Our polar flight

by Roald Amundsen; Lincoln Ellsworth

The sky was low and for two hours we were compelled to fly at a height of fifty meters. It was interesting to observe the ice conditions, so we eased down. We believed that in different places we observed from the sky we could distinguish open water all around us. But it was not the case. Not a drop was to be seen anywhere, nothing but ice in a chaotic jumble all around. It was interesting also to see that the floe, which from first to last had given us freedom, was the only floe within a radius of many miles which could have been of any use to us. N 24 got a farewell wave and was lost to sight for ever. Everything worked excellently, the engines went like sewing machines and gave us unqualified confidence. Both solar-compasses ticked and worked, and we knew that if only the sun would appear, they would be of invaluable assistance to us. The speedometers were placed. By the wheel sat the pilot, cool and confident as always. In the navigating compartment was a man I trusted absolutely, and by the engines two men who knew their work perfectly. Ellsworth spent his time making geographical observations and photographs. I myself managed to get what was impossible on the journey north, a splendid opportunity to study the whole flight. The course was set towards Spitzbergen’s north coastland, around Nord Kap. In the two first hours we steered by the magnetic compass. This had been considered an impossibility, hitherto, so far north, but the result was excellent. When the sun broke through after two hours and shone direct on the solar-compass, it showed us how exactly we had steered. For three hours the atmosphere had been clear, but now it turned to thick fog. We rose to a height of 200 meters, flying over it in brilliant sunshine. Here we derived much benefit from the solar-compasses and were able to compare their readings with the magnetic-compass. We had fog for an hour and then it cleared again. The condition of the ice was as on the northern trip, small floes, with icebergs on all sides. There was apparently no system in its formation; everything was a jumble. There was more open water than on the northern tour, but no waterways, only basins.

In 82° N. Lat. the fog descended again. The pilot tried for some time to fly under it, and this was a flight which would have delighted people who seek nerve-splitting thrills. The fog came lower and lower till at last it stretched right over the icebergs. With a speed of about 120 miles at a low altitude one gets a new impression of flying. With a rush we passed over the top of the icebergs one after the other. At a great height one does not notice the terrific speed. One is, on the contrary, astonished how slowly one appears to be traveling. Several times icebergs peeped up directly under us, so close in fact that I thought, “We shall never clear that one!” But the next moment we were across it. There could not have been more than a hair’s breadth to spare. At last the conditions became impossible; fog and ice blended into one. We could see nothing. There was another matter as well which was of special weight, namely, the nearness of Spitzbergen. Should we fly into the high cliff walls with a speed of 120 kilometers there would not be much left of us. There was only one thing to do—to fly over the fog and that was exactly what the pilot decided to do.

Up 100 meters high—and we were above the fog in brilliant sunshine. It was observable soon that the fog was thinning, it began to lift more and more in big masses, and soon we could see territory under it. It was not inviting; nothing but small ice with a little water. When I speak of the impossible landing conditions it is only to show that to land here would have meant certain death. Such a landing would have crushed the machine and sent it to the bottom. The fog lifted steadily and soon disappeared entirely. It was a fresh southerly breeze which brought about this welcome change. The fog had lain thickest in the south, but now that began to move away as well. Large sections of it tore themselves away from the great mass and disappeared in small driving clouds. Where was Spitzbergen? Had we steered so mistakenly that we had flown to the side of it? It was quite possible. One had no experience in the navigation of the air in these regions. Over and over again the general opinion of the magnetic compass’s uselessness in this district came back to my mind as I sat there. The solar-compass had—as soon as we got the sun—shown a reading in agreement with the magnetic compass, but it was set at ——? At what? If only I knew! There was probably no ground for anxiety, yet I felt dubious. We ought to see land by now. We had not enough petrol to last long—and still no land. Then suddenly a big heavy fog-cloud tore itself away and rose slowly, disclosing a high glittering hill-top. There was scarcely any doubt. It must be Spitzbergen. To the north lay some islands. They coincided with Syvöene and the land stretched out in a westerly direction. But even if it were not Spitzbergen, it was still land—good, solid land. From the islands there stretched a dark strip northwards. It was water—the great open sea. Oh! what a delightful feeling—sea and land and no more ice. Our course lay southwards, but to get more quickly away from the ugly conditions beneath us, the course was set westwards and downwards to the open sea. It was more than a clever move on the part of the pilot—it was refreshing to see how instinct came to his aid—because the controls were showing signs of wear. It is enough to say before we had got right across the sea the controls jammed and an immediate landing was necessary. The wind blew with a cold blast from what we learned later was Hinlopen Strait and the sea was high and rough. The forced landing was accomplished with all the assurance and experience which always distinguished our pilot. We left our places and all went aft in order to allow the nose to lift as high as possible. The pilot was the only one left forward. He flew most carefully, guiding the boat and maneuvering it against the highest waves, which were of tremendous dimensions. We who were aft kept warm and dry, but it was a different matter for the man at the wheel. Time after time the waves lashed over him, wetting him to the skin in a few minutes. It was not “spray” which we shipped when the waves broke over us. Unused as I was to maneuvers of this kind I expected every moment to see the bottom stove in. It was seven in the evening when the forced landing was accomplished, and it was not until eight that we reached land. It was a fairly shoal bay we entered and the landing places it offered us were not of the best. We found a sloping side of the coast ice where we could climb ashore. The wind now died away and the sun shone on the heavy stones which lay on the beach. Here and there a little fresh rill ran between them singing as it descended from the hillsides. The sweet voices of birds fitted in with our gentle mood of eventide and inspired in us a feeling of solemnity. There was no need to look for a church wherein to praise God the Almighty and offer up to Him our burning thanks. Here was a spot amidst His own wonderful nature. The sea lay smooth and calm with here and there tremendous pieces of ice protruding from the water. The whole scene made an ineradicable impression on us which we shall never forget. The plane was moored to a large piece of ice so that it swung free, and all of us went ashore. There were two things which it was necessary for us to do in our own interests. First to discover our whereabouts and then to have a little food. The chocolate and the three biscuits we had taken at 8 A.M. no longer satisfied us. While Dietrichson “took the sun” the rest of us got the meal ready—a repetition of breakfast. How good it tasted! How fine it was to jump about among the big rocks! We became children again. All around lay driftwood which we could use for firing if we remained here any time. The ninety liters of petrol which we had must be used sparingly.

Omdal, who had been our cook during the whole trip, wished to set the Primus going, as there was still a little drop of petrol left in it, and he was busy with it when suddenly Riiser-Larsen shouted, “There is a ship.” And truly there in the east round the nearest point came a little cutter, gliding along. Had misfortune earlier been our lot luck seemed now to overwhelm us. It was now 9 P.M. and Dietrichson had just completed his observations. We found that we were exactly at Nord Kap on Nordostland, the very spot we had steered for in the morning. Thus the flight was a master-stroke on the part of the man who directed the machine, while the navigator shares the distinction with him. It was a splendid deed! But—the little cutter had changed her course and apparently had not noticed us. She moved quickly and was probably fitted with a motor engine. What should we do? What should we do to communicate with it? “Nothing easier,” said the flying-men. “Just sit tight and you shall see.” In a second everything was brought on board the plane, the motor started and we rushed over the sea stopping exactly beside the cutter. It was the cutter “Sjöliv” of Balsfjord—Captain Nils Wollan. A jolly-boat was lowered and with two men rowed across to us. They seemed in doubt as to who we could be, dirty and bearded as we were. But when I turned slightly round I exposed my profile—and they knew us at once. Would they tow us down to King’s Bay as our petrol was almost done? They would be delighted to do this, in fact Wollan would have certainly towed us to China if we had asked him, so glad was he to see us, so beaming with kindness and goodwill. We had a rope attached to N 25 and we all went on board the “Sjöliv.” There for the first time we felt that the expedition was finished. Quietly and calmly we shook hands with each other—it was a handshake that said much. We were received by all the crew with hearty welcome and shown down to the cabins. While this part of the ship was not exactly a ballroom, the cabins on “Sjöliv”—2 × 2 meters—compared with what we had had in the last four weeks, were roomy and comfortable. These good people cleared out of them absolutely and handed over the whole place to us. In the two broad bunks four of us were able to sleep, while two found berths in the men’s quarters. “Will you have coffee?” was the first question. Would we! Yes, certainly, and as quickly as possible with a smoke thrown in. We had been tobaccoless for the last days and now were longing for a smoke. The first coffee was not an unqualified success; the coffee pot was set on the fire to warm and, on a mighty roll the cutter gave, it flew straight onto Riiser-Larsen’s back. He was thus the first to get coffee, but if he appreciated the honor, his language expressed a totally different opinion. They apologized to us for the egg pancake and the seal-flesh which comprised the next course, but apologies were unnecessary. All the food disappeared as though a whirlwind had passed over the table—and this, despite the fact that we had decided to eat sparingly after our long restriction.

The towing of N 25 proceeded satisfactorily in the beginning, but during the night a southerly breeze came up blowing directly down from the hills. The waves increased steadily and as we steered westwards towards Hinlopen Strait we decided that we must turn landwards and anchor. We only got to bed at 5:30 A.M., after traversing an endless number of roods.

At eleven o’clock the next morning we were up again. It was blowing a gale and we lay badly. We decided therefore that we should go into the nearest bay to find a calm and safe harborage for N 25, let it remain there while we went on to King’s Bay for assistance, return for the seaplane and fly it down. The nearest harbor was Brandy Bay. We looked at each other as much as to say, “Can we really permit ourselves to enter a place with such a name?” The ice here lay at the bottom of the Bay and we towed the machine safely through it. At 8 P.M. we steered for King’s Bay. It was a windy passage through Hinlopen Strait. The sea was high and rough and the “Sjöliv” enjoyed herself royally. If our feelings agreed with hers, I should not like to say. On the 17th we sailed along Spitzbergen’s north coast in summer sunshine and warmth. We passed a few vessels and asked if they had seen “Hobby”—but “No, they had not.”

As we passed Virgo-havn we hoisted all our flags and the little “Sjöliv” was in gala attire. We wanted to honor the memory of the man who, for the first time, sought to reach the Pole through the air—Salomon August Andrëe. Was there any one in the world who had more right to honor the memory of this man than we six who stood here looking over the place from which he set out on his sad expedition. I scarcely think so. We lowered our flag and continued.

At 11 P.M. we rounded Cape Mitra and there lay King’s Bay before us. It was a wonderful sensation to sail back through the Bay and see all the old well-known places again. The ice had vanished, melted by the sunshine as loon and auk gamboled in its rays. Anxiety was rife among us as we sailed in as to whether “Hobby” was here or not? The skipper looked out, came back and announced that “Hobby” was not here; only a coal-boat lay by the quay. As we approached one or other of us went continually to look out; suddenly some one cried, “Yes, there is ‘Hobby.’ And another boat lies there also, but I can’t distinguish which it is.” Our relief was great. There lay “Hobby” and many of our dear friends were near. “Hullo,” some one cried from above, “the other boat is the Heimdal.’” “No, you must be mad. What would the ‘Heimdal’ be doing here?” answered another. We had not the slightest idea what awaited us. Nearer and nearer we approached. “Shall we raise the flag?” said the skipper. “No,” I answered, “there is no reason to do so.” But a little later some one said, “Surely we must greet the naval flag.” “Yes, naturally. I have forgotten my good manners on the trip,” I had to admit. So up went the flag and the “Sjöliv” approached the quay. We continually had our glasses directed on the ships ahead; suddenly some one exclaimed, “Good gracious, two flying machines are lying there.” And, true enough, there lay two Hansa-Brandenburgers ready for flight. Surely they were destined for a North Coast charting survey, as that had been discussed last year. Yes, that seemed quite possible! That we were the reason for all this excitement never entered our minds. We came on nearer and nearer. We could now see that they were beginning to direct glasses on us from the Coast, showing interest in the little cutter. As we sailed in one of our people who saw a comrade on board the “Hobby” shouted, “Hullo, Finn, how is everything at home?” That was the signal for great excitement. We saw them run round each other in jubilation, shouting and gesticulating. What in the world was the reason for all this? Soon we were to know. The motor stopped and the “Sjöliv” sailed up alongside “Hobby.”

MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION ARRIVING AT KING’S BAY