–from Douglas Mawson’s account “The Home of the Blizzard”–
“At the inner extremity of the entrance tunnel, the roar of the tempest died away to a rumble, the trap-door opened and perhaps the strains of the gramophone would come in a kind of flippant defiance from the interior. Passing through the vestibule and workshop one beheld a scene of utter contrast to the outer hell. Here were warm bunks, rest, food, light, and companionship–for the time being–heaven!
“From the crude and naked elements of that primitive and desolate land, whose ice bosom knows but the throb of the surging blizzard gusts, we ever sought the cheery shelter of our cave-hut, as did our ancestors, thr troglodytes of the primeval past.”