Ralph wasn’t trying to hang crepe. He was simply stating the situation as he saw it, tinged with an airman’s sense of fatality.
Tim kept on with his work; he knew Ralph well. When he did answer, it was with carefully chosen words.
“Simply this, Ralph, if we come down out there we’ve still got a good chance of coming through. With snowshoes, this concentrated food, plenty of warm clothing, plus a good rifle and lots of ammunition, we can live for months. Not scared, are you?” The last words were whipped out.
“Scared? Me?” Ralph’s question was one of amazement. “I’m not scared and you know it but a 2,200 mile flight over the jumping off place isn’t the nicest thing in the world. But I’m here and I’m going through with it.”
Tim, laughing at his friend’s evident indignation, turned to him. “I know you are, Ralph, and we’ll come out on top in the end. Now get out of here and let me stow this stuff away. If the weather is favorable, we’ll hop off as soon as we can get some sleep.”
Twelve hours later every inhabitant of Point Barrow was down on the ice pack watching the flyers’ final preparations. A final inspection, a roar of the motor, and Ralph flirted the tail of the plane around. The motor, on full, drove a cloud of snow and ice into the faces of the little cluster of Eskimos and radio operators, and the monoplane bumped over the ice. It gained speed slowly.
Inside the little cabin Tim and Ralph were straining forward, fairly throwing their energy into the roar of the motor and praying that they would gain air speed.
The skis on the under carriage finally left the rough ice; wobbled in the air for a moment, looking as though they were on the feet of a drunken man, and then plunked to the ice. The plane careened and Tim and Ralph were hurled against the sides of the cabin with sickening thuds as a ski crumpled under the shock and one wing drooped low, almost scraping the ice. Ralph his hands clinging to the controls, was fighting the plane in an attempt to check its speed before any damage could be done.
He finally nosed it up an easy incline of snow and the flyers hopped out to inspect the damage. A minute later they were surrounded by their Eskimo friends. One of the metal skis was damaged beyond repair, and Tim thanked heaven he had had the foresight to put an extra pair in the plane before they left Fairbanks. With the Eskimos to keep the wing on the damaged side from dragging, Ralph got his ship turned around and back at the edge of the ice pack. Their first attempt had failed.
Working feverishly in an effort to replace the damaged ski and to take advantage of the good weather, Tim and Ralph labored on the plane, the numbing cold forcing them to stop at short intervals to warm their chilled hands.