Our polar flight

by Roald Amundsen; Lincoln Ellsworth

The ice looked quite different to what I expected. Instead of the big kilometer-long ice plain, we saw ice plains which through cracks or bergs had been divided into small irregular pieces, where it was impossible to land. And open water-lanes! These were reduced to quite small snakelike cracks, following a winding course on which it was also impossible to land. As far as I was concerned, I consoled myself with the belief that probably once we came nearer our goal, we should find the ice plains a little larger and evener. But hour after hour passed without the conditions below us changing to any noticeable degree. Notwithstanding this and in spite of the fact that our second engine had been exposed to extraordinary strain, I still felt quite safe. The regular beat of our two Rolls-Royce engines, which never varied in the slightest, and which might well be considered the height of perfection in British workmanship and exactitude, gave one confidence. And it was a necessary factor. Every flying man will understand this.

One question which always cropped up whenever the North Pole flight was discussed was in regard to the cold, which one thought would be found unbearable by the crew. Let me say at once that it did not bother us in the least. Even in the case of the pilot, who is so closely tied to his place, it proved to be of no great discomfort. This of course was on account of the carefulness with which we selected our kit, thanks to the long experience of our leaders in the polar regions. I was rather afraid about my hands and feet, but the clothes, which are described in another part of this book, stood the test splendidly.

Meantime one hour after another passed and we had soon made a flight of eight hours duration. Reckoning on a speed of 140 kilometers per hour, that ought to have brought us directly into the neighborhood of the Pole. Our position now depended solely on how strong the wind had been blowing against us, or in other words, what ground speed we had made. But what was to be done? Landing places were still not to be found. Omdal came forward to me and shook his head for once, pointing to the icefields below us.

Then we suddenly saw—for the first time since we went above the fog-belts at Spitzbergen—the sun playing on blue water, which was rippling under the influence of a slight breeze. We could hardly believe our eyes. N 25 changed its course down towards the tempting water and started slowly to descend. We followed. The water-lane was apparently large enough to land on, but was divided into several portions by icebergs and banks of snow and ice. It was hopeless to land on the ice round about and it presented an increasingly worse appearance the lower we got. I saw N 25 land in an arm, or, speaking correctly, in a branch of the waterway, where as far as I could see there was very little room. I came to the conclusion, in any case, that there was only room for one plane, and therefore I flew round a little, and landed on an ideal place a little to the south, in a fine little lake. With slow speed we proceeded on to the biggest ice-floe we could see, and secured N 24 there. I noticed that the aft motor stopped of its own accord as soon as I had throttled it down.

The first surprise we met with, as soon as we arrived on the ice, was a big seal which, inquisitive as usual, put its head out and looked enquiringly over us. I am not sure who was more surprised, we or it. Never had we heard about animal existence so far north, and the seal had certainly never seen a flying machine before, either there or further south.

We of course went ashore immediately in order to look for N 25 and its crew. I had taken note of the direction of their landing place, and thought we would be about three-quarters of a mile away from them. The sight that met us when we climbed the highest ice-clump was just as depressing as it was surprising. No sign of N 25. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but ice, and ice again, on all sides, except in the direction of the water-lane from whence we had come. And what ice! Not large—not even small—plains of ice, but hills of it, and long high icebanks which impeded the view on all sides. We had seen from above quite plainly that landing-places on the ice were very poor, but what we saw now affected us overwhelmingly and surprisingly. We shuddered involuntarily, and yet at the same time we were gripped by a sense of the wildness and beauty.

But we must get to work. We must find N 25, so out came the glasses. After having eagerly looked for a little while, we discovered the end of a propeller and a wing sticking out over an iceberg. We estimated the distance to be three-quarters to one mile, and decided to walk across to that spot as soon as we had eaten a little. Personally I had not tasted anything (wet or dry) and had not missed it. But now I had developed an appetite and Director Knutsen’s sandwiches were more than welcome. Omdal immediately got busy with his beloved engines, Ellsworth sacrificed himself to the studying of the meteorological conditions, while I quickly “took the sun,” which showed that we were about 87° 50′ north.

It appeared to us that the plane lay safe and sound and Ellsworth and I decided to walk across to N 25. We expected that by walking along by the water-lane we would be able to cover the distance in one and a half hours, and for safety’s sake took the canvas boat along with us. We did not bother about provisions or anything else. Before we started we hoisted our brave Norwegian flag on the top of the iceberg.

Ellsworth and I set out most confidently, but reaped our first bitter experience of marching on the polar ice. It looked difficult to get along, but it proved to be still more so. We climbed up and down icebergs, carrying our canvas boat, of which we had to take the utmost care so that no sharp piece of ice should tear a hole in it. Soon we had to use the boat as a bridge in order to cross a small crack filled up with broken ice and mush—or as an aid to fighting our way through thin new ice in somewhat broader ditches. At last we got full use of the boat in a broad water-lane, where we paddled along a good distance. Now and again we got sight of N 25 above the icebergs as we approached. Suddenly we saw the propeller moving. We were therefore certain that the crew and also the plane were “all right,” and as the new ice was completely blocking our course, we decided to return to N 24. With the same toil (and after we had tumbled into the water several times) we returned tired and fagged out.

Omdal awaited us with steaming chocolate and it tasted excellent. Whilst we had been away he had discovered that several exhaust pipes of the aft engine had become clogged, so they had to be exchanged for spares. He expected that the work would take two or three days. Meantime the ice started to close in round the plane, which we therefore decided to turn round with the nose pointed out of the water-lane so that, if necessary, we could leave by only using the “fore” engine.