. Again, after having to contemplate the possibility of cannibalism for weeks and months, they were capable of talking about it in blasé tones. Here is the first mention of cannibalism in their journals:
Yes. Distressing.
It might be relevant to point out here that, since the ground was frozen and snow-covered, and the gravediggers weak with starvation, no one who died in the valley of whatever cause received what used to be called a Christian burial. Instead, typically, a few of the stronger people dragged the corpse outside, only a few feet away from the huts, and covered it with a few shovelfuls of snow--if that. Naturally, the bodies never decomposed in the cold. Thus, as more and more died of starvation and disease, the pioneers were unintentionally creating a sort of meat locker outside their front doors. This makes it easier to explain how, almost on impulse, a person might eat human flesh.
When people turn to cannibalism, they follow a certain pattern. (There are studies, you see.) When a body is fresh, the warm blood of the jugular is most prized. The arms and legs provide meat, but the most nutrition comes from the inner organs. The hips are a good source of fat. The head and hands, being the most identifiably human and personal parts, are only rarely eaten. So you see, even in cases of cannibalism, there is an etiquette to be followed. The real distressing part came when this etiquette was violated--after the rescue.
After a few of the party (known as the Forlorn Hope) finally got through over the pass, they still hadn’t reached civilization. They reached only one farflung outpost--a fort almost a hundred miles from the nearest town. The men at the fort immediately got together all the supplies they could and all the men who willing to go, and set out to hike over the snow-covered pass. Three different rescue parties arrived, and brought out with them all the people they could; the younger children could be carried, but the adult survivors would have to hike out. But when the fourth (and last) rescue party arrived at the camp, they had to leave behind the few adults who were lame or too ill to hike--and only a minimal amount of supplies could be spared for them.
I can only imagine how wrenching it must have been to get through the entire winter, finally witness the arrival of the rescue party, and have to watch them hike away again. They promised to return in spring.
When spring came around, the men of the fort returned with ample supplies. They found the camp covered with blood and guts. A number of bodies were lying in the open, ribcages ripped open. Skulls were stewing in a cooking pot. Of the five pioneers left behind, four had died and been eaten. The one man left was a lame German named Louis Keseberg. He bragged about his cannibalism, talking about which parts of the body he considered most delicious, and sounding glad that he had so many bodies to choose from. When given beef and bread to eat, he rejected it, saying he preferred human meat to any other. One supposes he must have been a little deranged after his ordeal. Ultimately, unlike any of the other survivors, he was put on trial for his actions. (He had never been very sociable and, remember, this was during a period in American history when Germans were still considered dangerous foreigners.) However, since there was no firm evidence that he had killed in order to eat, he was acquitted.
In the end, it could have been a lot worse. Of the original 87 pioneers, 39 died and 48 survived. With the possible exception of Keseberg, there was only one incident in which the pioneers killed someone in order to eat him. This was during the passage over the mountains--and even then, they did not kill one of their one, but rather their Spanish-Indian guide. Here is the author on the remarkably law-abiding behavior of the early pioneers in general:
The patterns of death are fascinating. The many children (some born along the way) died in droves--they were fed well, but were very susceptible to infectious disease. Married men did fairly well; single men, however, almost all died. I was surprised to learn that a young, unfettered single man at his physical peak actually had a worse chance of survival than a middle-aged widow with many young children to feed.
In general, the women (almost all married) fared better than men. Among those who were in their twenties, only one woman died, while only one man lived. Of course, women need fewer calories than men; moreover, once their bodies run out of calories, they have more body fat to draw upon. But I suppose that having the moral and practical support of a family made a big difference.
This story also illustrates one of my favorite maxims--that man can get used to anything. Take a look at this journal entry from a 12-year-old girl, describing her night spent on the salt plains in Utah, miles from shelter of any kind--it sounds like typical adolescent hyperbole, until you realize she is telling the literal truth.
It was the couldes night you ever saw. The wind blew and if it haden bin for the dogs we would have Frosen.
Now, what happened, to be clear, was that the Donner party got stuck in early winter a few miles below a pass in the Sierra Nevada mountains. The pass became impassable just before they got there, and they were forced to winter in the valley, in jury-rigged huts, sending up the occasional expedition to check on the pass. Ultimately one of these expeditions succeeded and brought back several different rescue parties--but before that, there were long months of waiting. So the cannibalism wasn’t a momentary act of desperation--it became a routine for them. They ate their cattle, sucked the marrow out of its bones, ate their pets, and drank soup made from their boiled shoes. But after all of those expediments failed, they started eating dead bodies. Again, after having to contemplate the possibility of cannibalism for weeks and months, they were capable of talking about it in blasé tones. Here is the first mention of cannibalism in their journals:
Mrs Murphy said here yesterday that thought she would Commence on Milt & eat him. I dont think that she has done so yet. It is distressing.
Yes. Distressing.
It might be relevant to point out here that, since the ground was frozen and snow-covered, and the gravediggers weak with starvation, no one who died in the valley of whatever cause received what used to be called a Christian burial. Instead, typically, a few of the stronger people dragged the corpse outside, only a few feet away from the huts, and covered it with a few shovelfuls of snow--if that. Naturally, the bodies never decomposed in the cold. Thus, as more and more died of starvation and disease, the pioneers were unintentionally creating a sort of meat locker outside their front doors. This makes it easier to explain how, almost on impulse, a person might eat human flesh.
When people turn to cannibalism, they follow a certain pattern. (There are studies, you see.) When a body is fresh, the warm blood of the jugular is most prized. The arms and legs provide meat, but the most nutrition comes from the inner organs. The hips are a good source of fat. The head and hands, being the most identifiably human and personal parts, are only rarely eaten. So you see, even in cases of cannibalism, there is an etiquette to be followed. The real distressing part came when this etiquette was violated--after the rescue.
After a few of the party (known as the Forlorn Hope) finally got through over the pass, they still hadn’t reached civilization. They reached only one farflung outpost--a fort almost a hundred miles from the nearest town. The men at the fort immediately got together all the supplies they could and all the men who willing to go, and set out to hike over the snow-covered pass. Three different rescue parties arrived, and brought out with them all the people they could; the younger children could be carried, but the adult survivors would have to hike out. But when the fourth (and last) rescue party arrived at the camp, they had to leave behind the few adults who were lame or too ill to hike--and only a minimal amount of supplies could be spared for them.
I can only imagine how wrenching it must have been to get through the entire winter, finally witness the arrival of the rescue party, and have to watch them hike away again. They promised to return in spring.
When spring came around, the men of the fort returned with ample supplies. They found the camp covered with blood and guts. A number of bodies were lying in the open, ribcages ripped open. Skulls were stewing in a cooking pot. Of the five pioneers left behind, four had died and been eaten. The one man left was a lame German named Louis Keseberg. He bragged about his cannibalism, talking about which parts of the body he considered most delicious, and sounding glad that he had so many bodies to choose from. When given beef and bread to eat, he rejected it, saying he preferred human meat to any other. One supposes he must have been a little deranged after his ordeal. Ultimately, unlike any of the other survivors, he was put on trial for his actions. (He had never been very sociable and, remember, this was during a period in American history when Germans were still considered dangerous foreigners.) However, since there was no firm evidence that he had killed in order to eat, he was acquitted.
In the end, it could have been a lot worse. Of the original 87 pioneers, 39 died and 48 survived. With the possible exception of Keseberg, there was only one incident in which the pioneers killed someone in order to eat him. This was during the passage over the mountains--and even then, they did not kill one of their one, but rather their Spanish-Indian guide. Here is the author on the remarkably law-abiding behavior of the early pioneers in general:
[People] quit the United States when they crossed the Continental Divide–the western boundary of the Louisiana Purchase–and so technically they were no longer subject to American law. Nevertheless, the developing credo of the western migration was one of remarkable commitment to legal procedure. When crime struck, emigrants typically formed courts to try the defendant, often with a rather elaborate legal structure that included a judge, jury, and lawyers for the prosecution and defense...Nor were these show courts. Emigrants took great pains to ensure some element of fairness, often recruiting people from other companies to act as judge or jury so as to gain greater impartiality. In some cases, even though the wagons were racing against time, parties halted their progress to find suitable jurors in other companies or spent precious hours tracking down suspects or investigating a crime scene.
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