Captain Amundsen now set June 15th as the date upon which a definite decision must be arrived at. On that date something must be done; so a vote was taken, each man having the option of either starting on foot for Greenland on that date, or else sticking by the plane with the hope of open water coming while watching the food dwindle. There was much divided opinion. It seemed absurd to consider starting out on a long tramp when right by our side was 640 horsepower lying idle, which could take us back to civilization within eight hours. Captain Amundsen was for staying by the plane. He said that with the coming of summer the leads would open. Riiser-Larsen said he would start walking on June 15th. Feucht said he would not walk a foot and that he would stick by the motors. Omdal said he would do what the majority did, and I said I would prefer to wait until June 14th before making a decision.
My own mind was pretty well made up that if I ever succeeded in traveling 100 miles towards Greenland on foot, I would be doing well. Yet sitting down by the plane and watching the last of the food go was a thing that ran counter to my every impulse. I agreed with Captain Amundsen that I should much prefer to “finish it” on my feet. I think that all really believed that in our worn-out condition, carrying thirty pounds on our backs and dragging a canvas canoe along with which to cross open leads, none of us would be able to reach the Greenland coast.
Most of our doubt regarding the tramp to Greenland, of course, came from our not knowing just how far the bad country that we were in extended. Climb up as high as we could, we were never able to see the end of it. Whether it extended to Greenland or not was the question, and that was what made it so hard for us to decide what course to take.
After our evening cup of chocolate Captain Amundsen and I generally would put on our skis and take a few turns around the ice floe we were on before turning into our sleeping-bags. I usually asked him on these occasions what he thought of the situation. His reply was that things looked pretty bad, but he was quick to add that it had always been his experience in life that when things were blackest, there was generally light ahead.
On May 31st there was eight inches of ice in the lead on the far side of the floe we were on. We decided to try a take-off on this new ice. From our ice-cake down into the lead there was a six-foot drop, so that it was necessary to construct a slip upon which to get our plane down into the lead. We built this slip in accordance with standard road-making principles—first heavy blocks of ice, then filling in on top with smaller pieces, and then tiny lumps and loose snow, on top of which we spread a layer of loose snow which froze into a smooth surface. It took us two days to build this slip and to level off the ice ahead for 500 meters.
At this time we had established regular nightly patrols, each man taking his turn at patrolling all night around and around the ice floe, on his skis, looking for open water. The mental strain during this period was terrific, for we never knew when the cake we were on might break beneath us.
On June 2nd, at 5 P.M., we decided that our slip was worthy a trial. We started up the motors and taxied across the floe and down the slip, but we had built our slip too steep, and, therefore, not having enough speed, the plane simply sagged through the ice and for 1,000 meters we merely plowed through it. We shut off the motors and prepared to spend the night in the lead.
At midnight I was awakened by Captain Amundsen yelling that the plane was being crushed. I could plainly hear the pressure against the metal sides. We lost no time in getting everything out onto some solid ice near by, and by working the plane up and down permitted the incoming ice to close in beneath her from both sides. It was a narrow escape. We had expected the plane to be crushed like an eggshell. Riiser-Larsen’s only comment after the screwing stopped was, “Another chapter to be added to our book!” Before morning our first heavy fog set in. The Arctic summer was upon us. From then on the fog hung like a pall over us and for the remainder of our stay in the Arctic we were never free from it, although we were always able to see the rim of the sun through it and knew that above it the sky was clear and the sun shining brightly, but we could not rise into it. With the coming of the fogs the temperature rose to freezing.
We were gradually working our way over towards where the N 24 was lying. During the day we would level off a new course, but there was not sufficient wind in which to rise, and as usual our heavily loaded plane broke through the thin ice,—
“Trailing like a wounded duck, working out her soul.