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It was getting cold in Little America. Thirty-three members of the Byrd Expedition, 15 months away from home, piled aboard the supply ships Bear and North Star and sailed toward East Base on Marguerite Bay to pick up the 26 men there.

Ice was filling Marguerite Bay. The ships put into Melchior Harbor, 200 miles away, waited a month. Supplies dwindled. The 26 at East Base radioed that their meat was gone, they were eating penguin eggs. The Bear slogged through the ice to a point 112 miles from the base. The weather grew worse; the men had to be taken off at once or they would be locked in for another winter.

Back at East Base, Navy Pilot Ashley Snow fitted a damaged transport plane with skis and a new propeller, found a landing place on a high plateau near the Bear. Books, papers, personal belongings, scientific instruments were left behind; the men took out only what they could carry in their pockets. The dogs had to be killed. The loaded plane could not clear the peaks; Pilot Snow flew it through passes in the range. Two trips were made in fog. Then the Bear cut its way through the ice to the sea.

At Punta Arenas, world's southernmost city (pop. 24,307), a sheep ranchers'center, the Antarctic exiles re-entered the green world of vegetables, trees, rocks, beer, money, steaks, French friend potatoes, lettuce--and women. Shaved, dressed in khaki shirts and trousers, with money to spend, the men piled ashore, pushed aside photographers and interviewers as they set out to fulfill long-considered plans. One man had sworn he would get the autograph of the first woman he saw. But she sailed past the wharf in an automobile, would not stop. Their plans were not all alike.

One sedate group, under onetime Boy Scout Paul Siple, trudged dutifully into the countryside to examine rock formations.

The men ate steak for breakfast, lunch, dinner. Popular, well-behaved, hungry, they made friends with the police, made friends with the senoritas, made friends with the barmaids, all in no time. By the time the Bear sailed for Boston and the North Star for Seattle, the excitement of returning was over; the women no longer seemed like sloe-eyed goddesses, and for breakfast bacon & eggs tasted better than steak.

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