Our polar flight

by Roald Amundsen; Lincoln Ellsworth

We took our bearings from the Amsterdam Islands and steered north for Taakeheimen. Here the fog came down quite unexpectedly. We had not looked for it so quickly, nor such a big stretch of it; it was certainly not local, but a field of colossal dimensions lay before us. For two complete hours we flew over it; a stretch of fully 200 kilometers. Occasionally we passed over a little break or hole in it, but never big enough to give me an opportunity to take my bearings. These holes were of great interest. Through them I got an idea of the territory below. The sea here was filled with small ice with water amongst it. These conditions continued to 82° n. and I am certain that a vessel with any power at all could have navigated it. A little after eight o’clock it began suddenly to clear and in a second the fog disappeared as though charmed. And there below us and in front of us lay the great shining plain of the notorious pack-ice. “How many misfortunes have you been responsible for during the passage of years, you vast ‘Whiteness’? What have you not seen in the way of need and misery? And you have also met those who set their foot upon your neck and brought you to your knees. Can you remember Nansen and Johansen? Can you remember the Duke of the Abruzzi? Can you remember Peary? Can you remember how they crossed over you and how you put obstacles in their way? But they brought you to your knees. You must respect these heroes. But what have you done with the numbers who sought to free themselves from your embrace in vain? What have you done with the many proud ships which were steered direct towards your heart never to be seen again? What have you done with them I ask? No clew, no sign—only the vast white waste.”

Quite naturally an airman’s thoughts turn towards a landing place. Should his motor fail and he has no place to land, he is indeed in a bad way. But no matter where we looked there was not the sign of a landing place. So far as we could see the ice looked like a number of furrows, stretched out without rhyme or reason, and between the furrows rose a high stone fence. Conditions however were unusual, the fence took up more room than the plowed field. Had the field been even and flat it would not have appeared so strange, but a flat part simply did not exist. The plow seemed to have been everywhere between stones and stubble. A little brook was also there, but so small that one could have jumped over it anywhere. A more monotonous territory it had never been my lot to see. Not the slightest change. Had I not been engaged in making many kinds of observations and notes it is certain that the uniformity of the outlook and the monotony of the engine’s hum would have sent me to sleep, but fortunately my task kept me awake. Riiser-Larsen confessed to me later that he had had a little snooze. I can understand that as he had monotonous work to do.

The mean temperature during the flight had been -13 °c. N 24 kept beside us with no thought of separating. I tried continually to take the sun but unsuccessfully. The sun was all right, but the horizon was useless. Our plane level was fastened to the sextant (a bulb sextant, of American make). We had used it several times at a trial in King’s Bay, but the results were most unsatisfactory, so much so that we had stopped using it. Therefore I was left to use whatever nature placed at my disposal. But nature was not obliging. There was no horizon. Sky and ice blended into one.

Two hours after I had taken soundings at the Amsterdam Islands I got an opportunity to calculate our speed and the deviation. What had happened in two hours? It was exceedingly difficult to say. If one does not get an opportunity to calculate speed and the deviation it is naturally difficult to know the direction of the wind when one comes flying at a speed of 150 kilometers. It was quite clear as we came out of the fog with a few high cirri in the east. About ten o’clock a fine mist crept up from the north, but too high and fine to annoy one. The sun was not quite visible, but from the sun’s position and the compass’s variations it was quite clear that we were well over to the west. There was therefore nothing else to do but to steer eastwards. I have never seen anything more deserted and forlorn; at least I thought we might see a bear or anything to break the monotony a little, but no,—absolutely nothing living. Had I been sure of this condition before, I would have taken a flea with me in order to have life near.

At five o’clock on the morning of the 22nd we came to the first waterway. It was not a small brook but a big dam with arms stretching in different directions. It offered our first possibility of finding a landing place. According to our bearings we should now be 88° N. lat., but with regard to longitude we were quite confused. That we were westerly was certain, but where? Feucht announced here that half the benzine was used so it became necessary to look for a landing place. Our intention was, therefore, to descend, take the necessary observations, and act in the best way according to the conditions. The question now was where should we land? Naturally a landing on the water would have been safest, so far as the landing was concerned, but there was always the fear that the ice could close in and crush us before we were able to rise again. We decided unanimously that if it were possible we should land on the ice. In order to observe the territory as conveniently as possible we descended in big spirals. During these maneuvers the aft motor began to misfire and changed the whole situation. Instead of choosing a place now we would have to take what offered. The machine was much too heavy to remain in the air with one motor. A forced landing became necessary. At this low altitude we could not reach the main dam, but had to be satisfied with the nearest arm. It was not particularly inviting—full of slush and small ice. But we had no choice. Under such conditions it was worth much to have a cool unruffled pilot who never lost his self-possession, but even in flight was able to make a clear decision and act accordingly. The slightest wobbling and the game would have been lost. The arm was just wide enough for the machine so it was not so dangerous. Every clump of ice could have torn it through; the danger lay in the high icebergs which lay at each side. It took a master to guide the machine in between these and save the wings. We landed squat in the slush and here arose the most difficult problem any airman could have to solve. It was a piece of luck for us that we landed in the slush, for that slowed down our speed somewhat. But on the other hand it reduced the boat’s maneuvering powers. We were passing a small iceberg on the right. The machine turned to the left with the result that the wings stroked the top of the iceberg and loose snow was whirled in the air. Here we zig-zagged along in a manner which was most impressive and alarming. Can we clear it? The anxiety was great for those who were only spectators; it seemed not to have the slightest effect on the pilot; he was quite cool and calm. When I say we cleared the iceberg by two millimeters it is no exaggeration. I expected every moment to see the left wing destroyed. The speed now slackened in the thick slush and we stopped at the end of the arm—nose up against the iceberg. It was again a question of millimeters. A little more speed and the nose would have been stove in.

So far so good. We had still our lives—what did this place look like? The arm ended in a little pool surrounded by high icebergs and with nose against this we lay with our tail towards the entrance. We hopped out on the ice and looked around. What was to be done? Only one thing. To try and get out as quickly as possible. Should the ice freeze together we were sentenced to death in five minutes. What was necessary now was to turn the machine round 180°. I must say we put all our force into the work and tried in different ways, but all in vain. The slush and small ice stuck fast to the boat and it lay as if in glue. If we managed to free the boat a few inches the slush went with it. If we got rid of that the boat fell back into its old position, and then so did the slush. Oh, how we struggled and strove. But after the space of a few hours we had to put that plan aside and take on another. But first we must find out where we were. Our observations gave 87° 43′ N. lat. and 10° 20′ L. Our presumption that there was a westerly current proved to be correct.

At eight o’clock A.M. we decided we had earned a little food and rest. But before we could gratify this need there were two things to be done. First to take all the provisions and equipment on to the big ice, in case the ice should begin to screw. Also we must look around to see if our comrades on N 24 were in sight. The small quantity of provisions that we had were shifted onto the ice in a few minutes, and then we set off with glasses to take observations from the top of the highest iceberg. We thought we had heard a shot after we had landed, but we were not certain. There are so many noises like shots amongst the ice. The last I saw of N 24 just before our landing was that it was flying very low on the other side of the dam. If I was right we must look for it in a southerly direction, but everywhere we looked there was nothing to be seen. The mist now lay somewhat lower than when we landed and a few snowflakes came whirling along. The temperature was about -15° c. I had never looked upon our machine before as a dwelling but that must be done now. It was divided into five rooms. The first, the observer’s room, was too small for occupation. No. 2, the pilot’s place, offered the best sleeping room for one or two men. No. 3, the petrol store, was full of tanks and could not be used. Room No. 4 was the best of them and we decided to make it a dining room and sleeping room. It was four meters long diminishing in width towards the tail. I assume that the builder had never thought of it as a dining room when he built it, but certain it is that it seemed absolutely prepared for that purpose. At all times our Primus apparatus got a good position here. Room No. 5 lay right in the tail and you entered it through a round door in the wall. It was long, small, and dark, as it had no window. As a bedroom for one man it might have been used had it not been for the ribs which converged tightly here. In the dining room we set our Primus going and soon had our first meal of chocolate and biscuits. It was comfortable in here so long as we could keep it warm and this was easy in the beginning while we still trusted and hoped that our stay should be short. We had brought with us some small petrol apparatus called Therm’x and with these we kept the temperature fine and high.

I cannot pass by our friend Therm’x without giving him a good word. How it is constructed I cannot say and it will not interest many. But what will interest most people is the fact that with one liter of petrol this apparatus will give out considerable heat for twelve hours. In addition to this it is absolutely fireproof. It gives a glowing heat, but burns without a flame. You could pour petrol over it whilst it functioned, yet nothing would result except smoke and an unpleasant smell. For a trip like ours where we were surrounded by benzine it was a priceless possession. Add to this its astonishing economy and it is not necessary to say more. Two Therm’xs made each room quite cozy, but as events will show even Therm’x had afterwards to be used sparingly and our cozy corners were cozy no longer. Riiser-Larsen, unselfish as ever, took up his quarters in the tail. How he managed to bear four weeks in it puzzles me. He must still have five blue stripes exactly like the five tail ribs! Feucht had his place in the dining room, and I mine in the pilot’s room. We did not rest long at first, for at ten o’clock we were in full swing again. We tried once more to turn the machine round, but soon gave it up for another plan, namely, to get the machine into safety as quickly as possible, for without any warning the fissure might close up and crush us like a nut between nut-crackers. To guard against this we decided to place it on top of the iceberg which lay beside us. It seemed a hopeless task at first, but it meant much. Firstly, part of the iceberg must come down, for a slide to be made. “But however could we accomplish that task?” asked one. Yes, that is the question. When we left we had 500 kilos too much on board and therefore must deny ourselves many things. To carry with us a number of ice tools, which we might never need, was out of the question. We had only calculated with landing on, and rising from, suitable ice. No one had dreamed of the present situation. We looked at our available tools: three slip knives, one big knife, one ax, one ice-anchor, which in time of need could be used as a pick. It is unbelievable what people can do when they are driven to it. There was only one way to get the machine into safety—and for that the iceberg must come down and be leveled and it would appear that we only had our fingers to do it with. Wholly inexperienced in work of this kind, we were rather clumsy in the beginning, but we were willing and incredibly persevering and were lucky enough to get the better of the situation. Later we managed to level an iceberg in a fabulously short time, but at present we were unused to the work and it went slowly. From time to time during our work we went up to the top of the machine, or to the top of an iceberg, and looked around to find the others. Anything might have happened in such a morass, and at lunch time we discussed the various probabilities. Had they made a bad landing? Had they decided that it was hopeless to land in this chaos?

The next day we got ready to march to Cape Columbia. The sledge was secured and put ready so that we, with the shortest possible warning, could set off if the ice should close in and crush the machine. Our provisions were sufficient to last for a month giving 1 kilo per man per day. As soon as we saw our situation was serious we began quickly to take less and in a short time our ration was reduced to 300 grammes per day. It was naturally too little for any length of time, but for a shorter period would suffice. We all felt very weak after the first day, but it appeared that we could get used to it. We got noticeably thinner, tightening our belts every day. My belt, which had often been too tight in King’s Bay, was now too slack even when worn outside my thick leather clothes. Our sleeping equipment consisted of one light reindeer skin bag, only designed for summer use. Most of us grumbled at the cold in the beginning, as the temperature remained about -10° c., but one must have practice in using a sleeping bag, and one must understand it in order to pass in it what turns out to be a warm balmy night, while another person without experience freezes. It is necessary to take plenty of time and to work oneself right down to the bottom when getting into a sleeping bag, for one can often see people who have no knowledge of these things, only halfway wriggled in, and naturally they pass an uncomfortable night.

On the 23rd we were able to cross the new frozen ice into the pool. We were early at work that day and kept on hacking at the slide. During a little interval I took the glasses, climbed to the top of the machine in order to look round after N 24. Who can describe my pleasure as I, almost with the first glance, observed it? South-west, on the other side of the great dam, there it lay looking quite cheeky. A little to the left stood the tent. And still a little further away, on the top of a high iceberg, a flag. This was pleasant news for my comrades and in haste we hoisted our flag. Anxiously I followed progress through my glasses to see if they were observing us. Yes, right enough, in a few moments I saw signs of life. They sprang to the flag, caught hold of it and in a few moments we had a means of communication, as fortunately our two pilots were practiced signalers. The distance between us was too great for semaphoring, so we had to use the Morse system. Apart from the fact that it took a little longer, everything went splendidly. Dietrichson announced that his machine on leaving King’s Bay had started an ugly leak, but that he had hoped all the same to be able to manage. We could tell them that our machine was absolutely undamaged. No further announcements were made. We went on with our work on the slide all day.