I will start by quoting my notes of the 21st May: “Easterly breeze, clear weather, excellent conditions for starting. Hope that the great day has now come. Try to start with 3,100 kilo weight, but am prepared to have to reduce same.”
This was written on the morning of the 21st and my hope was to be realized. Meteorologists predicted good weather conditions in the polar basin and the plane was loaded and ready. In the afternoon the members of the expedition, accompanied by friends and the people of King’s Bay, went out to the plane. The lashings received final touches, instruments were placed in position, and engines were started. In the half hour during which the engines warmed up we said good-by to friends and acquaintances, and we placed special value on the good wish, “God bless your trip,” which we received from the miners’ representatives and the crew of the “Fram.” Our tireless friend, Director Knutsen, gave us practical proof of his kindness by handing us, when we were on board, a parcel of sandwiches, cold meat and hard-boiled eggs as well as a box of excellent oatcakes baked by Fru Director Clausen of Aalesund. As transpired later, these provisions came in exceedingly handy.
At last both planes were ready. Omdal reported that the engines were all right, and Ellsworth was ready with his navigating and meteorological instruments. N 25 was lying with its nose facing the fjord, where the start was to be made. N 24, somewhat further in, lay parallel with the beach in order to escape the air pressure and the snow spray from N 25’s propeller. The latter plane at last slid down the hacked-out glide onto the ice, and N 24 proceeded in a half circle in order to follow down the same track. Meantime it was no easy task to raise the heavily laden plane 90°. At the same time as the engines pulled the plane slowly forward something snapped through the pressure on the tail. But there were plenty of willing hands—too many in fact. Above the humming of the engine I suddenly heard a noise which sounded to me as if a row of rivets in the bottom had sprung. Meantime the plane was in starting position. The people were quickly waved aside, and we glided down on the ice in the track of N 25. Director Schulte-Frohlinde from the Pisa Works had undoubtedly heard a suspicious noise when the rivets burst (that could be seen by the concerned look on his face) although the noise probably sounded worse in the plane than outside. I presume he calmed down when we continued on our way, but I smiled to myself at the sight of his sudden shock. As far as I was concerned the occurrence was quite clear. I knew that some of the rivets were out, although I could not judge how many. But I took it for granted that it would not place any special difficulties in the way of our landing or starting, even on the water, after we had lightened the plane by over 1,000 kg. of petrol and oil on the way up to the Pole. Added to this was the chance that we might possibly land and start from the ice, where the leakage would not matter. On the other hand, repairs would have delayed the start indefinitely; then again we might have periods when, impatiently waiting to start, every minute of the day we would look concernedly at the weather conditions becoming foggier and foggier and delaying us. My all-engrossing thought was: “Now or never.” And thus we carried on.
The arrangement was that N 25 should start first. There was a slight breeze from the end of the fjord, but in order to prevent a turning of 180° with the heavy-laden plane, we decided to try first to make a start beyond the fjord. We therefore stopped in the middle of the ice and started to put our flying suits on, which we did not want to don until the last minute in order not to get too warm before starting. Suddenly we saw N 25 gliding landwards and flying past us with both engines working at full power with constantly increasing speed. It was clear immediately that the start would be successful. I did not get time to see more nor to put on snow-glasses and gloves, for the ice began to sink more and more under the plane’s weight. There was already a foot of water on the ice round about us, and at the same time Omdal informed us that the water was also rising inside fairly rapidly. These conditions coming all at once made it imperative to act, and a few seconds later I had given N 24’s 720-horsepower full scope. It looked as if the plane spent a little time in consideration, then started slowly to glide ahead, the water on the ice disappeared, and quicker and quicker we drove over the lightly snow-covered ice-plain. It seemed as if the high glacier at the end of the fjord was coming to meet us at a dangerous speed. But a glance at the speedometer showed a steady, regularly increasing speed which had a completely calming effect. As the indicator showed 110 kilometers per hour I thought that the plane could rise, but in order to make quite certain, I waited until the indicator showed 120 kilometers before I let it rise slowly.
It was an inspiring feeling to be in the air at last. The fascinating expedition had at last begun. The time of preparation was over.
Our admiration for the plane’s ability knew no bounds. As mentioned before we were quite prepared to face the necessity of having to jettison a part of the load, namely petrol. According to the contract the plane was only bound to carry 2,500 kilos weight, but we got away all right with 3,100 kilos. As we learned later, the starting track was 1,400 meters long, but if necessity had demanded it could have been considerably shorter.
As soon as the nose of N 24 had been slowly and carefully steered round outside the fjord, I started to look out for N 25. It is surprising how difficult it often is to discover a plane in the air from another one. But at last I saw it, and apparently on board N 25 they were also on the lookout for us. All the circumstances which could possibly arise had been thoroughly discussed before starting and the main thing was, if possible, to keep together. Written orders were therefore not necessary, and only one written order was issued as a guide in case we should be separated, and it read as follows:
“In case the two planes and their crews should lose contact with one another, N 24 and its crew shall continue operations under Lieutenant Dietrichson’s leadership as agreed. Lieutenant Dietrichson has the right in the name of His Majesty the King of Norway to take possession of any land that may be discovered.”
As we then glided northwards along the west coast of Spitzbergen past the seven glaciers and further past Dansköen and Amsterdamöen, it was certainly our mutual wish that luck would favor us so that we should never lose sight of one another. This wish was strengthened when early in the course of the flight thick clouds and fog met us, forcing us to rise to about 1,000 meters, where we found the sky beautiful, blue and sunny, whilst the fog lay below us like a blanket stretching out northwards as far as the eye could see.
The arrangement was that the flight up to the north coast should be considered as a trial flight, and that both planes should return to King’s Bay if everything was not going on all right; but if the contrary was the case, to continue. With a feeling of relief I saw that N 25 continued its course northwards, so that everything on board there must be in order. But shortly afterwards I noticed by the cooling-gauge that the temperature of the water had risen alarmingly. Omdal, always practical, had been prudent enough to fix a bell from my compartment to the petrol-store and to the engine-gondolas, and as soon as I had pressed the button Omdal was beside me. I pointed to the thermometer, which was steadily rising, and Omdal disappeared aft again like a rocket. He is a phenomenon in wriggling round the engines, where (to use a mild phrase) space is scarce. I glanced aft and saw that the radiator blinds were not quite open, but even after they had been opened wide, the temperature continued to rise. The indicator had passed 100° and I felt sure that we would have to make a forced landing. Through small holes in the fog we could see the drift ice below us where a landing would certainly mean a wrecked plane. The temperature rose higher and the last I saw was that it indicated 115°, when the thermometer burst and my hopes sank to zero. I rang again for Omdal, but a little time elapsed before he came, and I judged that he was busy. Meantime I was astonished to see that the engines still went as well as ever. I had throttled them down to 1,600 revolutions, but expected to hear a crack any minute; and how goes it with the forward motor? The two engines had a common radiator, but the thermometer showed the temperature of the water after it passed the aft-motor, so there was still a hope for the forward one. The radiator gauge for this motor was, however, fixed in the engine gondolas out of the pilot’s control. After what in my anxiety seemed to be several minutes, Omdal appeared again, and when I asked him what was the matter replied that everything was all right. I knew anyway that the expression “all right” was (to say the least of it) an exaggeration, in view of the fact that I had seen the temperature rise to over 115°. But at the same time I knew that the engines worked with a regular hum, and if anybody could manage to keep them going it was Omdal. I therefore hoped to keep in the air by very careful flying. As minute after minute passed, without catastrophe, my confidence rose.