1872
Roald Amundsen born July 16
To 88 degrees north
“The first time I saw an aeroplane rise into the air guided by human hands was in Germany in 1913, during a lecture tour when I was invited to watch a flight. Everyone of my generation has probably known the excitement I felt. I stood there and saw the machine in the air with a fresh memory of the long sledge trips across Antarctica; in one hour it covered distances that when travelling in the polar regions would take days and cost great effort.”📜
By March of that year, Amundsen is already taking to the air for the first time, as he flies a circuit over San Francisco Bay with pilot Silas Christofferson. So enthusiastic is he on landing that Amundsen immediately orders two flying boats from Christofferson. But this is where his problems begin.
Amundsen’s aircraft are not designed to be able to fly across the Atlantic, and since he cannot afford to ship them to Norway, he will sell them in America before he has even tested them out. But he already has an alternative in mind — Norwegian aviation pioneer Einar Sem-Jacobsen has been training Amundsen to fly in a Farman machine, and now he wants one of his own. In May 1914, the two travel to Germany and France, and on 20 May, Sem-Jacobsen begins flying Amundsen’s newly-purchased Farman Longhorn MF. 7 from the factory just outside Paris back to Norway.
On 11 June, Amundsen becomes the first Norwegian to earn a civilian pilot’s licence, but when the First World War begins just a few weeks later, all expedition plans are put on hold. Amundsen donates his aircraft to the Norwegian Navy for coastal defence duties and it will be some time before he tries again.
It is late 1923 and Amundsen has been experimenting with aircraft over the last two years in connection with his Maud expedition, but without much success. His ambitious attempt to fly to the North Pole from Alaska in summer 1923 quite literally barely got off the ground. Now he is about to set up a new aircraft expedition, but the dire state of his finances is revealed when the money he has been relying on turns out not to be there. What is there is criticism aplenty — people are starting to question the meaning of all Amundsen’s expeditions. One such is the poet Arnulf Øverland, whose long letter to newspaper Tiden carries the sarcastic title “Is it cold at the North Pole?” and ends by suggesting that it would be better to have Amundsen frozen at home instead:
”However, let us once again – seventh and final time – grant him money. Let us allocate money for a spacious and comfortable icebox with a solid and sound lock. Put him in there. And then let the crazy man have it as cold as he needs it!” 📜
But Amundsen doesn’t give up, and at the beginning of 1924 he is in Copenhagen with his financial advisor, Haakon Hammer, to meet representatives of the German Dornier company at the Hotel Phoenix. On 7 January, Amundsen writes home to his brother Leon:
“Concluding contract today with a German company Dornier for construction of 2 large flying boats with which it will be possible to make the trip across.“
Roald Amundsen is optimistic after meeting Dornier, and in time there will also be talk of a third aircraft, but still there are critics: “Does Roald Amundsen have his full faculties?” asks newspaper Dagbladet. Another paper questions Roald Amundsen’s “foolhardy journey over the North Pole.”
The work of constructing the aircraft begins at Dornier’s factory in Pisa in Italy (the treaty that ended the First World War has banned the building of such planes in Germany), and in April 1924 Amundsen visits Italy himself and receives the compliments of Prime Minister Benito Mussolini.
Alarmingly, and with a great deal of money still to be found, it eventually becomes clear to Amundsen that Haakon Hammer is better at talking about money than raising it. In fact, even at this early stage in the expedition planning, the coffers are already empty.
So in June 1924, not long after the newspapers have reported that Amundsen’s aircraft are ready to go, comes a disappointing announcement:
“As sufficient financial support has been impossible to obtain, the expedition must be postponed until further notice.”
And the expedition coffers are not all that is empty — Roald Amundsen’s own personal reserves are also completely exhausted and in September 1924 he declares himself bankrupt. The newspapers are once more full of criticism. Arbeiderbladet writes,
“Roald Amundsen was a great figure, he was about to become a comic figure, he is now a decidedly tragic figure.”
To Morgenbladet, Amundsen also admits that his real motive for the attempt to fly over the North Pole from Alaska in summer 1923 was financial:
“Last year’s attempt to fly was — I might as well put it bluntly — a desperate attempt to raise funds. Money, money, money I had to have, and there was no other way than to try an acrobatic stunt.”
Upturn
Still, Amundsen refuses to give up.
In an effort to raise the funds to pay for the aircraft, he approaches the Norsk Luftseiladsforening (Norwegian Aeronautical Society) and its chairman, Rolf Thommessen, to propose a commercial arrangement to finance the expedition.
He also plans to earn money through lectures and articles in America, and at the end of September 1924 begins the journey across the Atlantic. But the tour proves not to be a great success, and one evening in October, he sits in his New York hotel room and calculates how old he will be before he pays off his creditors and is ready for another expedition. He arrives at 110 years of age. Everything seems hopeless.
“…it seemed to me as if the future had closed solidly against me, and that my career as an explorer had come to an inglorious end. Courage, will power, indomitable faith – these qualtities had carried me through many dangers and to many achievements. Now even their merits seemed of no avail. I was nearer to black despair than ever before in my fifty-four years of life.”📜
It is here, though, that things take a turn for the better, because at perhaps the same moment, the 44-year-old son of a wealthy American mine owner is flicking through the New York Herald Tribune newspaper. Lincoln Ellsworth pauses at a small item announcing that Roald Amundsen is in the country. The two have met before, in Paris in 1918, when Ellsworth approached Amundsen with a request to join the Maud expedition that planned to drift across the Arctic Ocean. There had been no opening for Ellsworth then, but here, it seems, is another opportunity. Years later, Ellsworth will describe how all the nerves in his body tingle as he goes to the phone, calls the Waldorf Astoria hotel, and is passed on to Amundsen.
Amundsen picks up the receiver.
– “Are you Captain Amundsen?”
– “Yes, I am,” answers Amundsen.
– “Well, I am Lincoln Ellsworth.”
“When that long-remembered voice answered, no novice seeing his first moose across the sights of a rifle was ever more shaken and excited than I.”📜
Between them, Lincoln and his millionaire father James W. Ellsworth had the money to get Amundsen’s expedition into the air.
With this backing and that of the Norwegian Aeronautical Society, the management company “Norsk Luftseiladsforening A/S for Amundsen-Ellsworths Polflyvning 1925” (Norwegian Aeronautical Society Ltd for Amundsen-Ellsworth’s Polar Flight 1925) is established and the delivery from Dornier is confirmed. The expedition is becoming a reality.
With the aircraft themselves, Amundsen will receive a model from the factory in Italy that still hangs from the ceiling at Uranienborg.
N 24 and N 25
Voyage to Svalbard
Sporting their new Norwegian registrations, N 24 and N 25, the two Dornier Wal flying boats are dismantled after flight testing and shipped to Narvik, where they are transferred to the Tromsøskute (cargo ship) M/S Hobby. Hobby has been chartered to transport them, first to Tromsø, where more expedition equipment is loaded, and then to Spitsbergen and Kings Bay (Ny-Ålesund). According to Amundsen, by the time it left Tromsø, Hobby “had long ago ceased to resemble a boat. It looked like a mass of giant boxes were wandering across the sea”.📜
Amundsen and the rest of the expedition members sail north on the Navy transport vessel Farm, which the Storting (Parliament) has made available.
The expedition had specialist expertise in all fields, with pilots, mechanics, meteorologists, polar explorers, and even journalists contributing to making it successful, both in the air and as a commercial enterprise. As such, it is considered by many to be the first professional North Pole expedition.
Personnel
Personnel
After a stormy passage with heavy seas and poor visibility, the ships arrive in Kings Bay in mid-April. Of the dramatic journey, Riiser-Larsen later writes:
“I was more afraid than I have ever been before in my life, and I hope sincerely that I shall never get into a similar position again. It was not my life I feared losing, for there was meantime no danger of this. It was the deck cargo’s fate about which I was concerned, namely, the flying machines.”📜
In Kings Bay, the expedition receives much attention from the small mining community as the preparations begin. Equipment is tested, meteorological work determines the optimum moment for departure, and the aircraft are assembled in the local workshop with help from local mineworkers. Via the telegraph station established in 1918, the expedition receives weather reports and telegrams, and the opportunity to set the expedition’s clocks by the time signal from the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
Before long, the expedition members will also be grateful to Esther Klausen, a master baker of oatmeal biscuits whose husband Trygve is a director of the Kings Bay Kull Compani (Kings Bay Coal Company). Just as they leave, each aircraft receives a boxful of Mrs Klausen’s biscuits from Mikal Knutsen, another director of the company who has played host to the explorers during their time in Kings Bay.
Equipment and clothing
Provisions
Clothes
Personal equipment
Expedition equipment
The journey begins
At a quarter past five on the afternoon of 21 May, the roar of the engines is heard across Kongsfjorden. “See you tomorrow!” comes the shout from behind as the aircraft glide down onto the fjord ice. Between them and the North Pole lie 1200 kilometres of icy Arctic Ocean.
But even as they leave, Dietrichson is aware of something that threatens the entire expedition.
“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.” N 24’s hull must surely be damaged, but Dietrichson continues, explaining later that “it was better to risk life than to stop the journey.”
Of this drama at the outset, the occupants of N 25 are completely unaware.
Amundsen’s thoughts as they fly unhindered over the pack ice on which so many others have suffered and struggled, and in the worst case perished, are shared in the book about the expedition:
“How many misfortunes have you been responsible for during the passage of the years, you vast ‘Whiteness’? What have you not seen in the way of need and misery? And you have also met those who set their foot upon your neck and brought you to your knees. Can you remember Nansen and Johansen? Can you remember the Duke of the Abruzzi? Can you remember Peary? Can you remember how they crossed over you and how you put obstacles in their way? But they brought you to your knees. You must respect these heroes. But what have you done with the numbers who sought to free themselves from your embrace in vain? What have you done with the many proud ships which were steered direct towards your heart never to be seen again? What have you done with them I ask? No clew, no sign — only the vast white waste.” 📜
For Ellsworth, they are “two gnats in a void of sky and nether mist”. 📜
Having left their radio equipment behind in Kings Bay in order to save weight, they have agreed before departure to keep the planes together and can communicate with arms and fingers. After eight hours in the air, half the petrol stock has been used up and it is decided to land to make the necessary navigational observations. They believe they have reached around 88° N, leaving just 200 kilometres to the North Pole. N 25 begins its descent in a large spiral to search for a good place to put down in the icy sea. Amundsen waves to N 24 and indicates for them to follow.
But, as Amundsen writes, “During these manoeuvres the aft motor began to misfire and changed the whole situation…. A forced landing became necessary.” 📜
Surrounded by ice ridges and hummocks, they land in a lead full of slush and brash ice at around 1 a.m. on 22 May. Their observations indicate they have reached 87° 43´ N.
But N 24 is not in sight.
Struggle in the ice
On board N 24 they see that the others have landed and that they must do likewise. They come down safely in a patch of open water and secure the machine to an ice floe. The hull damage means they are taking on water, albeit slowly at this stage, and one of the engines has failed, so there is no possibility of taking off again soon. From the top of a large ice hummock later that morning they spot N 25 through binoculars and plant a flag that they hope will attract attention, but it will be another twenty-four hours before they themselves are seen.
Leaving Omdal to work on the disabled engine, Ellsworth and Dietrichson set off in the direction of N 25, which they estimate is between ¾ and 1 mile away. It is a hostile landscape of hummocky snow-covered ice and leads that separates them, and the two are forced back when they encounter treacherous new ice that they dare not cross on foot and cannot paddle through in their canvas boat, but they have seen N 25’s propeller turning and know that the others are in good shape.
By noon of the second day, Amundsen has spotted N 24 and their flag, and it isn’t long before communication is established. Initially Morse code is used because of the distance, but they switch to semaphore as the shifting ice brings them closer together over several days. Eventually, barely 800 metres separate them, and when Amundsen suggests that if N 24 cannot be repaired then they should join forces, it is decided that Ellsworth, Omdal and Dietrichson will abandon their camp and try again to cross over to N 25.
The three pack what they can, in the end carrying 80 pounds each on their backs. As a small safety measure in case the ice breaks, they put on life jackets and leave their ski bindings loose. Then they set out across the ice. Omdal first, then the other two in line behind.
Amundsen is surprised by their rapid progress to a point around 200 metres away, but then they are out of sight. Suddenly, he realises that something is wrong, when he hears
“a shriek which went to my marrow and made my hair stand up on end. It was followed by a number of cries, each one more terrifying and alarming than the last. I had not the slightest doubt but that a drama of the most horrible kind was being played on the other side of the hummock. A man was in danger of drowning.” 📜
Ellsworth and Dietrichson both described later (in slightly differing accounts) what Amundsen could at this moment only imagine.
Dietrichson has broken through the ice. As he cries out, Omdal turns to see what has happened and he too disappears into the water. Then Ellsworth himself, having heard their cries, but before he can respond, feels the ice give way. With almost 4000 metres of ice-cold polar ocean beneath him, Ellsworth is lucky enough to jump to a ledge of old ice that will bear his weight. Now lying on his stomach, he stretches a ski towards Dietrichson, who is pulled onto the ledge and lies there, panting.
Still in the water and with only his head visible, Omdal is shouting hoarsely, in English so that Ellsworth will understand.
“I’m gone! I’m gone!”
As he feels the current take his legs, Omdal makes desperate efforts to save himself by digging his fingers into the ice until help can arrive.
It is Ellsworth who then spreads himself on the ice and wriggles across to push his skis out towards Omdal, who catches them “with the frantic haste of a drowning man.” Omdal has broken several teeth in falling through the ice and is barely conscious as blood trickles from his mouth. Just before he disappears, Ellsworth manages to pull him close enough to grab his pack, but can do no more than simply hold him until Dietrichson crawls over. Only the two together have the strength to then cut him free of his heavy pack and pull him up 📜.
Forty minutes later, all six expedition members are at last gathered around N 25, and after time for recovery and the telling of tales, the work of getting home begins. First and foremost, a runway is needed — a flat surface, preferably several hundred metres long, that can give them enough speed to take off. But the ice is in perpetual motion, and if the starting point of making a runway on shifting ice seems hopeless enough, then the lack of good equipment makes it even more difficult. Available to them on board N 25 are just three sheath knives, which they lash to ski poles, a larger knife, a scout axe, an ice anchor that can be used as a pick, and two wooden shovels.
The ice they had soared over a few days before now seems an almost impossible foe, but Amundsen knows what is needed. Routine life must be established — working, eating, smoking and resting — and idleness must be prevented.
And food rations must be reduced. Breakfast and supper eventually come to consist of a cup of hot chocolate prepared using a third of a slab per man, and three oatmeal biscuits. Lunch consisted of soup cooked with 80 grams of pemmican per man. “We became very tired, but otherwise had a good time. After each meal we got a pipe of tobacco for as long as it lasted,” Amundsen told one newspaper 📜.
Despite the threats of ice, sea and starvation, there was no mood of despondency. Instead there was a dogged, unhurried determination to escape their predicament. But it was hard, as Ellsworth described in his book, Beyond Horizons:
“We lived in our clothes day and night, and, though often wet with sweat, we never bathed and seldom even washed. There was no time to waste on melting snow and heating water, and no fuel to waste, if we had had the time. Our hair became matted, our beards grew unkempt and stubby, until we resembled so many tramps in a hobo jungle. The sun-glare through the mist burned our skin black. We were haggard and drawn from a starvation diet and killing work.” 📜
Little things became great irritations — that Amundsen never drank water (only the hot chocolate), for example, was perceived by the others as a personal affront. “We were all developing ‘polar nerves’,” wrote Ellsworth.
In the evenings, Ellsworth and Amundsen would make ski tours around the ice to look for fresh leads. When asked during these what he thought of the situation, Amundsen would admit that the outlook was not good, but add, “When it is darkest, there is always light ahead.”
When attempts to make a runway are repeatedly destroyed by the ice pressure, they start to consider whether they should leave the aircraft and try to reach land on foot. The fifteenth of June is set as a deadline to get airborne. If this doesn’t happen, then they walk.
So they continue to haul N 25 to areas from where they hope to be able to take off, on flatter areas of floe between the ice hummocks and pressure ridges.
But the work is hard and gradually slows. The spadefuls become fewer and the rest periods more frequent. At one point, the men just stand and look at each other. And that’s when Omdal comes up with the idea of simply treading on the snow instead of clearing it away.
The work of trampling down begins on 11 June, giving them four days until the deadline they have set.
On the evening of 14 June, they set one of the canvas boats on the ice and fill it with equipment they hope can manage without.
Then they fill N 25 with fuel and oil for eight hours flying time, a canvas boat, two shotguns with two hundred cartridges, six sleeping bags, a tent, cooking equipment and provisions. They take only those clothes they are wearing.
And so 15 June arrives. It is minus three Celsius with a light wind from the south-east, exactly what they had hoped for. The clouds are low, which makes it difficult to see, so they lay out black objects along each side of the runway to stop them veering off.
At 09.30, the engines are started, and after 45 minutes they are properly warmed up.
In the pilot’s seat sits Riiser-Larsen, behind him Dietrichson and Amundsen. In the fuel compartment sit Omdal and Feucht, and Ellsworth takes a seat in the large compartment that served as a mess during their time on the ice.
Then N 25 begins to move, to slide across the ice. It is now make or break. The machine rocks, shakes, shudders and squeaks. “It was as if N 25 understood the situation,” writes Amundsen later.
One hundred metres, two hundred metres, three hundred…they are nearing the end of the runway.
Riiser-Larsen thinks they don’t have enough speed, but he has no choice. He has to try.
Amundsen describes the moment.
“Was it possible? Yes, indeed. The scraping noise stopped, only the humming of the motor could be heard….”
“And now started the flight which will take its place amongst the most supreme in flying’s history. An 850 kilometre flight with death as nearest neighbour.” 📜
At seven in the evening, they put down again in the sea off the west side of Nordkapp on the island of Nordaustlandet, Svalbard. An hour later, they are ashore and playing on the rocks like children.
After confirming their position, they can hardly believe their luck when a vessel sails around the nearest point, but its course suggests they have not been seen. There is nothing for it but to quickly reboard N 25, restart the engine and taxi over.
And now, the rescue. The Arctic cutter Sjøliv is more than willing to tow them back to Kings Bay, and the six Arctic aviators climb on board. As Amundsen later put it, “There it was that we first felt the expedition was over. Quietly and calmly we shook hands. There was a lot in that handshake.”📜
This is no time to fly N 25 further south, so the aircraft is left safely in Brennevinsbukta (Brandy Bay). The expedition’s arrival in Kings Bay is greeted with jubilation. Photographs are taken and telegrams stream in. N 25 is retrieved and later loaded onto the coal ship Albr. W. Selmer, which will also transport Amundsen and the rest of the crew south. They sail into the naval base in Horten on 4 July, and
“Thus came the day — the great, the unforgettable day — the 5th of July 1925. Summer favoured us in its fullest glory. Who can describe the feelings which rose within us as we of the N 25 flew in, over the flag-bedecked capital, where thousands upon thousands of people stood rejoicing? Who can describe the sights that met us as we descended to the water surrounded by thousands of boats? The reception on the quay? The triumphant procession through the streets? The reception at the Castle? And then, like a shining crown set upon the whole, their Majesties’ dinner at the Castle. All belongs to remembrance – the undying memory of the best in a lifetime.” 📜
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