Our polar flight

by Roald Amundsen; Lincoln Ellsworth

My first aeroplane was a Farman biplane mounted on skis. We scarcely could have got any benefit from this. Later years’ experience shows me that. The war broke out in the meantime and put a stop to that part of my program. But then, as so often later in life, I experienced the fact that an apparent obstacle often had the opposite effect. Flying technique at that time took enormous steps forward; the child shot up, grew, and learned to move on its own account.

In 1921 the world’s record for the longest sojourn in the air reached about twenty-seven hours on a Junker machine in America. It was a monoplane, built entirely of aluminum, and therefore specially suitable for working in the Polar regions. Sun, cold, snow, and rain would not hurt it. I was living at that time in Seattle, Washington, where “Maud” lay, being equipped for a new journey north. As soon as that news reached me my decision was made. Such a machine I must have at all costs. With such an apparatus the impossible would become almost possible. The door to the Unknown seemed to me to be opening, but my hopes were dashed and the door remained locked for many years still. The machine at last was obtained and Lieutenant Omdal appointed to be its pilot. In May, 1922, we decided, as soon as we had learned to know the machine, to fly from the works in New York over America to Seattle. The engine failed as we were over the town of Marion in Pennsylvania, and we had to make an irritating forced landing in the Oil Fields. The machine was entirely ruined; a new one was hastily ordered, sent through America by rail just in time to be taken on board the “Maud.” Simultaneously the well-known American Curtis Aeroplane Factory put at our disposal a small reconnoitring machine. Therefore, as the “Maud” sailed in 1922 she was completely equipped, not only for a trip through the ice, but also for exploration from the air. The Curtis machine should be used for reconnoitring and accompany “Maud” all the time. I promised myself endless results from it. Whilst “Maud” went on right into the ice and explored sea, ice and air, Omdal and I went ashore at Wainright on Alaska’s north coast from whence we intended to trek as far as possible into the unknown territory to the north of that Coast, but everything went to pieces. On account of the stormy summer and autumn Omdal and I could not leave the place as arranged, but must build a house and spend the winter there.

In May, 1923, we were ready for flight, but already on our first trial flight the Junker broke the whole of its underpart in landing and became so damaged that all hope of repairing it had to be abandoned. Thus we gathered no experience. Things went somewhat better however with the little machine on board the “Maud.” A wireless telegram announced that it had been twice in the air with Odd Dahl as pilot and Wisting as observer, but it was crushed in the second landing. So far as I understand these two flights had not been of long duration; therefore it was scarcely possible to have studied anything of the immense area. It is, however, certain that these two were the first to fly over the actual drift ice. Thus we hear from them, for the first time, of the great difficulties which flying in this district presents. It was impossible from the air to determine the condition of the ice they said; it appeared to be absolutely flat, but it was quite different as results showed. The prospects now were not any brighter. On my return to Seattle I had only my two empty hands and a ruined aeroplane which nobody would have. I did not, however, give up, but continued to work in order to get a new equipment. Nineteen twenty-four passed, up till now, without luck. In September of the same year I went to the Norsk Luftseiladsforeningen (Aero Club of Norway) and proposed that they should work with me; I was received with open arms. Whilst they should try to do what they could at home I should travel to America to see what I could do there. I had already held some lectures on the subject, and sat one morning in my hotel deeply engrossed in reckoning out how long it would take me with my earnings to pay my creditors and start a new flight. The result was not heartening. I found out that if nothing unforseen happened I should be clear by the time I was 110 years old! But see, the unexpected did happen just then. The telephone rang and a voice said, “Are you Captain Amundsen?” (They always called me Captain Amundsen in America, but as all the negro conductors receive the same honor it does not make me proud.) “Yes, I am.” “Well,” continued the voice, “I am Lincoln Ellsworth.” That was how I became acquainted with the man to whom I should later owe so very, very much. The Luftseiladsforeningen (The Aero Club) will certainly agree with me when I say that without his assistance the expedition could hardly have taken place. It is not my intention by this to belittle the great and excellent work which the Club did; in deep thankfulness will I always remember the names of the three members of the Board with whom I came into direct touch: the president, Dr. Rolf Thommesen, and the two members, Dr. Ræstad and Major Swerre. Thanks to their energetic work, together with the State’s kindly aid, the expedition was soon ready to start. During my stay in America all the winter, the entire organizing of the work fell on these gentlemen, but the technical part of the arrangements fell on First Lieutenant of the Royal Norwegian Navy—Hjalmar Riiser-Larsen.

Hjalmar Riiser-Larsen had already taken part in the spring attempt to get the expedition going, so he was quite familiar with everything. It was therefore both with gladness and with trust that I was able to telegraph to him $85,000—James W. Ellsworth’s gift—begging him to order the two seaplanes. From this moment Riiser-Larsen got permission for leave and was able to give himself up entirely to the expedition. As a flying man he is so well known by every person in the land that it is superfluous and stupid to mention more. But he has dozens of other notable qualities which I need not enumerate and which made him specially qualified to fill his difficult post. With such an assistant a difficult trip becomes for the leader a pleasant and light effort.

He was assisted in his work by First Naval Lieutenant Leif Dietrichson and Flight Lieutenant Oskar Omdal. Both these gentlemen had been in the spring fiasco and thus knew all the details. It is quite unnecessary to talk about Dietrichson. His skill as a flyer is recognized by all. His bravery and resolution will stand out clearly later in this record. With his light outlook on life, his glad smile, and happy nature, he was an invaluable comrade on the flight. Omdal is known. If things went with him or against him it was all the same. Nothing seemed to depress him. He stood beside me in my two unhappy attempts in 1923 and 1924, and you can believe that it took a real man to show courage and keenness in a third attempt, but Omdal did not disappoint me. “So long as you don’t give in,” he said to me, “you shall always find me ready.” He is a marvelous being; he seems to have several limbs more than the rest of us. He moves slicker and thinks quicker. It is impossible to depress him. With three such men I knew that the technical part of the expedition was in the very best hands. The objective of the expedition was to trek in, as far as possible, over the unknown stretch between Spitzbergen and the Pole in order to find out what is there, or what isn’t there. It was not only to substantiate evidence of land, but to make a geographical research. This substantiation was as equally important as learning the composition of the land. From Nansen’s, the Duke of the Abruzzi’s, and Peary’s discoveries we had certainly good reason to believe that no land existed in that part of the Arctic Ocean, but our knowledge must be built on certainties, not on beliefs. Modern exploration insists on certainties. How miserably our maps have suffered in this district just on account of “beliefs.” Land has been put down instead of ocean, ocean instead of land, all on account of these same “beliefs.” More accidents have been caused by this than one would think; many people have lost their lives.

Apart from this we hoped to be able to make a number of meteorological observations which, even although they would not bring us many rich scientific results, would still give us interesting enlightenment. In the end we hoped, as at first, to harvest great and rich experiences which could be, to us and to others, of the greatest help when we once should be ready to start for the long arranged flight from Spitzbergen to Alaska. I lay special weight on the fact that I hope our experiences will be found of use by others. I do not belong to that class of explorer who believes that the North Pole is a place for himself alone. My outlook shows that I have an absolutely opposite disposition; “the more the better,” say I. Rather, let all of us be at the same time at the same place. Nothing stimulates like competition, nothing encourages exploration more. How would it appear if, for example, a man made public his intention to fly across the Polar regions, but for some unforeseen reasons could not accomplish it? Should every one therefore stay away from the place so long as the first one was alive? It seems to me an absurdity which is little in keeping with the sporting spirit one would expect to reign in these regions. “He who comes first to the mill gets his grist first milled,” says an old proverb. I hope to be able to make an attempt to fly from Spitzbergen to Alaska next summer. I must not, however, declare this to be my private ground, but I wish, on the contrary, that many will go there too. All the experience which I have stands at their disposal.

The trend of a wireless telegram from Dr. Sverdrup on the “Maud” in the summer of 1924 intimated that large tracts of land were not likely to be found north of Alaska. This theory he has based after careful tide observations. I have great faith in Sverdrup; I have never met a cleverer man than he, in his own line, but I feel absolutely certain that he will agree with me that one should go further in and explore the place. Without having actually seen it one cannot substantiate the evidence.

Our hope to get right along to the Pole was very small, for that our radius of action was too limited. Apart from that I had not any great interest in reaching the Pole, as I had always regarded Peary as being the first on the spot. Our objective was only, therefore, to cover the great distance by flying over it and over the great area we were exploring.

On the 9th April all the long and many preparations were finished, and we left Tromsö at five in the morning. The expedition had two ships. The motor ship “Hobby,” which should bring the two seaplanes up to Spitzbergen, and the Navy’s transport ship “Fram” which the State had placed at our disposal for the undertaking. On board the “Hobby” were Riiser-Larsen, Dietrichson, Omdal, Berge, the photographer, and the Rolls-Royce mechanic Green.

On board the “Fram”—Captain Hagerup, the second in command Lieut. Torkeldsen, ice-pilot Ness, Dr. Matheson, Director of the Pisaverkene Schulte-Frohlinde with two mechanics Feucht and Zinsmayer, the journalists Ramm and Wharton, the meteorologist Dr. Bjerknes, the guide Calwagen, also Devold, the cook Olsen, Sailmaker Rönne, Horgen, the chemist Zapffe, Lincoln Ellsworth and myself. This may appear almost unbelievable, but that part of the journey was regarded by us as one of the most anxious. It was still early in the year and the fairway between Norway and Spitzbergen was anything but safe for two smacks like ours. The “Fram” is a midsummer boat, intended for an ice-free sea, sunny and calm. But in the month of April one must not reckon with these three factors. One would be much cleverer to expect lots of ice, no sun, and heavy storms, and for that “Fram” is not a suitable ship. “Hobby” was more of an ice-ship and would in general plow her way as well as any other, but this was an extraordinary occasion. The tremendous cases which the flying boats were packed in had no other place to lie but on deck and in consequence of this “Hobby” became in very truth not much of a sea ship. The ubiquitous prophet had foretold her death and her sinking, and I must say that I was almost inclined to agree with him when I saw the big boxes lifted in the air. After leaving Tromsö “Hobby” had already given up trying to be a boat; she looked like a mass of gigantic cases which was wandering along over the sea.