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Text
Thursday, September Sixth
English source:
Fridtjof Nansen
_From Farthest North, by Fridtjof Nansen (1897)_
Thursday, September sixth. Eighty-one degrees, thirteen minutes, seven seconds latitude north. Have I been married five years today? Last year this was a day of victory—when the ice-fetters burst at Taimur Island. There is no thought of victory now; we are not so far north as I had expected; the northwest wind has come again, and we are drifting south. And yet the future does not seem so long and so dark as it sometimes has done. Next September sixth…
Thursday, September sixth. Eighty-one degrees, thirteen minutes, seven seconds latitude north. Have I been married five years today? Last year this was a day of victory—when the ice-fetters burst at Taimur Island. There is no thought of victory now; we are not so far north as I had expected; the northwest wind has come again, and we are drifting south. And yet the future does not seem so long and so dark as it sometimes has done. Next September sixth…
