Our polar flight

by Roald Amundsen; Lincoln Ellsworth

There has been a lot of talk about the possibility of using aniline for marking the snow, and I should like to express an opinion on the question. We had discussed the possibility of being short of petrol during the return flight to Spitzbergen, and that we might have to land and take all the petrol into one machine and continue the journey with that one only. If the abandoned machine did not lie too far to the north, we would return later to fetch it. In order to make it easier to find it our intention was at certain distances from the machine to make a number of marks by throwing out quantities of aniline at certain spaces apart to mark the course of our continued flight to Spitzbergen. Last winter we made a number of experiments by throwing out large quantities of the powder at intervals from a flying machine, but got no satisfactory results. During our stay in Spitzbergen we experimented with marking the snow by scattering powder out by hand. The result of this test was that if the snow was damp or quite wet the effect was successful. If, on the contrary, there was frost and the snow was dry no sign remained to aid us. The aniline powder requires damp, therefore, before it can fulfill the purpose of marking a track. As we might expect to find these conditions further south in the Arctic Sea, and as we thought of the possibility of making such marks during the return journey, we took with us a small quantity of aniline. In connection with this we are indebted to the Badische Soda & Anilinfabrik for the interest which they and their firm’s representative, Erik Berrum (who gave us the idea), took in the experiment.

Our ice-anchors were made by the factory in Marina di Pisa according to Amundsen’s designs. We had at that time, however, no idea that these would be considered later to be our best tool for hacking the hard ice. As ice-anchors they were also particularly effective. It happened that during the worst of the drifting we had to fasten the flying-boat to hold it safe from the encroaching ice. When the ice edges were almost setting together it was not so difficult to hold the nose direct against the pressure. The trend, however, changed in the shortest space of time so that the one ice-border “set” in an angle directly frozen into the other, both pressing together sideways and overlapping like the teeth of a ruminating cow. This was where we found it difficult to raise the boat.

The footwear presented an important side of our rig-out. It might happen that we should have to make a march of many hundred kilometers back again. We were prepared to find that there would be deep mush on the ice, as it was the warmest time of summer, and we would often have to take off our skis for the purpose of clambering over the icebergs and ice-banks. Skiing boots were therefore needed, knee-high, with watertight legs. The long legs made the boots very heavy for anything but skiing, for which they proved they were admirably suited when we tried them in Spitzbergen. For ordinary wear, when we should be resting, in a district where skis would not be of use, each man had an extra pair of boots. We therefore took with us to Spitzbergen many different kinds of footwear, so that each man could choose those which he considered would suit him best. (If a man has had the opportunity of choosing his footwear, he will find them much easier to wear when on a long march and exposed to hardship.)

In order that we might have the opportunity to form an opinion of our own we obtained samples of every suitable type. In the accompanying photograph there is a complete row of the different kinds. From the left it will be seen that we had long-legged boots—skiing boots (fashioned like the Norwegian “lauparstövler”). These we could either choose or reject. The next in the row are a pair of long-legged kamikker, of which we had a considerable choice as also some with shorter legs. By the side of these, stand boots designed for flying and they are the kind which Roald Amundsen has described. Beside these you will see a pair of Laplander’s boots and a pair of Canadian lumber-man’s boots. In the foreground lie a pair of long rubber boots.

When I asked Ramm to take a photograph of this miscellaneous footgear which—“we required at Spitzbergen”—he, like the humorist he is, could not let such an opportunity pass without a joke, and therefore placed on the extreme right a pair of dancing shoes!

The result of the selection was that Amundsen, Omdal and Feucht chose Laplanders’ boots; the two latter because this type of boot was practical when they had to climb from the motor gondola to the tank compartment. Ellsworth and Dietrichson chose short-legged kamikker, whilst I took the long-legged rubber boots. As every one, during and after the flight, was particularly well pleased, and praised his own selection in loud tones, it goes without saying that the original purpose of individual selection was thus attained.

In accordance with the request of Rolls-Royce, we used Shell Aero-petrol, and Wakefield’s Castrol R. oil. We cannot speak too highly of both. The fact that N 25’s engine always started instantly on the many occasions when we had to free the flying boat from the clutch of the ice, without the use of naphtha, is a credit which Feucht and Rolls-Royce must share with the petrol.

I come now to our provisions. There are many people who do not know what pemmican is, so I shall tell them about it shortly here. Pemmican is not a bird, as several people have asked me, nor has it anything to do with a pelican. The preparation of it is as follows: Beef is dried in the lowest possible temperature in such a manner that it shall not lose its tastiness. It is then ground to powder. This powder is mixed with dried pulverized vegetables. The whole is mixed together in melted fat, filled into molds and allowed to set. That this is nutritious fare is shown by the fact that five kilograms of beef make only one kilogram of beef powder. Our pemmican was a gift from the Danish Wine and Conserves Factory. It was analyzed by Professor Torup and was found to be in excellent condition. By cooking it with water, the pemmican will make either soup or a kind of porridge, or something between the two like gruel. Eighty grams of pemmican per man made a most delicious cup of soup. In the ice regions pemmican tastes equally good in its uncooked state. The little extra ration of forty grams which we got during the last days for the evening meal we ate like bread with our cup of chocolate.

The Freia Chocolate Factory made our chocolate according to a special recipe and presented us with it. We were, however, unable to follow the factory’s directions, which, inscribed upon the packet, informed us that we should use 125 grams (one tablet) to half a liter of water. We used a third part of a tablet to 400 grams of water, and it seemed to us most excellent chocolate. As we later had to reduce our bread ration from five oatcakes, we balanced it by adding Molico dried milk to the chocolate (a gift from the Norwegian Milk Factories). Even now as I write I see again the scene which was enacted each morning. We came creeping out of our sleeping bags, tumbled to our places in the mess, then sat and shuddered in our clothes as though to dispel the cold, while we rubbed our hands together. The Primus stoves’ kindly glow was warm and pleasant; we bent nearer to them, anxiously looking into the chocolate pan to see if it would not soon begin to bubble and steam. Soon it would bubble up in the middle, and a delightful steam rising from the little pan, came streaming out into the tiny room and enveloped us. We closed the trap doors to keep the warmth in the mess. The three small breakfast biscuits were passed round to each man; the cups were filled and sent after them; six pairs of hands clasped themselves involuntarily round the six cups. (I can still feel the warmth circulating from my hands up into my arms.) Faces were bent over the cups to be warmed by the rising steam, while hungry mouths cautiously and gratefully drank in the chocolate, which heated the body as it glided downwards. After this we started to talk.

Many readers will be asking themselves the question, “Didn’t they take any coffee with them?” No, we had no coffee with us, and even if we had had it, it would not have been touched so long as any chocolate remained. We five “new-beginners in the ice,” were almost ready to say when we came back that we should never have anything but chocolate for breakfast. We did say it in fact, but Amundsen only smiled and reminded us that the moment we boarded the “Sjöliv,” on the evening of June 15th, it was difficult for us to wait until the coffee was poured into the cups.