Nobu Shirase wants to reach the South Pole! That was the joke of the year in 1909. The Japanese doubled over with laughter, the press openly mocked him, and the government showed no understanding whatsoever for the ambitions of this insignificant army officer from the northern prefecture of Akita. Why would they? Until 1868, it had been punishable by death for any Japanese citizen to leave the country, and by then Shirase was already seven years old. Japan had isolated itself for centuries, and now that travel was allowed, hardly anyone had any interest in exploring the rest of the world.
Nobu Shirase, however, had dreamed since childhood of one day conquering the North Pole. To achieve this goal, he trained his body throughout his life, abstained from smoking and drinking, and lived in unheated rooms. When Robert Peary and Frederick Cook claimed in 1909 to have reached the North Pole, he simply changed his objective: from then on, he would aim for the South Pole instead. But to get there, he needed a crew, supplies, and a ship, and the government had no intention of funding such an endeavor.
Thanks to his persistence, Shirase managed to raise enough money from private donors to purchase the fishing sailing vessel Hoko Maru, which he converted for ice travel and renamed Kainan Maru, roughly meaning “Opener of the South.” The three-masted schooner was only 30.5 meters long and 7.9 meters wide and equipped with a mere 18-horsepower engine, laughably weak for navigating pack ice. Shirase would have preferred to buy the larger army gunboat Banjo.
The Kainan Maru gave the Japanese public yet another reason not to take Shirase’s South Pole ambitions seriously. When the ship departed Tokyo on November 29, 1910, only a handful of students stood at the pier to wave goodbye. Among the 27 crew members, not a single scientist was present, none wanted to join the expedition. Instead, there were 28 Siberian sled dogs on board.
A quick check of timing showed: the Englishman Robert Falcon Scott had set off for Antarctica in June of the same year, and the Norwegian Roald Amundsen in early September. Considering that these expeditions were planned for three to four years, Shirase, third in the race, was still reasonably well positioned.
When the Kainan Maru set sail, the weather was atrocious. No one could have guessed that this would be an omen for the entire expedition.
First Attempt Fails
The bad weather persisted until their stopover in Wellington, New Zealand, where they loaded, among other things, 32 tons of coal and 36 tons of drinking water. Once again, Shirase was ridiculed, this time by the New Zealand press: the ship was tiny, the engine useless, people laughed at the “toy sleds made of bamboo” and the provisions of rice, beans, and dried squid. The crew was mocked as well, since half of the dogs had not even survived the relatively harmless voyage to New Zealand.
Offended but undeterred, Shirase set sail again. The weather was dreadful once more. Captain Naokichi Nomura, an experienced seaman, recorded that he had never seen such high waves in his life. The Kainan Maru was tossed about like a nutshell.
How little the Japanese understood what awaited them became clear in an episode at sea: on February 15, the storm subsided, a diffuse fog lay over the waves, and the entire crew complained of unexplained headaches. Then a strange animal emerged from the sea, what could it be? They managed to catch it with nets, and one crew member identified it as… a penguin.
The weather turned harsh again. Eleven days after the “penguin incident,” the lookout spotted the first iceberg. Another eleven days later, land appeared, the ship was near Victoria Land. The weather changed “in the blink of an eye,” as Shirase noted, from rain to snow to storm to fog to gusts with high waves.
For days, they cruised along the ice edge searching for a place to anchor and land, but the weather did not cooperate. When Captain Nomura barely managed to steer the ship out of closing pack ice, Shirase finally decided to retreat. Wintering on a trapped ship would likely have meant death for all.
Waiting in Australia
On May 1, 1911, less than three months after leaving New Zealand, the Kainan Maru entered the harbor of Sydney. Crew and ship were safe again (only one dog remained alive). But now the Australians felt threatened.
The already tense political climate in the region had worsened, and some outspoken voices suspected that Shirase and his sailors were actually spies. Perhaps this suspicion arose simply because Australians, too, could not take this poorly equipped group seriously as Antarctic explorers.
Once again, Shirase was mocked, for weeks. The crew stayed in Sydney, camping in miserable conditions on a fruit plantation. The New Zealand Times described Shirase and his men as “gorillas on a miserable fishing boat” and claimed that these “savages” had no place in Antarctica.
Meanwhile, Captain Nomura returned to Japan to secure more money, new crew members, and new dogs.
Right: bad luck: none of the dogs survived the expedition.
A Glacier Gets a Name
By now, Shirase realized he could no longer catch up with Amundsen and Scott. He abandoned the goal of reaching the South Pole and declared the second Antarctic attempt a scientific expedition. Indeed, Nomura returned to Sydney not only with money and 29 dogs but also with a few actual scientists.
Deeply offended but unwavering in his determination, Shirase set off again on November 19, 1911, this time with provisions for two years.
Another episode showed how differently the Japanese approached things: on December 16, a sailor shot a seal. The shot was not fatal, and the animal resisted the ropes. Without hesitation, another sailor stripped off his clothes, dove into the icy water, and fought the wounded seal, until he himself could barely move from the cold and had to be rescued. As a reward for his bravery, Shirase gave him a basket of fresh fruit.
What no one knew at the time: two days earlier, Roald Amundsen had already reached the South Pole.
A few days later, a group of 20 orcas attacked the ship, ramming it with their heads, apparently mistaking it for a whale. Fortunately, no one fell overboard, not even the two Ainu sailors, for whom orcas were angels of God. They prayed fervently during the attack.
And yes: the weather remained dreadful.
On January 16, four men rowed to the ice at position 78°17′ S, climbed an ice wall, and named the glacier “The Four Man’s Glacier” and the bay below “Kainan Bay.”
Respect, At Last
Shortly after leaving the bay, the crew spotted another ship about 20 kilometers away. Shirase suspected pirates – of all things, in Antarctica!
It turned out to be the Fram, Roald Amundsen’s ship. A delegation from the Kainan Maru visited, but since neither side spoke the other’s language, or English the conversation consisted of confused gesturing. Still, the Norwegians later recorded that they were deeply impressed by the Japanese, simply for having come so far with such a poor ship and minimal equipment.
A Miserable Failure
Shirase decided to attempt a land expedition. After reaching the ice shelf, he selected a seven-man advance party. Eventually, he continued inland with four men.
But almost immediately, bad weather struck again. After only 8 miles, a storm forced them to remain trapped in the ice for two days.
Now their inadequate equipment became obvious: cotton clothing instead of wool, poorly insulated boots, damp sleeping bags, and sled dogs pulling excessive loads. Their food, miso soup, was nearly fat-free and insufficient in −20°C temperatures.
The expedition quickly deteriorated. Dogs’ paws bled, morale collapsed, the compass malfunctioned due to iron objects. After seven days, Shirase gave up. They had traveled 160 miles but were still on the ice shelf, not even on the Antarctic continent, reaching only 80°5′ south latitude.
They planted the Japanese flag, took a photo, buried documents, and turned back.
Two days later, the Kainan Maru returned. During the attempt to retrieve men and supplies, a storm struck again. The bay froze rapidly. With great skill, Captain Nomura managed to free the ship from the ice at the last possible moment. Much of the equipment, and the remaining dogs, was left behind.
A Hero After All
On June 20, 1912, the Kainan Maru returned safely to Yokohama. Shirase was welcomed as a hero by cheering crowds. He had brought his crew home without loss of life. The international press, however, reported only briefly. Even Shirase’s own report in the New York Times was short and vague, mentioning “scientifically valuable samples” that had to remain secret. The Japanese government also treated the expedition as something of a state secret. Why remains unclear. Thus, the third man in the race to the South Pole – never truly a serious competitor – was quickly forgotten. In Japan, Shirase gave lectures and used the proceeds to repay debts equivalent to about 1.8 million Swiss francs. He died on September 4, 1946, at the age of 85.
On December 16, 1959, the Neue Zürcher Zeitung wrote:
“Japan’s contributions to Antarctic exploration are very small. In the winter of 1911/12, Lieutenant Nobu Shirase attempted to reach Princess Ragnhild Land with a three-masted schooner but failed and perished in the ice along the coast.”
Had someone once again made fun of the fearless Japanese explorer?
Text: Christian Hug
Images: Shirase Antarctic Expedition Memorial Museum