But the lack of food and the dull, unvaried days wore on everyone. The days were growing shorter, too, and the nights colder. In the afternoons, after yet another day of unsuccessful hunting, everyone would retire to the tents to rest, and wait, and think. “Think, think, think!” McKinlay recorded in his diary, “That is all we can do these days. All day long, and in our waking moments at night. The strain becomes more acute as the days pass.… We pray that it may end soon.”
