Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. The Earth's Two Poles The Earth spins ceaselessly on its axis while tracing its vast orbital path around the Sun. If we imagine this planetary rotation possessing a central spindle like a child's top, one tip of that spindle becomes our North Pole while the opposite end forms the South Pole. These extremities of our world are designated respectively as the Arctic and Antarctic regions. This axial orientation—forever presenting Earth's flank to the Sun—leaves both polar realms starved of solar warmth, transformed into domains of perpetual frost. Temperatures plunge dozens of degrees below freezing, mantling every surface in ice and snow. Compounding this glacial reality, Earth's tilted axis ensures six-month spans where sunlight never breaches the horizon alternate with half-years of dim, low-hanging daylight that scarcely warms the frozen ground.

To determine what conditions existed in these polar regions, various expeditions were undertaken. Even if it be an uninhabitable region of extreme cold, the fact that parts of the Earth still remain unknown to the world is both deeply regrettable and dishonorable for humankind as the planet’s rightful masters. To the exploration of both polar regions is added not only the joy of conquering their fierce natural forces but also the pleasure of standing upon Earth’s very axis of rotation.

Thus, through the explorations of many people, the general conditions of both polar regions had now become known. In the Antarctic region, it was inferred that there existed a continent with mountain ranges, snowfields, and glaciers, while its icy coastline had been partially mapped.

The Arctic region was a sea known as the Arctic Ocean—its central waters resembled solid ground—a boundless wilderness of ice and snow stretching beyond sight.

The person who left the greatest achievements in the exploration of these polar regions is Roald Amundsen. Roald Amundsen was born in Norway in 1872, but from his youth he aspired to become an explorer, mastering skiing techniques and strengthening his body through outdoor living. Then he also became a sailor and mastered navigation. After that, he joined academic expeditions to gain various knowledge and furthermore studied oceanography, meteorology, magnetism, and other subjects at university. After such preparations, he dedicated his life to exploration.

His exploratory achievements were numerous. Among his major accomplishments was first the opening of the Northwest Passage. This Northwest Passage refers to a shortcut maritime route passing through islands northwest of Europe between Greenland and Canada, proceeding along Alaska's coast through the Bering Strait to reach the Orient. This route through islands facing the Arctic Ocean had been explored since ancient times but remained undeveloped. Amundsen splendidly navigated it with a small ship of merely forty-seven tons while leading five companions. In opening this route, he also accomplished valuable research on Earth's magnetism.

Next came the Antarctic expedition. This time it took the form of a competition with the large British expedition led by Colonel Scott, but Amundsen left the main force at the base and, together with four companions, splendidly conquered Antarctica using dogs and sleds. The attainment of the South Pole—attempted by many—was first achieved by him in December 1911. Next came the exploration of the Northeast Passage. This maritime route proceeds from Northern Europe through the Arctic Ocean along the Siberian coast before passing through the Bering Strait into eastern waters. Though long explored and indeed breached by Nordenskiöld before him, Amundsen advanced with nine companions aboard an eight-hundred-ton ship, cutting through Arctic drift ice to reach Alaska via the Bering Strait. For this voyage he spent over two full years progressing methodically while conducting detailed surveys of Siberian coastal geography, climate patterns, and magnetic phenomena.

However, it was Arctic exploration that most commanded Amundsen’s devotion. The very reason he undertook the Antarctic expedition was that, while preparing for an Arctic exploration—specifically in April 1909, when American Colonel Peary announced to the world that he had become the first to reach the North Pole—Amundsen abandoned the Arctic and abruptly turned toward the Antarctic. However, it appears to be an established fact that Colonel Peary had in reality only gone very close to the North Pole.

Amundsen had already thoroughly researched the Arctic Ocean through the Northwest and Northeast Passages and had come to want to reach the North Pole at all costs. And he resolved to achieve it through aerial flight. The Arctic, being close to the culturally developed continents of Europe and America, saw polar exploration flourish early on, with large-scale attempts being undertaken numerous times from the nineteenth to the twentieth century.

Moreover, since airships and airplanes were developed and became capable of flight, they were utilized by many explorers. In 1914, Russia’s Nagursky conducted an aerial survey of the Arctic Ocean’s drift ice, and in 1924, Chuknovsky undertook an exploratory flight toward the polar regions.

Amundsen had also considered aerial exploration using airplanes early on and attempted to fly from Alaska to the North Pole in June 1923, but this ended in failure. He did not abandon this plan and, having canvassed various groups to secure supporters, sponsors, and collaborators, carried out a daring yet perilous Arctic flight.

II. In the Midst of the Great Ice Field

To the north between Norway and Greenland lies an archipelago called Spitsbergen. This archipelago lies near 80 degrees north latitude, but due to warm currents, voyages there are not particularly difficult, making it a frequent base for Arctic expeditions. In May 1925, at the port of Kings Bay in Spitsbergen, Amundsen’s team finally completed their preparations for the Arctic exploration flight.

The airplanes were two Dornier Wal type models—No. 24 and No. 25—each equipped with 375-horsepower engines. Aboard No. 25, Amundsen served as captain alongside one pilot and one engineer each, while No. 24 similarly carried one pilot and one engineer each under the command of Ellsworth, an American. This Ellsworth was born into a wealthy Chicago family and was eight years Amundsen’s junior, but having deeply resonated with Amundsen’s exploratory endeavors, he ultimately became his finest collaborator and companion.

Thus, these two seaplanes—seen off by a crowd at 5:00 PM on May 21—took flight from their Kings Bay base, with Aircraft No. 24 lifting off after No. 25. As it was approximately just over 1,000 kilometers to the North Pole, both aircraft were loaded with the gasoline required for a 3,000-kilometer flight and thirty days’ worth of provisions for all six crew members in case of an extended stopover.

The weather was exceptionally good, the sky completely clear with a gentle southwesterly breeze. The airplanes proceeded smoothly. While the snow-capped mountains of Spitsbergen still lingered behind them, the ice field already stretched into view ahead. At last, they came upon the polar ice sea.

Before long, about an hour after departure, fog began to rise from nowhere, enveloping the airplanes. However, sudden weather changes were commonplace in the Arctic regions—requiring no undue concern—and being over open sea eliminated collision risks with mountains. Flying somewhat higher through the fog, they pressed ever northward. After about two hours, the fog thinned and grew brighter. In the Arctic regions from spring through summer, the sun never sinks below the horizon, keeping night as luminous as day.

Past 10:00 PM, the southwest tailwind that had been favorable until now suddenly shifted to a northeast headwind, growing into an extremely powerful gale. Because of this, the airplane could no longer advance directly northward and was driven ever westward. As they fought against the wind’s onslaught, time raced forward while gasoline dwindled alarmingly—and crucially, they lost all sense of their position in flight. With no landmarks across this boundless ice field, celestial observation alone could reveal their location. Recognizing both the futility and peril of continuing blindly, Amundsen resolved to land somewhere and ascertain their coordinates.

However, across the vast ice field as far as the eye could see, the ice surface bore severe undulations, and even where crevasses exposing water were visible here and there, they were far too narrow; no suitable landing spot could be found. As they searched intently, they finally found a somewhat large expanse of water. Amundsen immediately issued the order to land on water.

No. 25 landed safely on the water. No. 24 likewise found an expanse of water and made its landing. Yet though the two aircraft had been flying together through open skies until then, upon landing they found themselves unexpectedly far apart, unable to determine each other's positions. Those aboard No. 25 grew concerned about No. 24's status, while the crew of No. 24—now separated from Commander Amundsen—faced confusion over their next move. They all disembarked and scrambled over ice hummocks in search of No. 25. But no trace of the aircraft appeared—only the shock of a large seal thrusting its head through an ice fissure.

Yet the ice floes of the Arctic Ocean were constantly shifting due to tides and winds, and as a result, visibility gradually improved until at last, the form of No. 25 came into view in the distance.

“They’re there—over there!” With this realization, they immediately began signaling with hand flags. Those aboard No. 25 responded in kind with their own flags, establishing mutual contact. No. 24 had sustained minor damage when its hull struck an ice floe during landing, rendering it unfit for takeoff. Upon receiving this communication, Commander Amundsen delivered his orders: “Our provisions are finite, and lingering on this ice poses grave risks. Abandon No. 24 immediately and transfer to No. 25 with all provisions you can carry.”

Thus, Ellsworth and the three others proceeded to transfer to No. 25, carrying as much food as they could shoulder and bringing along the tent boat and skis. The ice surface lay severely uneven, with fissures revealing the sea surface scattered throughout. There, the three men advanced toward No. 25, supporting one another while seeking footholds step by step. Those aboard No. 25 could only pray for their safe passage, powerless to offer aid. Then two men slipped and plunged into the water. Ellsworth, remaining alone on the ice, risked being dragged in himself yet finally managed to haul both up. Having overcome such treacherous ground, they at last reached No. 25, where wordless handshakes heavy with emotion passed among all.

The location they reached at this time was at 87 degrees 44 minutes north latitude, a mere 250 kilometers from the North Pole. The six crew members were to take shelter inside No. 25. And in order to take off again, they began constructing a runway on the ice. The work commenced under strict discipline. Both physically and mentally robust, they worked while helping and comforting each other within the endless ice field.

They were constructing a flat runway—500 meters in length and 12 meters in width—necessary for the airplane to take off. To create this, they shaved away the uneven, irregular ice surface little by little each day. But even when the work progressed to some extent, there were times when wind and snow would bury it again, or when drifting ice would force them to halt. And so, through cycles of building only to have it collapse and collapsing only to rebuild again, a five-hundred-meter runway was finally completed on the seventh attempt.

The group shouted hurrah and reflected on their three long weeks of toil. And to commemorate this, they erected the Norwegian flag atop a small ice mound nearby.

On the morning of June 15th, the sky was clear and the wind calm—weather perfectly suited for flight. The six crew members jettisoned unnecessary items onto the ice and boarded the aircraft. The airplane slid along the five-hundred-meter runway to its absolute limit, deftly evading ice hummocks before rising successfully into the sky.

The course was straight south. They flew over vast ice fields and ice seas in search of land. About seven hours into their flight, a shout arose. “Land is in sight!”

The six crew members stared intently ahead. Gradually, the shape of the land became clear. A bay with calm waves came into view. At this moment, as there was a slight malfunction in the airplane's rudder, they decided to make a water landing within the bay.

That place was the northern coast of the Northeast Island in the Spitsbergen archipelago.

Upon landing and checking, they found that only ninety liters of gasoline remained. With this fuel quantity, they could not fly far. Moreover, their landing site lay over 1,000 meters from solid land. Just as they were puzzling over what to do next, a small steamship appeared offshore. The group rejoiced mightily, waving flags with all their strength and making varied signals. The steamship noticed them and drew near. Those aboard then discovered six grime-covered bearded men inside the airplane.

This steamship was the Norwegian fishing vessel *Schurick*, which had departed for its seasonal fishing earlier than usual that year and happened to pass through the area by chance.

The Schurick took Amundsen’s party aboard and sailed toward Kings Bay. At the Kings Bay base, as Amundsen’s party had set out on May 21st and still showed no sign of returning, anxiety grew increasingly palpable. The two rescue ships that had already been prepared for emergencies were dispatched, and a diligent rescue search was conducted by Norwegian authorities and civilians, but the whereabouts of the party remained completely unknown. Various speculations were made regarding whether the party was alive or dead. Just then, the party of six unexpectedly returned, causing a great commotion.

Now, regarding this Arctic expedition by the Dornier Wal aircraft, Amundsen himself humbly stated that it was a failure. However, during their time living on the ice, all the crew members continuously studied ocean currents, meteorological conditions, and ice floe movements while conducting detailed surveys of the ice field’s state—the discoveries they made were by no means few. And based on this experience, Amundsen carefully formulated plans for his next Arctic expedition.

III. Renewed Attempt with an Airship

The opinion held by many explorers was that polar expeditions using dogs and sleds now belonged to a bygone era, and such endeavors must henceforth be conducted by airplane. Especially as airplane performance had greatly advanced, stimulated by the recent European War, this opinion gained even greater traction. Amundsen had long held the same view, but after actually attempting an Arctic exploration flight and experiencing several weeks of life on the ice field, he came to develop a new perspective. Given that the Arctic Ocean’s ice field was severely uneven, with its crevices’ water surfaces narrow and no place to land airplanes, this time he conceived the idea of abandoning airplanes and trying an airship instead.

And he began researching the structure and performance of various airships from countries around the world. At that time, the Italian Air Force possessed an airship called the N1. Constructed in 1924, it measured 110 meters in length and was equipped with three 250-horsepower engines. Amundsen decided to use this and entered into negotiations with the Italian government. After meeting directly with Colonel Nobile of the Italian Air Force—the designer of the N1—the discussions progressed smoothly, resulting in a plan not only to explore the Arctic but also to attempt a flight all the way to Alaska. Subsequently, this flight would be conducted through the collaboration of three nations—Norway, America, and Italy—with funds from public and private donations across these countries allocated to cover the expenses.

For this grand expedition, Amundsen became the leader; Ellsworth, who had previously attempted an Arctic flight with Amundsen, became the deputy leader representing the American side; and Colonel Nobile, the airship’s designer, became the chief engineer representing the Italian side. And the airship was named the Norge.

The Norge was modified in various ways in Rome. For the purpose of flying over the polar regions, four points were primarily considered.

1. To reduce unnecessary weight and increase cruising range. 2. To withstand low temperatures. 3. To strengthen the gas bags and other components.

4. To enable independent landing.

After those modifications were completed, the Norge flew from Rome to Kings Bay in Spitsbergen and arrived on May 7, 1926. The crew had already gathered there.

At this time, Major Byrd of the United States had been preparing for an Arctic flight at Kings Bay, and on May 9th, he splendidly accomplished a round-trip flight to the North Pole in his airplane. The crew of the Norge rejoiced, calling this success a favorable omen.

Now, those boarding the Norge were, as previously mentioned, Commander Amundsen, Deputy Commander Ellsworth, and Chief Engineer Nobile, along with four pilots, five engineers, two radio technicians, one assistant, one journalist, and one meteorologist—a party totaling seventeen members. By nationality, there were seven Norwegians, six Italians, three Americans, and one Swede. To these had been added one of Nobile’s beloved dogs.

In addition to these crew members, many more people came and completed the departure preparations.

Spitsbergen was still completely covered in snow and ice. A fierce gale raged, temperatures sometimes dropped to minus ten degrees Celsius, and ice blocks of various sizes drifted into Kings Bay. Amidst this, the engineers and workers labored diligently, performing final adjustments on the Norge airship tethered to its hangar. The faulty engine was also repaired. The fuel tanks had been increased to thirty-two, enabling a flight range of six to seven thousand kilometers.

The supplies were fully loaded. The main items included food provisions, pillows, skis, guns, and boats; among the food were chocolate, fruit, biscuits, dried milk, and other sweets—enough to last two months even if each person consumed five hundred grams daily. And on the airship’s hull fluttered the national flags of Norway, America, and Italy. The departure preparations were completed on May 10th. In accordance with Amundsen’s meticulous plan, there was not a single oversight.

That evening, each crew member wrote commemorative letters to their families and acquaintances back home, marking their courageous departure. It was the eve of their attempt to break through the Arctic skies and probe the mysteries of that great nature. The next morning, the group gathered around a single table and ate breakfast heartily. They could not help feeling an eerie sense that this meal might become their last one eaten on solid ground. However, when they changed into their flight suits, only confidence and courage welled up within them.

Before long, the Norge was towed out from its hangar. After exchanging firm handshakes with the many people who had come to bless their aerial departure, the group boarded.

The sky was clear, blue, and cold; the morning sun’s light illuminated the expanse of white snow. A gentle breeze blew from the southeast-east. “Release the mooring lines,” ordered Amundsen. And now, at 8:50 AM on May 11, 1926, the Norge ascended quietly into the sky.

IV. The National Flag at the Pole

Regarding this flight of the Norge, Roald Amundsen himself contributed a lengthy article to a Japanese newspaper. From within that article, I shall extract only the main points, slightly simplify the language, and thereby convey the true state of affairs. “Farewell, civilization.” “A brief farewell.” “We now ascend toward the Arctic on this heroic journey….” All the crew members experienced these poetic sentiments. The figures of people on the ground vanished from sight, and the town of Kings Bay became no more than a speck within the white-glowing plain.

Breaking the silence of the icy heavens, the Norge’s two engines began roaring. “At last, we have embarked upon our grand endeavor to cross the Arctic.” In our hearts that had thus cried out unbidden, not even a shadow of anxiety remained.

The entire party looked back at the pure white wilderness of Kings Bay visible far below, swallowing the spirit of bravery with a deep breath. We set our course toward Mitra Cape and cruised along the western coast of Spitsbergen. The sight of sunlight filtering through the thin clouds veiling the blue sky, illuminating the snow-capped mountain peaks, was truly beautiful and grand. After passing Amsterdam Island, we proceeded straight toward the North Pole by means of sun compass observations.

The crew members were each engaged in their assigned tasks. Most were assigned to small cabins, but given how cramped the rooms were, it was doubtful whether they could work satisfactorily inside them. However, since communication could be easily maintained with those working elsewhere from this cabin, the Norge’s flight proceeded entirely unrestricted. The entire crew each had crucial roles to fulfill, but among them, the two radio operators worked ceaselessly, truly without a moment to sleep. During the flight, the meteorological reports received by the two likely numbered in the hundreds, or perhaps even more. Furthermore, at the aviation crew’s request, bearings were determined by radio on numerous occasions. During such lulls in work, Mr. Ram, the newspaper reporter, was burdened with crafting telegrams to be dispatched to major newspapers around the world. These telegrams had to be composed in detail—covering conditions aboard the ship, ice formations and weather near their flight path, along with other observations of interest—nearly every time they crossed a degree of latitude, making this task an immense labor.

At times, there were things that eased the crew members' tense moods or made them laugh unbidden. It was Colonel Nobile's beloved dog—utterly unaware that it too numbered among the heroic Arctic crossers—asleep wrapped in a blanket atop a chair. Yet when ignored too long, it would leap down to clamp shoes in its jaws and shake them about before burrowing into corners with sharp barks. Then Colonel Nobile would offer a biscuit and tenderly lift it back onto its perch.

The cabin was sixty feet long and six feet wide, and the hardships endured by over a dozen people working there were no ordinary matter, but the efforts of those laboring in the engine room were also immense. The fate of the Norge—and thus of the entire expedition—depended on the engines’ condition, and they kept ceaseless watch, anxious that a malfunction might occur. Thanks to this vigilance, the minor malfunctions that occurred en route could be repaired before they became serious.

About an hour after departure, an ice field extending seven to eight kilometers could be seen protruding from the north coast of Spitsbergen at 80 degrees north latitude. Passing its tip, and after a few more minutes, they came upon the great polar ice field.

The thin clouds vanished before we knew it; ahead and to either side lay nothing but ice veiled by a cold blue sky and white snow. Behind us, the high peaks of Spitsbergen were faintly visible, but they too soon vanished from view. No trace of land was visible—only a vast ice field stretched out before us, its surface cracked in every direction, the fissures veiled by fresh ice.

Over this endless ice field, the Norge plowed through at a speed of eighty kilometers per hour. It was a truly uncanny impression. A tranquil blue sky, a frigid ice field, and intense sunlight. It proceeded through that midair. The engine ran with clock-like regularity, never ceasing.

The cold gradually intensified, but remained bearable. The strong sunlight streaming through the windows warmed the cabin while our prepared blankets and jackets shielded us from the chill. Though wind had been one of our chief concerns, we benefited from persistent tailwinds that boosted the airship's speed. We scanned for land from our aerial vantage point without success. Our efforts to spot wildlife likewise proved futile. When we reached 83 degrees north latitude, scattered polar bear and seal footprints became visible—though their owners had likely retreated at the unfamiliar engine roar, leaving only traces of their presence.

Around three o'clock in the afternoon, we took our first meal. The food that the people of Kings Bay had prepared with such heartfelt care—the meats, eggs, and sandwiches—tasted more delicious to us than anything we could have imagined. While savoring it and engaging in various conversations, flying over the polar ice field felt as if we were in a dream.

By the time we passed 84 degrees north latitude, all signs of living creatures had completely vanished. Upon the ice field—terrifying to behold—there moved only the shadow of the Norge. That great shadow would hide behind massive ice floes, break apart here and there, or emerge clearly, following without falling behind.

Around 9:00 p.m., we crossed 87 degrees north latitude. On May 22 of the previous year, the airplane had made a water landing and drifted between life and death on the ice at a point approximately fifty miles west of there. Ellsworth and two others who had been with us at that time were still aboard this Norge. We were overcome with immeasurable emotion.

The Norge’s speed was momentarily eased. It became a time of new remembrance and solemnity. Then the Norge added velocity once more.

When we advanced to around 88 degrees north latitude, the entire front was shrouded in fog. We entered into it, but with the fog being impenetrably thick and visibility nonexistent, we ascended to six hundred meters before climbing beyond a thousand meters to escape the murk. Directly below us now swirled dense banks of fog resembling mountainous heaps of sheep's wool.

We gradually grew uneasy. Had we unknowingly passed the Arctic's apex and entered that mysterious, uncanny realm beyond—uncharted by humankind? A sense of impending peril crept upon us. Through this ominous disquiet, we flew above dense fog for two hours. Now our staunchest ally proved to be meteorological dispatches from southern Norway. "Tailwinds shall favor our flight at least until Nome, Alaska."

Every time the radio operator received such communications, the entire group, with revived spirits, would embrace new hope.

In the deep fog, large voids began to appear here and there. When we peered at the ice surface through those gaps, it was confirmed that there was indeed no land. The Norge plunged headlong toward the North Pole. Before we knew it, we had passed 89 degrees north latitude. As we advanced, the fog thinned, and around 1:00 a.m. on the 12th, the thick fog had completely receded behind us. Only scattered masses of thin, soft clouds drifted in the sky. The sunlight shone brilliantly upon those clouds. Oh, there lay the North Pole we had sought. We were intoxicated by some mysterious rapture.

Through the various observations conducted during flight, the bearings continually provided by Kings Bay and Green Harbor, and the aid of the sun compass, we at last confirmed that we had reached the long-coveted apex of the North Pole at 1:30 a.m. on May 12. “We’ve reached the North Pole!”

The entire crew burst into cheers. The Norge quietly descended from directly above the apex of the North Pole to a height below one hundred meters. Right there, the great objective that the brave people of the past had sought to reach while battling through every hardship lay visible before our eyes. Neither a dream nor an illusion. Now at last our efforts had been rewarded. Among the crew members, no one spoke anymore; only a silence of profound emotion persisted. The sun, with its soft rays, illuminated the Arctic ice field most solemnly. The Arctic was finally conquered.

Before long, we regained our senses and conducted the modest ceremony that had been our long-cherished wish. The small cabin window was opened. The entire group removed their hats and closed their eyes in silence. First, I dropped the Norwegian flag—bestowed upon the expedition by the King and Queen of Norway—from the window onto the North Pole. Next, Mr. Ellsworth dropped the flag given by the President of the United States, and finally Colonel Nobile dropped the flag bestowed by the King of Italy. The entire crew observed a moment of silence.

The three nations' national flags that had been placed commemoratively upon the Arctic ice—gazing upon them, the entire group was moved to the utmost. This profound emotion defied all description. It was a solemn and sacred feeling that would never be forgotten in a lifetime.

In silence, the Norge quietly made three circuits over the North Pole.

V. Aerial Expedition

Amundsen conquered the Arctic. He was now at the apex of the Arctic. It is a mysterious point on Earth where，no matter which direction one faces，it is all south. Now，the main points of the article written by Amundsen himself still continued.

A few minutes of rapture and silence passed, and we felt a new tension in our hearts. Indeed, the places we had flown through until then were generally known to people. However, the place we were about to fly—precisely the area between the Arctic and Alaska—was a mysterious world that no one had ever laid eyes on. Before us still lay that air route. We had to thoroughly explore that region and contribute to expanding humanity's knowledge.

The sun was shining over the great ice field. The sky was blue, and the clouds were thin.

The entire crew firmly grasped each other's hands. They gazed fixedly at the three nations' national flags at the North Pole. The Norge soared skyward once more. The engine roared back to life.

For the first time since departing Kings Bay, the Norge turned its bow southward. And it proceeded toward Barrow Point, the northernmost tip of Alaska. No matter how far they pressed onward, no land was found, and the vista showed not the slightest variation. The appearance of the great ice field with its crevasses remained unchanged from before, illuminated by the sun and gleaming. It was maddeningly monotonous, but the view was infinitely grand.

The wireless machine was functioning without any malfunctions. Meteorological reports and bearing notifications came in from all directions. Mr. Ram, the newspaper reporter, communicated to major newspaper companies around the world about our ceremony at the North Pole and our moment-by-moment impressions. Wireless communication and meteorological conditions were the most crucial elements for our expedition. Since these two were remarkably sound, there was actually no substantial cause for concern. Scattered patches of clouds were visible in the beautiful sky. The atmosphere was calm, and there was no wind. The Norge maintained an altitude of four hundred meters and proceeded at a speed of eighty kilometers per hour.

On the morning of the 12th, several crew members lay down in the narrow corridor of the airship and attempted to get a little sleep. They had worked without a moment’s rest since departure and were utterly exhausted. Yet between the freezing cold, the engine’s roar, and the cramped sleeping space, no matter how desperately they tried, sleep would not come. In the end, they resigned themselves and rose with expressions so agonized it was pitiful—and yet faintly comical.

Around 7:00 a.m. on the 12th, they passed through the Ice North Pole. This location, at 88 degrees north latitude and 187 degrees west longitude, formed the heart of the Arctic region’s great ice field and was thus known as the Ice North Pole. Here, ice blocks hewn as if carved towered in layers—a sight terrifying to behold—where approach would have been impossible without an airplane or airship.

After passing through this Arctic, we encountered unforeseen dangers. Around 8:00 a.m., when deep fog appeared ahead and we charged into it, we attempted to gain altitude to avoid the fog. For a while, the massive form of the Norge could be seen hazily floating above the fog—beautifully dyed in seven colors like a rainbow—appearing exactly like a painting. However, that too was brief—the fog gradually thickened. Around that time, a malfunction occurred in the wireless, and we could no longer obtain meteorological reports from elsewhere.

When communication with the outside became hopeless, we felt anxiety so intense it brought us to tears. And above all else, we focused our efforts first on repairing that malfunction.

The causes of the malfunction were twofold: one stemmed from atmospheric electricity, and the other from ice that had formed on the antenna hanging from the Norge. We rolled up the antenna and cleaned it. We also serviced the generator. Yet even this proved futile—using the wavelength designated through the U.S. government’s courtesy, we repeatedly tried contacting wireless stations across Alaska, but received no response whatsoever. We continued advancing the Norge while gradually raising our altitude to eight hundred meters. Amid our unease, we persisted in observing the ice field. Peering through gaps in the thick fog revealed no trace of land in any direction.

The difficulties had been increasing with each passing hour. Thick black clouds covered the sky and blocked the sunlight. The solar compass was no longer useful. We now had to rely solely on the geomagnetic compass. As evening fell, dense clouds piled thickly overhead, while thick fog swirled beneath their feet. Should they fly high or low? This was the first decision they had to make.

We first attempted low-altitude flight. Then snow fell thick and fast below. We tried flying higher instead, only to face a new danger. What we had most feared about this Arctic crossing was whether ice layers might form on the gas cells' surfaces—and now those layers were indeed accumulating at a terrifying rate. Left unchecked, the airship's weight would have increased by several tons in moments. We shuddered, utterly at a loss.

Chief Engineer Colonel Nobile expressed his concerns to Dr. Malmgren, the meteorology officer, about what should be done.

“This is no time to panic,” Dr. Malmgren calmly reassured the group.

And he immediately began systematically observing the amount of frost forming on the hull while having the Norge assume various altitudes. Seeing his calm, confident demeanor, we too gradually regained our composure. After several detailed observations, Dr. Malmgren finally determined the safest aviation altitude—to fly resolutely high. Indeed, that conclusion proved correct: as altitude increased, not only did fog diminish but frost accumulation on the hull decreased as well. The closer to the ice sea, the lower temperatures fell.

Thus, they breathed a sigh of relief; however, the difficulties continued further. We collided with a large cloud and attempted to rise above it, but as the layer of dense clouds was too thick—requiring an excessive amount of gasoline to ascend—we ultimately abandoned the attempt and flew through the clouds.

Moreover, a danger several times greater than that of clouds, fog, or frost chilled our hearts. Ice had formed on the Norge's propellers and engines. Shattered into fragments by the rotating blades, this ice now struck the hull's canvas with such violence that we heard holes being torn open throughout. Should the propeller blades sustain damage from these ice fragments, those very shards would inevitably tear large gashes in the gas cells. In such an event, we would have no choice but to abandon the airship and trek across the ice on foot until reaching some coastline.

At the very moment such danger threatened to materialize, we were flying some three hundred kilometers away from Alaska’s northern coast. Until this moment, we had viewed the ice field solely from the perspective of aerial explorers and had never even dreamed of walking on that ice. However, if a hole were to form in the gas cells, that would be the end of it. Resolutely, we must abandon the airship and traverse the ice field on foot.

Fortunately, the propeller blades did not break from the ice fragments, but the fragments struck the canvas covering the hull, tearing holes through it. We diligently repaired the rips. At times, when the tears grew too large, we had to reduce the airship’s speed to conduct repairs. The gas cell sections around the propellers—which Colonel Nobile had reinforced from the outset with exceptional sturdiness—made us grateful for his thorough preparations.

Even so, we could not believe the gas cells would remain safe indefinitely. We intently monitored how ice fragments affected the Norge. Several times we alternated resting the engines and removing ice clinging to the propellers. And persisting through hardship, we flew onward seeking Barrow Point.

How we had been longing for land at that moment!

On the morning of May 13th, from the state of the ice field, we realized that land was finally near. The cracks in the ice increased in number, and seawater finally came into view.

At 6:50 a.m., someone who had been observing the southern horizon through a telescope suddenly shouted.

“Land is visible at the bow!”

They gazed in that direction with hearts pounding. It was nearly impossible to distinguish whether it was an ice mass jutting high along the coast or land white with snow. However, within the white snow, a large rock could be discerned emerging as a black line.

At 7:50 a.m., we finally reached the coast’s airspace. It was our destination, Barrow Point. We attempted to land there, but thick fog enveloped the entire coastline, leaving no visibility at all. If we proceeded as we were, we might crash into Alaska’s rugged mountains and meet a tragic end. Reluctantly, we set our course along the Alaskan coast toward the Bering Strait. And as we flew toward Nome in the strait, ice layers began forming on the gas cells once more, causing the hull to be constantly forced downward. As a fierce blizzard also struck, we had to abandon our course for Nome and land instead at Teller Village just short of it.

On May 14th at 8:00 a.m., we landed at Teller Village. From our departure at Kings Bay to this point—4,100 kilometers flown over seventy-one hours—after such a prolonged flight, when we once again set foot on solid ground, we felt like sitting right down on that earth.

VI. Spirit of the Ice Sea

Thus, Amundsen's cherished ambition was accomplished. The transpolar flight through the Arctic succeeded after overcoming numerous hardships.

The Norge’s gas cells ruptured within less than an hour after landing in the remote Alaskan village of Teller, but its name remained gloriously etched in Arctic aviation history. And Amundsen’s achievements became an honor to the world of exploration.

Through this exploratory flight, numerous academic discoveries were yielded, but furthermore, Amundsen articulated the following conviction: “According to the invaluable experience gained by our expedition team, the Arctic region’s meteorological conditions do not present insurmountable challenges for modern aircraft to traverse. In the near future, a major air route connecting Europe to East Asia via the polar regions may well be established. Should this air route materialize, it would undeniably become the shortest path between these regions compared to any existing routes. We firmly believe that the development of this Arctic air route will be achieved in the foreseeable future.”

However, it cannot yet be said that this has been fully accomplished up to the present. Nevertheless, polar flights flourished after Amundsen, with many aircraft attempting them beginning with the airship *Zeppelin*. Numerous flight paths could be traced across the Siberian coast and the vast ice fields of the Arctic Ocean. In 1937, Chukalov flew from Moscow to the United States through Arctic skies and named this route the Stalin Air Route.

However, Amundsen himself was no longer able to witness this flourishing of Arctic flights.

After Colonel Nobile was later promoted to Major General, he undertook a new Arctic expedition with a large airship named the Italia, leading a team of Italians. Using Spitsbergen’s Kings Bay as their base, in May 1928, they commenced flights toward the polar regions. This party eventually met with disaster, remaining out of contact for an extended period until they were discovered on June 20th having drifted onto ice floes north of Northeast Island, whereupon most crew members were rescued within several days.

It was during this disaster that Amundsen set out on a rescue search. Although there were various disagreeable aspects to Major General Nobile’s attitude toward Amundsen, Amundsen cast aside my feelings and resolutely rose to rescue his former comrade.

At 4:00 a.m. on June 16th, Amundsen boarded the seaplane Latham with five comrades and departed from Tromsø Port on Norway’s northern coast.

At this time, it was said that all preparations had been insufficient because the Latham’s departure had been rushed to prevent the rescue from being too late. Whether due to this or not, communications were soon lost. The Tromsø radio station maintained wireless contact with the Latham for two hours and forty-five minutes after its departure, but beyond that point, responses from the aircraft ceased abruptly. If a malfunction had occurred in the Latham at that time, calculations based on its flight speed suggested it would have reached approximately two hundred kilometers out to sea from Tromsø Port. Regrettably, they could not ascertain its direction.

In addition to the Italia disaster, the Latham also went missing, which deepened the public’s anguish. People from various nations exerted their utmost efforts in the search, but only a team from the Italia was discovered, while no clues whatsoever were obtained regarding Amundsen’s party, and their fate remains unknown to this day. It was later understood that fragments of the Latham’s fuselage had been discovered off the northeastern coast of Bear Island, and from this, it was inferred that the Latham had crashed into the sea due to an unexpected malfunction.

Amundsen was supposed to celebrate his fifty-sixth birthday in just one month, but without waiting for it, he departed on an eternal journey across the ice sea.

“I do want to die in the midst of action.”

He would often say this to Ellsworth and his other friends. By “action,” he meant exploration, but his final such action became a reconnaissance flight for life-saving purposes.

Where could Amundsen have truly gone?

In Norway, there is an old legend. Long ago, there was a king called Olaf I. He was a brave king who constantly embarked on expeditions to the Baltic and North Seas, but in the year 1000 AD, he perished after being engulfed by a great wave near Svolder Island. Yet whenever people saw the raging waves of the sea, they steadfastly believed the king would surely rise again from those very swells.

In Norway, there are many people who consider Amundsen to be the reincarnation of that King Olaf. Such feelings of respect and trust toward Amundsen are heartwarming, and his spirit likely smiles as it eternally remains over the ice sea.