Our polar flight

by Roald Amundsen; Lincoln Ellsworth

FAST IN THE ICE

At 1 P.M. we went on board for soup. The ice was then calm. The “Sphinx” lay in the same position. Oh! how good the thick pemmican soup tasted! Five hours’ hard work on a cup of chocolate and three small oatcakes gives one a good appetite. At 4 P.M. Dietrichson went on board to fetch something, and on his return remarked that it seemed to him that the old ice was approaching the seaplane. Now, he, during the last days, had suffered a little from snow blindness and we thought accordingly he had made a mistake. It was indeed a mistake. We should have gone at once and looked into the matter. One must however remember that every second is precious and that we grudged stopping work. At 7 P.M. we went on board to eat our three biscuits. The sight which then met us would have filled the bravest heart with despair. The great pack had approached the seaplane to within some meters. The “Sphinx” seemed to bow and chuckle with amusement. Now it would have us! But it had laughed too soon. The six men that it now looked upon were not the same six who some days ago had arrived through the air from a place full of life’s comforts; the six now were hardened by obstacles, weariness and hunger, and they feared nothing on earth, not even the “Sphinx.” “Hurrah! heroes. Hurrah for home and all we hold dear. The devil take the ‘Sphinx.’” And so the work began and in its performance we got more self-confident than ever before, as we managed to turn the heavy machine round in the course of a few minutes. What task each person specially performed it is difficult to say, but it was a Herculean task. We lay down, we pulled, we toiled, we scratched. “You shall go round!” Before we realized it there it was, turned 180° and the course set for the new slide. The “Sphinx” hung its head and looked sad; but the next day it lay exactly on the spot where N 25 had lain. During this performance N 24 was pushed on to the plain beside which it had lain. Still a little more leveling and the slide was ready. To shouts of joy the machine, in the evening at eleven o’clock, was driven over the track and stopped exactly beside the Thermopylæ Pass. To-morrow there would not be much to be done.

The 7th of June. Norway’s Day! At home they would be wearing light summer clothes and enjoying life, while flags flew over the whole land from the North Cape to Neset. But don’t think that we forgot this day. No! From the N 25’s highest point our silk flag flew and our thoughts—oh! don’t let us think at all of them!

The side of the pass was formed by two gigantic icebergs which would have to be more than half cut down before the wings could pass over and the great ditch had to be filled up with ton after ton of snow. But the 7th of June is a good day to work for homesick folk. The knives are driven with greater certainty, the axes swung with greater power, and in a remarkably short time the ice giants dwindled to dwarfs. We experienced a very exciting episode on this occasion. While Riiser-Larsen drove the machine over the snow glacier Dietrichson went past and did not get out of the way. At the last moment he threw himself down flat on the ground and the tail-skid passed so near to him that I could not see daylight between. It was in the words’ fullest meaning a narrow escape. “I saw you all right,” remarked the pilot later. “But I could not stop in the middle of the bridge.” That his words were true was proved by looking back and noting that the bridge was no longer there. It was a delightful feeling to sit on a “flynder” and rush across the snow plains. It was not often we got the satisfaction, as we usually had to stand by ready to push or haul the machine over the snow. But this intermediate plain was hard and the pilot could manage to steer with the wheel. And thus we stood before the last ditch which had to be filled and leveled. It took us six hours before it was finished and the machine landed in safety on the big plain. It had been thawing the whole day and was uncomfortably warm for working, but one could always throw some clothes off. We were not so particular about our appearance.

The 8th of June brought us fog and half a degree of heat. It drizzled the whole time and we were exceptionally uncomfortable. We were now faced by another hard task, namely, turning the machine round in the deep wet snow. We were unused to this work and consequently were fairly clumsy. In addition to this we had to decrease our daily rations from 300 to 250 grammes, insufficient to keep up our strength. Our work in the deep wet snow of this plain was wearying. More wearying than ever before. Do you remember, comrades, how we made the turning platform? You will scarcely have forgotten that? The machine had to be driven up to the starting place and then swung round 180° to face the right direction. The snow as already said was deep and wet, and any turning of the machine under these conditions was hardly possible. What should we do now? There was only one thing to be done, namely, to dig down to the ice and turn the machine on that. The snow here was from two to three feet deep and every spadeful was a heavy weight to lift, particularly as we used the big shovels. We cleared a circular place with a diameter of fifteen meters. That got the name “turning-table.” Had we solved our problem by this you might have forgotten the turning-table by now, but when we tried to turn the machine, we found that the skids caught in the ice and stopped the whole progress. Again we were faced with the question—“What shall we do?” And some one was struck by a bright idea—to lay a snow-skate underneath. We all agreed the idea was good, but to accomplish it was not easy. We must lift the machine and it weighed four and one-half tons. But even that did not frighten us. It was not to a great height that we had to lift it—just about two centimeters, but only five men were available while the sixth must place the snow-skate underneath. Never mind, come on, my heroes. Lay your shoulders to the wheel and lift. And then five backs are bent in unison, and one! two! three!—we had got it up on the snow-skate at last. We continued working steadily, regardless of time’s flight, from 4 A.M. on the 8th of June to 4 A.M. the next day. During that time starting place No. 5 was worked on, tried, and approved. The fog lay thick and heavy while the drizzle continued all day on the 9th, but Riiser-Larsen insisted that the track should be completed. Think now what a problem we had before us when we started to work that morning. A track—500 meters long—twelve meters broad—should be made in wet snow three feet in depth. The snow cleared away from the track must be thrown at least six yards away from each side so that it should not get in the way of the machine. We had lived on 250 grammes daily for several days so you will not be astonished when I say that by evening we were absolutely worn out. I watched, with wonder, the two giants who wielded the shovels all day. We others did what we could, but our work was trifling compared to theirs. On the 11th we set to again after breakfast, but we could not keep up this strenuous work; an observer would have noticed at once that he had a number of worn-out people before him. The clang of the spades got slower, the rest-intervals longer and longer till in the end we stood quite still and stared at each other. It seemed an impossibility to get the snow shoveled aside in a reasonable time. Whilst we stood discussing it, Omdal walked up and down in the snow. It was only a chance that he did so, but a chance which brought about important results. “See,” he shouted suddenly, “this is what we can do instead of shoveling.” The place where he had trekked was quite hard and with a little frost would give a splendid surface. In the afternoon we started our great trek. Foot by foot of the track of soft wet snow was trodden into a solid road. It was still thawing, but we knew that if it turned frosty it would become a perfect track—and it was only natural to expect that frost would come. To make the surface even we had to remove long and high stretches of ice-formation containing tons upon tons of ice. On the 14th of June as we laid down our tools I don’t think I exaggerate when I say that all in all we had removed 500 tons of ice and snow. That day we made two starts, 6 and 7, but the foundation was still too soft as we had had no constant frost. Certainly the temperature that day had been as low as -12° c., but then it rose immediately after to 0° again. It was impossible to get up sufficient speed to rise, the machine sank down into the snow, and in a number of places dragged the whole of the underlying snow with it. Now will it freeze or not?

The 15th of June was fixed as the latest day for our next attempt to start. If that was not successful we must collaborate and decide what could be done. There were not many courses to choose. Either we must desert the machine and attempt to reach the nearest land, or we must stay where we were and hope for an opportunity to rise in the air. We had performed the miracle of leaving Spitzbergen with one month’s provisions, and yet after four weeks had passed we found we had provisions for six weeks. We could thus hold out until the 1st of August. In my lifetime I have often been faced by situations where I found it difficult to decide on the right course of action, but to choose in this case with any degree of certainty was more difficult than the making of any previous decision. The first alternative—to set off in search of land—appeared to me to be the most sensible as, should our provisions run out, it was possible further south that we might find edible animal life. In addition this plan had the great advantage that it would occupy our thoughts with the work we had ahead. Against this plan the fact of our modest equipment and our probably weakened condition must be weighed. When I privately considered these two alternatives I always came to the conclusion that to look for land was the most sensible, but as soon as I decided on this course a voice whispered in my ear: “Are you mad, Boy? Will you leave a complete and good machine, filled with petrol, and go down into the high broken ice where you know you may perish miserably? A waterway may open up before you to-morrow and then you will be home in eight hours’ time.” Will any one blame me for my indecision when I found it so difficult to choose.

On the evening of the 14th we unloaded everything on the ice except the most necessary, and that we placed in a canvas boat. We kept sufficient petrol and oil for eight hours, one canvas boat, two shotguns, six sleeping bags, one tent, cooking utensils and provisions for a few weeks. Even our splendid ski-shoes had to be set aside as they were too heavy. Of our clothes we only kept what we could not do without. All told it amounted to about 300 kg.

On the 15th of June we had a temperature of -3° c. with a little breeze from the southeast, just the very wind we required. The track was frozen fine and hard during the night, but the sky was not too promising—low-lying clouds—but what in all the world did we care about the sky! The thickest fog would not have kept us back. In this light the track was very difficult to see; small black objects were therefore placed at each side so that the pilot would be certain to make no mistake. A little too much to one side or the other could be fatal. At 9:30 P.M. everything was clear and ready for a start. The solar-compasses and the engines started. They were three-quarters warmed up. I cast a last glance over the track and walked along it to pass the time. It ran from northeast towards southeast. A few yards in front of the machine there was a small crack across the ice. It was only a few inches wide, but there it was, and at any moment it might open and separate the little corner we stood upon from all the rest. For the distance of 100 meters the track rose quite gradually in order to become level. Two hundred meters away, on the floe’s southeast end, there also lay a crack right across, but this was of a much more serious nature, and had caused us many uneasy moments. It was about two feet wide and filled with water and mush. This seemed to show that it was connected with the sea and could give us a few unpleasant surprises sooner or later. Should this crack widen and tear away 200 meters of our track, the latter would be entirely ruined. The floe ended in a three-foot broad water-lane; on the other side of it, direct in the line of the track, lay a flat forty-meter long plain, which one will understand was far from ideal, but absolutely the best which the place could offer us. At 10:30 everything was in order. In the pilot’s seat sat Riiser-Larsen, behind him Dietrichson and I, in the petrol tank Omdal and Feucht, and Ellsworth in the mess. Dietrichson was to navigate us homewards and should really have taken his place in the observer’s seat in front of the pilot. But as that was too exposed in view of the nature of the task we were undertaking, his place was allotted further back at the start. This was undeniably a most anxious moment. As soon as the machine began to glide one could notice a great difference from the day before. The hasty forward glide was not to be mistaken. One hundred meters off, we started at top-speed, 2,000 revolutions a minute. It trembled and shook, shivered and piped. It was as though N 25 understood the situation. It was as though the whole of its energy had been gathered for one last and decisive spring from the floe’s southern edge. Now—or never.

We rushed over the three-meter wide crack, dashed down from the forty-meter broad floe and then? Was it possible? Yes, indeed! The scraping noise stopped, only the humming of the motor could be heard. At last we were in flight. A smile and a nod and Dietrichson disappeared into the observation compartment.

And now started the flight which will take its place amongst the most supreme in flying’s history. An 850-kilometer flight with death as the nearest neighbor. One must remember that we had thrown practically everything away from us. Even though we had managed by a miracle to get away with our lives, after a forced landing, still our days were numbered.