Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. The Earth's Two Poles The Earth spins round and round on its own axis while also making a grand revolution around the sun. And regarding this rotation of the Earth itself, if we suppose there is a single axis running through its center like a spinning top, one end of that axis becomes the North Pole, and the other end becomes the South Pole. That northern end is called the North Pole on Earth, and the southern end is called the South Pole. This rotational pattern of the Earth, which perpetually turns its side toward the sun, means that both ends of its axis—namely the North Pole and South Pole regions—receive less solar heat and have become realms of extreme cold. The temperatures are several tens of degrees below zero, and they are completely covered in ice and snow. Moreover, because the Earth’s rotational axis is slightly tilted relative to the sun, for half of the year these regions experience nothing but nights without visible sunlight, while for the other half, the sun remains perpetually low on the horizon, resulting in days of dim illumination.

As for what these polar regions were actually like, various attempts were made to explore them. Even if they were uninhabitable regions of bitter cold, the fact that unknown parts still remained on Earth was both deeply regrettable and profoundly shameful for humans as the planet's rightful masters. Moreover, in polar exploration, in addition to the joy of conquering those fierce natural forces, there was also the thrill of standing upon Earth’s very axis of rotation.

Thus, as a result of explorations by many people, the general state of both polar regions had now become largely known. It had been inferred that a continent existed in the Antarctic region, with mountain ranges, snowfields, and glaciers, and its icy coastline had been partially mapped. The Arctic region was a sea known as the Arctic Ocean, but its central sea area resembled land, forming a wilderness of ice and snow as far as the eye could see. The person who left the greatest achievements in the exploration of these polar regions was none other than Roald Amundsen.

Amundsen was born in Norway in 1872, but from boyhood he aspired to become an explorer, learning skiing techniques and training his body through outdoor living. He then became a sailor and also mastered navigation techniques. Afterward, he joined academic expeditions and gained various knowledge, and furthermore studied oceanography, meteorology, magnetism, and other subjects at university. After making such preparations, he dedicated his life to exploration.

His exploratory achievements were numerous. Chief among them was the opening of the Northwest Passage. This Northwest Passage refers to a shortcut route that navigates through the islands between Greenland and Canada northwest of Europe, proceeds along the Alaskan coast through the Bering Strait, and emerges into the Orient. This route through the islands facing the Arctic Ocean had long been explored, but it had not yet been well developed. It was Amundsen who, with a mere forty-seven-ton vessel, led five comrades and triumphantly conquered this passage. And in pioneering 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 expedition led by British Colonel Scott, but Amundsen left the main force at the base and, together with four comrades, conquered Antarctica using dogs and sleds. The South Pole, which had been attempted by various explorers, was first successfully reached by him in December 1911. Next came the exploration of the Northeast Passage. This route proceeds from Northern Europe along the Siberian coast of the Arctic Ocean through the Bering Strait to reach the Orient. Though long explored and previously traversed by Nordenskiöld, Amundsen advanced with nine comrades aboard an eight-hundred-ton ship, cutting through drifting ice floes in the Arctic Ocean before arriving in Alaska via the Bering Strait. He spent over two full years on this voyage at a measured pace, conducting detailed surveys of Siberian coastal geography, climate patterns, and magnetic phenomena during this period.

However, what Amundsen directed his utmost focus toward was Arctic exploration. The very reason he undertook the Antarctic expedition was that while he had actually been 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—he abruptly abandoned the Arctic and turned toward Antarctica. However, it appears to be the established fact that Colonel Peary had only gone very near the North Pole.

Amundsen had already thoroughly researched the Arctic Ocean through the Northwest Passage and Northeast Passage and had come to strongly desire to reach the North Pole. And he conceived the idea of achieving this through aerial flight. The Arctic, being close to the culturally developed continents of Europe and America, saw early and vigorous exploration efforts, with numerous large-scale attempts being made from the nineteenth to the twentieth century.

Moreover, once airships and airplanes were developed and became capable of flying through the air, these came to be utilized by many explorers as well. In 1914, Russia's Nagurski conducted aerial surveys of drifting ice in the Arctic Ocean using airplanes, and in 1924, Chuknovsky carried out exploratory flights over the polar regions. Amundsen had also considered exploration by airplane from an early stage, and in June 1923, he attempted to fly from Alaska to the North Pole, but this ended in failure. He nevertheless did not abandon that plan, persuading various parties to gain supporters, patrons, and collaborators before carrying out a magnificent yet perilous Arctic flight.

II. In the Midst of the Great Ice Field North between Norway and Greenland lies an archipelago called Spitsbergen. This archipelago lies in northern waters near 80 degrees latitude north, but due to warm ocean currents, voyages to this location were not particularly arduous—hence its frequent use as a base for Arctic expeditions.

In May 1925, at the port known as Kings Bay in Spitsbergen, Amundsen’s team finally completed their preparations for the Arctic exploration flight. The aircraft were two Dornier Wal models—Number 24 and Number 25—each equipped with a 375-horsepower engine. For Aircraft 25, Amundsen served as captain with one pilot and one engineer each. As for Aircraft 24, it similarly had one pilot and one engineer each, with an American named Ellsworth as captain. This Ellsworth was born into a wealthy Chicago family and was eight years Amundsen’s junior, but he deeply resonated with Amundsen’s exploration endeavors, ultimately becoming his foremost collaborator and companion.

And so, these two seaplanes—amidst a send-off from many people—took off from the base within Kings Bay harbor on May 21 at 5:00 PM, with Aircraft 24 following Aircraft 25. As it was approximately just over 1,000 kilometers to the North Pole, the gasoline required for a 3,000-kilometer flight and thirty days' provisions for all six members in case of an extended stay had been loaded onto both aircraft.

The weather was exceptionally fine, the sky completely clear with a gentle southwesterly breeze. The aircraft proceeded smoothly. While the snow-capped mountains of Spitsbergen still lingered in their wake, the ice field had already emerged ahead. They had now reached the polar ice sea at last. Before long, about an hour after departure, fog began rising from nowhere to engulf the aircraft. Yet sudden weather shifts were commonplace in the Arctic region—hardly cause for alarm—and with no mountains to collide against over open waters, they simply ascended slightly higher into the mist. Flying northward through the haze, they pressed ever deeper into the white void.

About two hours later, the fog thinned and grew brighter. In the Arctic region, from spring to summer, the sun does not set all day, and night remains as bright as daytime.

Past 10:00 PM, the wind—which had been a favorable southwest tailwind until now—suddenly shifted to a northeast headwind, and moreover, this wind grew extremely strong. Because of this, the aircraft could not proceed directly north and were driven westward and ever westward. Battling the wind in this manner, time passed quickly, gasoline was severely depleted, and above all, they no longer knew their current position. With no landmarks across the great ice field, determining their location required celestial observation. Amundsen, recognizing both the futility and danger of continuing the flight under these conditions, considered landing somewhere to verify their position.

However, across the vast ice field that stretched as far as the eye could see, the ice surface was severely uneven, and though crevasses revealing water were visible here and there, these were far too narrow—no suitable landing spot could be found. While searching diligently, they finally found a slightly larger expanse of water. Amundsen immediately issued the order to land.

Aircraft 25 landed safely on the water. Aircraft 24 also found a water surface and landed. However, although the two aircraft had been flying together through the vast expanse until now, upon landing they appeared to be unexpectedly far apart and could no longer determine each other’s locations. Those aboard Aircraft 25 worried about Aircraft 24’s status, while those on Aircraft 24—now separated from Captain Amundsen—found themselves uncertain how to proceed. The entire group disembarked and clambered over ice masses searching for Aircraft 25. Yet no trace of Aircraft 25 could be seen—they were startled when a large seal abruptly thrust its head through an ice crevice.

However, the ice floes of the Arctic Ocean were constantly shifting due to tides and winds, which gradually improved visibility until eventually, the form of Aircraft 25 became visible in the distance.

They were there—over there—so they immediately began signaling with hand flags. Then, from Aircraft 25 as well, they exchanged hand flag signals and established mutual communication.

Aircraft 24 had sustained slight damage to its fuselage from colliding with ice masses during landing, making it difficult to take off again. Because they had received this signal, the following order came from Captain Amundsen. “Our food supplies are limited, and remaining on the ice like this is dangerous.” “Abandon Aircraft 24, take as much food as you can carry, and come over to Aircraft 25.” Thus, Ellsworth and the two others shouldered as much provisions as they could carry, took the tent boat and skis, and began transferring to Aircraft 25.

The ice surface was severely uneven, with cracks exposing seawater scattered everywhere. There, the three men advanced toward Aircraft Twenty-Five, helping each other while seeking footholds step by step. Those aboard Aircraft Twenty-Five could only pray for their safety—no means existed to assist them. At one point, two men slipped into the water; Ellsworth, remaining alone on the ice, risked being pulled in himself yet ultimately succeeded in hauling both up. Having traversed such perilous terrain, they finally reached Aircraft Twenty-Five where wordless handshakes heavy with emotion passed between all present.

The location the group reached at this time was at 87 degrees 44 minutes north latitude, a mere 250 kilometers from the North Pole. The six crew members took to lying down inside Aircraft 25. And in order to take off again, they began constructing a runway on the ice. Under strict discipline, they began their work. Physically and mentally robust, they worked in the endless ice field, helping and comforting one another.

They were building a flat runway measuring five hundred meters in length and twelve meters in width—necessary for the airplane to take off. To create this, they carved away at the uneven, irregular ice surface little by little each day. But even when their work progressed to some extent, it would sometimes be buried again by wind and snow, or interrupted by shifting ice flows. And so, building only for it to collapse, and collapsing only to rebuild again, after seven attempts, a five-hundred-meter runway was finally completed.

They cheered and reflected on their three long weeks of grueling labor. And to commemorate their achievement, they planted the Norwegian national flag atop a small rise of ice nearby. June 15th morning brought clear skies and calm winds—weather tailor-made for flight. The six crew members discarded unnecessary items on the ice and boarded the aircraft. The aircraft taxied to the very edge of the five-hundred-meter runway, skillfully maneuvered around a hill of ice blocks, and successfully lifted into the air.

Their course was set straight south. They flew over great ice fields and ice seas in search of land. When they had flown for about seven hours, a shout arose. “I see land!” The six crew members gazed intently forward. Gradually, the shape of the land became clear. They saw a bay with calm waves. At this time, as there was a slight malfunction in the aircraft’s steering mechanism, they decided to land within the bay.

That was the north coast of Northeast Island in the Spitsbergen Archipelago.

Upon landing and checking, they found only ninety liters of gasoline remained. With this, they couldn’t fly far. Moreover, the landing site was over a thousand meters away from shore. Now, just as they were puzzling over what to do, a small steamship came into view offshore.

The entire group rejoiced; they waved flags with all their might and made various signals. The steamship noticed them and drew near. And they discovered six grime- and beard-covered individuals inside the aircraft. This vessel was the Norwegian fishing ship Shrik, which had set out for fishing earlier than usual and happened to pass through the area by chance.

The Shrik took Amundsen’s party aboard and set sail for Kings Bay. At the Kings Bay base, as Amundsen’s party had taken off on May 21 and still showed no sign of returning, the atmosphere grew increasingly fraught with worry. The two rescue ships that had already been prepared for emergencies were dispatched, and an earnest search and rescue operation was conducted by Norwegian authorities and civilians, but the whereabouts of the party remained completely unknown. Various speculations were made about the party’s survival. When the party of six suddenly returned there, they caused a great commotion.

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

III. Airship Resurgence

The general opinion among many explorers was that polar expeditions using dog sleds had become relics of a bygone era, and that such endeavors must henceforth be conducted by airplane. Particularly, as the performance of airplanes had greatly improved due to the stimulus of the recent World War I, this opinion gained even greater traction.

Amundsen had long held the same view, but after conducting an Arctic exploration flight and experiencing several weeks on the ice field, he began to develop new ideas. The Arctic Ocean’s ice field proved so uneven, the water surfaces of its crevasses so narrow, that there was no place to land airplanes—prompting the idea to abandon them this time and instead shift to airships.

And he began investigating the structure and performance of various airships from around the world. At that time, the Italian Air Force possessed an airship called N1. Constructed in 1924, it measured 110 meters in length and was equipped with three 250-horsepower engines. Amundsen decided to use this and negotiated with the Italian government. After directly meeting 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 flying all the way to Alaska. Subsequently, this flight came to be conducted through the cooperation of three nations—Norway, America, and Italy—with public and private donations from these three countries allocated to cover its expenses.

For this grand expedition, Amundsen became the leader; Ellsworth—who had previously attempted Arctic flights with Amundsen—assumed the role of deputy leader representing the American side; and Colonel Nobile, the airship’s designer, was appointed 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. Reduce unnecessary weight to increase operational range. 2. Make it withstand low temperatures.

3. Reinforce the gas cells and other components. 4. Enable autonomous landings. After completing these modifications, the Norge flew from Rome to Kings Bay in Spitsbergen, arriving on May 7, 1926. The crew had already assembled at the location. At this time, American Commander Byrd had been preparing for an Arctic flight at Kings Bay, and on May 9, he successfully completed a round-trip flight to the North Pole in his airplane. The Norge's crew celebrated this achievement as an auspicious omen.

Now, as previously mentioned, those boarding the Norge were Leader Amundsen, Deputy Leader Ellsworth, and Chief Engineer Nobile, along with four pilots, five engineers, two radio technicians, one assistant, one journalist, and one meteorologist—a party of seventeen members in total. By nationality, there were seven Norwegians, six Italians, three Americans, and one Swede. In addition, Nobile’s beloved dog joined the party.

In addition to these crew members, many more people arrived and finalized the departure preparations. Spitsbergen remained entirely blanketed in snow and ice. A savage wind raged, temperatures occasionally plunged to minus ten degrees Celsius, while ice floes of every dimension drifted into Kings Bay. Within this environment, engineers and laborers toiled earnestly to conduct final maintenance on the Norge—secured inside its hangar.

The faulty engine was also repaired. The fuel tanks were increased to thirty-two units, enabling flights of up to six thousand seven hundred kilometers. The cargo was also completely loaded. The main items consisted of food supplies, pillows, skis, guns, and boats. As for the food provisions—chocolate, fruit, biscuits, dried milk, and other confections—there was enough to fully sustain each person for two months even if they consumed 500 grams daily. And on the hull fluttered the national flags of three nations—Norway, America, and Italy.

On May 10, the departure preparations reached completion. In accordance with Amundsen’s meticulous plan, there remained not a single oversight. That evening, each crew member penned valedictory letters to families and acquaintances back home. This was the eve of their attempt to pierce Arctic skies and plumb nature’s grand mysteries. Come dawn, the group clustered around a lone table, piling their plates high with breakfast. That this meal might prove their last upon solid ground stirred even these hardened men to uncanny emotion. Yet when flight suits replaced civilian garb, confidence and courage alone surged within them.

Eventually, the Norge was towed out from the hangar. After exchanging firm handshakes with the many people who had come to celebrate the commencement of their flight, the entire group boarded.

The sky was clear, blue, and cold; the morning sun’s rays illuminated the expanse of white snow. A southeasterly breeze was blowing. “Release the tow ropes,” Amundsen ordered. And now, at 8:50 AM on May 11, 1926, the Norge quietly ascended into the sky.

IV. Flags at the Pole Regarding this flight of the Norge, Amundsen himself contributed a lengthy article to Japanese newspapers. From that article, we shall extract only the key points, slightly simplify the text, and convey the actual circumstances.

“Farewell, civilization! A brief farewell. We now ascend upon our valiant journey toward the Arctic…” All crew members savored this poetic sentiment. The figures of those on the ground vanished from view, and Kings Bay dwindled to a mere speck within the glistening white expanse. Shattering the icy heavens’ stillness, the Norge’s twin engines erupted with thunderous roars. “At last we commence our grand Arctic crossing.”

In our hearts that had involuntarily cried out thus, there was no longer even a shadow of anxiety. The entire group looked back at the pure white wilderness of Kings Bay far below and drew in the valiant spirit with deep breaths. We set our course toward Mitra Cape and navigated along Spitsbergen’s western coast. The sunlight filtering through the thinnest of clouds hanging in the blue sky, illuminating mountain ranges crowned with snowy peaks, was truly beautiful and magnificent.

After passing Amsterdam Island, we proceeded straight toward the North Pole through sun compass observations. The crew members were each engaged in their assigned tasks. Most of them were supposed to enter small cabins, but given how cramped the rooms were, there was doubt whether they could work adequately inside. However, since communication could be easily maintained with those working in other areas from this cabin, the Norge’s navigation proceeded smoothly without restriction.

All crew members had their own crucial roles, but among them, the two radio operators worked ceaselessly, truly without a moment’s sleep. During the flight, the number of weather reports they received likely amounted to hundreds, or perhaps even more. Moreover, at the request of the aviation crew members, the number of times they determined their bearings via wireless communication was not small at all. During such lulls in work, Ram, the journalist, had to labor over telegrams to major newspapers worldwide. These telegrams had to be sent with detailed accounts of life aboard the ship, the ice and weather conditions around their flight path, and other observations of interest almost every time they crossed a degree of latitude, making this an immense task.

At times, something would relieve the crew members’ tense mood or provoke an unwitting smile. It was Colonel Nobile’s beloved dog, completely unaware that it too was one of the brave souls crossing the Arctic, sleeping wrapped in a blanket on a chair. However, when no one paid it any attention, it would eventually leap down from the chair, playfully scatter shoes about, burrow into various nooks, and bark. Then, Colonel Nobile would give it a biscuit and carefully lift it back onto the chair.

The cabin measured sixty feet in length and six feet in width, and while the hardships endured by the over a dozen people working there were considerable, the efforts of those laboring in the engine room were equally immense. The fate of the Norge—and thus of the entire expedition team—depended on the condition of the engines; we remained ceaselessly vigilant, wondering if a malfunction might occur. Thanks to this vigilance, even the minor malfunctions that occurred en route were able to be repaired before they escalated into critical issues. About an hour after departure, an ice field extending some seven to eight kilometers became visible off the northern coast of Spitsbergen at 80 degrees north latitude. Passing its tip, we came upon the polar region’s great ice field mere minutes later.

The thin clouds vanished before we knew it, leaving nothing ahead or to either side but ice covered by a cold blue sky and white snow. In the rear, the high peaks of Spitsbergen could faintly be seen, but those too soon vanished from view. No trace of land could be seen—only a vast ice field stretched out in all directions, its surface crisscrossed with fissures veiled by fresh ice. Over this endless great ice field, the Norge advanced at eighty kilometers per hour. It was truly an eerie impression. A calm blue sky, a frigid ice field, and intense sunlight. The Norge proceeded through that empty sky. The engines ran like clockwork without ceasing.

The cold gradually intensified, though not unbearably so. The strong sunlight streaming through the windows warmed our cabin, while the prepared blankets and jackets shielded our bodies. What had concerned us most - the wind - became our ally instead; from departure onward we enjoyed favorable tailwinds that accelerated the airship. We scanned from our aerial vantage point but found no trace of land. Our efforts to spot birds or wildlife likewise proved futile. When we reached 83 degrees north latitude, scattered polar bear and seal footprints dotted the ice below - yet their owners remained hidden, likely startled into retreat by the unfamiliar engine roar.

Around 3 p.m., we had our first meal. The food that the people of Kings Bay had lovingly prepared—meats, eggs, and sandwiches—seemed supremely delicious to us. Savoring this while engaging in various conversations, flying over the polar ice field felt truly dreamlike.

By the time we passed 84 degrees north latitude, all traces of living creatures had completely vanished. On that ice field—terrifying even to gaze upon—only Norge’s shadow moved. The great silhouette now hid behind ice masses, now fragmented into shards across fissures, now reemerged whole—yet never once lagged behind. Around 9 p.m., they crossed 87 degrees north latitude. The spot where they had crash-landed their plane on May 22nd last year—wandering between life and death across frozen wastes—lay fifty miles west. Ellsworth who’d endured that ordeal with them still stood aboard this Norge alongside two others. Profound emotion gripped them all.

The Norge's speed was temporarily reduced. It was a time of fresh recollections and solemn mood. Then the Norge once again increased its speed. When proceeding to around 88 degrees north latitude, we found the entire forward view engulfed in fog. We entered it, but with visibility completely obscured by the dense mist, ascended to six hundred meters before climbing beyond a thousand meters to emerge from the fog. Just below us swirled thick banks of mist, churning like mountains of shorn sheep's wool.

We gradually began to feel uneasy. Had we not already passed over the Arctic’s summit and emerged into that mysterious, strange realm on its far side—unknown to humankind? We began to feel as though we might fall into some terrifying predicament. In that eerie unease, we flew through thick fog for about two hours. And at this moment, our most powerful lifeline became the weather reports arriving from southern Norway.

“At least the flight to Nome, Alaska will have tailwinds.”

Every time the radio operator received such a communication, everyone felt their spirits revive and embraced new hope. In the thick fog, large open spaces began to appear here and there. Peering through those gaps at the ice below, they confirmed once more that no land was visible. The Norge plunged straight ahead toward the North Pole. Before they knew it, the Norge had passed 89 degrees north latitude. As they advanced, the fog gradually thinned, and around 1:00 a.m. on the 12th, the thick fog completely receded into the distance behind them. Only thin, soft cloud masses drifted here and there in the sky. The sunlight shone brilliantly upon those clouds. Oh—there lay the North Pole they had striven to reach. We were intoxicated by a mysterious rapture.

Through various observations made during the flight, the bearings continuously relayed from Kings Bay and Green Harbour, and the aid of the sun compass, we had at last confirmed that we 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 before them lay the great objective that brave people of the past had striven to reach through all hardships—now visible before their eyes. It was neither a dream nor an illusion. Now our efforts were finally rewarded. Among the crew members, no one spoke anymore, and only a reverent silence continued. The sun illuminated the Arctic ice field with soft rays in a most solemn manner. The Arctic was finally conquered.

Before long, we regained our composure and performed the modest ceremony that had long been our cherished objective. The small cabin window was opened. The entire group removed their hats and closed their eyes in silent contemplation. 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 national flag provided by the American president, and finally Colonel Nobile dropped the flag conferred by the King of Italy. The entire crew observed a moment of silent prayer.

The three nations’ flags placed on the Arctic ice as a memorial—gazing upon them, everyone was overcome with profound emotion. This profound emotion defied description. It was a solemn, precious feeling that would remain unforgettable for a lifetime.

In silence, the Norge quietly circled three times over the North Pole.

5. Aerial Expedition

Roald Amundsen conquered the Arctic. He is 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—or so they say.

Now, the main points of the article written by Amundsen himself continued further. A few minutes of awe and silence passed, and we felt fresh tension rising in our hearts. Indeed, the regions we had flown through until then were generally known to people. However, the stretch we were now attempting to fly—between the Arctic and Alaska—remained a mysterious realm no human eye had yet seen. That aerial path still lay before us. We had to explore it thoroughly and contribute to broadening humanity's knowledge.

The sun was illuminating the great ice field. The sky was blue, the clouds thin. The entire crew firmly gripped each other's hands. They gazed intently at the three nations’ flags at the North Pole. The Norge once again soared high into the sky. The engine started up again.

For the first time since departing Kings Bay, the Norge turned its bow southward. And proceeded toward Barrow Point, the northernmost tip of Alaska.

On and on they pressed, yet no land was found; the view offered not the slightest variation. The appearance of the great ice field with its crevasses remained unchanged from before, shining under the sun's illumination. Maddeningly monotonous, yet the view was infinitely grand. The wireless apparatus functioned without any malfunctions. Reports on weather conditions and bearings came in from all directions. Reporter Ram dispatched communications to major newspapers worldwide about our ceremony at the North Pole and our moment-by-moment impressions.

Wireless communications and weather conditions were the most crucial elements for our expedition. Since both were functioning exceptionally well, there were in fact no significant causes for concern. Scattered clouds were visible in the beautiful sky. The atmosphere was calm, with 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 airship’s narrow corridor and attempted to get some sleep. They had continued working without a moment’s sleep since departure and were utterly exhausted. However, due to the biting cold, the roar of the engines, and the cramped sleeping space, no matter how desperately they tried, they could not sleep. In the end, they gave up trying and rose with such desperate expressions that it appeared both pitiable and comical.

Around 7:00 AM on the 12th, they passed the Ice Pole. This location, at 88 degrees north latitude and 187 degrees west longitude, forms the center of the Arctic region’s great ice field—hence why it is called the Ice Pole. Here, jagged ice blocks rose in towering stacks, their sheer ferocity making approach impossible without aircraft or airship.

After passing through this Arctic region, we encountered unforeseen dangers. Around 8:00 AM, when a deep fog became visible ahead and we were about to plunge into it, we attempted to gain altitude to avoid the fog. For a time, the Norge's massive form loomed indistinctly above fog tinged with seven beautiful rainbow-like hues, appearing precisely like a painting. Yet this respite proved fleeting—the fog gradually intensified. At that moment, a malfunction struck the wireless system, cutting off all external weather reports.

When communication with the outside became impossible, we felt anxiety so intense we wanted to weep. And above all else, we worked hard to repair that malfunction. The sources of the malfunction were twofold: one was atmospheric electricity, and the other was ice that had formed on the antenna hanging from the Norge.

We rolled up the antenna and cleaned it. We also performed maintenance on the generator. However, even that proved futile, so using the wavelength designated through the goodwill of the U.S. government, we repeatedly attempted to contact various wireless stations in Alaska, but there was no response whatsoever.

We continued advancing the Norge while gradually increasing our altitude to eight hundred meters. Amidst our anxiety, we persisted in observing the ice field. When peering through occasional gaps in the dense fog, there remained no trace of land in that vicinity.

The difficulties mounted with each passing hour. Thick black clouds veiled the sky and blotted out the sunlight. The sun compass had become useless. Our sole reliance now rested on the geomagnetic compass. As evening descended, dense clouds layered thickly overhead while swirling fog churned beneath. Whether to ascend or descend—this became our first imperative decision.

We first attempted low-altitude flight. Then snow fell heavily below. We tried flying higher only to face a new peril. What we had most feared about this Arctic crossing—the formation of an ice layer on the gas cells' surface—now materialized with terrifying speed. Left unchecked, the airship's weight would instantly increase by several tons. We shuddered, utterly confounded.

Chief Engineer Colonel Nobile appealed to Dr. Malmgren, the meteorology officer, about what was to be done.

“This is no time to panic,” Dr. Malmgren calmly reassured everyone. He immediately began systematically observing the frost accumulation on the hull while directing the Norge to test different altitudes. Seeing his composed and confident demeanor, we too gradually regained our composure.

After several detailed observations, Dr. Malmgren finally determined the safest flight altitude. That was to fly at a resolutely high elevation. Indeed, this conclusion proved correct. The higher we ascended, not only did the fog diminish, but the frost accumulating on the hull decreased as well. The temperature grew lower the closer we were to the ice-covered sea. Thus we managed to catch our breath, but the grueling ordeal continued unabated. We collided with an enormous cloud mass and attempted to rise above it, but the dense cloud layer proved too thick—ascending would have required expending a prohibitive amount of gasoline—so we ultimately abandoned the attempt and flew straight through the cloud.

Moreover, a danger several times greater than that of clouds, fog, or frost chilled our hearts.

Ice formed on the Norge’s propellers and engines. The ice shattered into fragments by the rotating propellers collided violently with the canvas hull, their impacts tearing holes that echoed through the air. If those propeller blades sustained damage from ice fragments, those very shards would inevitably rip gaping holes in the gas cells. Faced with such a scenario, we would have no choice but to abandon the airship and trek across the ice until we reached some coast.

At the very moment such danger began to materialize, we were flying some three hundred kilometers north of Alaska's coast. Until then, we had only observed the ice field from aerial explorers' perspective; walking across that ice had never even crossed our minds. Yet if a hole tore through a gas cell, that would be the end. We would have to abandon the airship resolutely and trek across the ice field. Fortunately, the propeller blades didn't shatter from the ice fragments, but those fragments kept colliding with the canvas hull, tearing holes through it. We diligently patched every tear. Sometimes the gashes grew so large we had to slow the airship's speed for repairs. The sections around the propellers—which Colonel Nobile had reinforced with exceptional sturdiness from the outset—made us profoundly grateful for his thorough preparations.

Even so, we could not believe the gas cells would remain safe forever. We intently monitored how ice fragments affected the Norge. We periodically shut down engines in rotation to clear ice from propellers. And through continued hardship, we flew onward seeking Barrow Point. How we must have yearned for land at that moment.

On the morning of May 13th, judging from the state of the ice field, it became clear that land was finally near. The cracks in the ice increased in number, and seawater finally became visible. At 6:50 a.m., someone who had been watching the southern horizon through a telescope suddenly shouted. “Land ahead at the bow!” The entire group gazed in that direction with hearts leaping. They could hardly distinguish whether it was an ice mass protruding high along the coast or land blanketed white with snow. However, within the white snow, a large rock could be discerned emerging as a dark line.

At 7:50 a.m., they finally reached the airspace above the coast. It was their destination—Barrow Point. We attempted to land there, but thick fog enveloped the entire coastline, leaving no visibility. If we pressed onward as we were, we might collide with the rugged Alaskan mountains and meet a tragic end.

Reluctantly, we set course along the Alaskan coastline toward the Bering Strait. And as we flew toward Nome Town in the strait, another layer of ice began forming on the gas cells, constantly forcing the airship 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 that prolonged aerial journey, when we finally touched solid ground again at Teller Village, we felt like collapsing onto that earth and never moving.

VI. Spirit of the Ice Sea

Thus, Amundsen’s long-cherished ambition was realized. The transpolar flight through the Arctic succeeded after overcoming numerous hardships. The Norge suffered a ruptured gas cell within less than an hour after landing in Teller, a remote Alaskan village, yet its name remained gloriously inscribed in Arctic aviation history. And Amundsen’s achievements became an honor to the world of exploration. Through this exploratory flight, numerous academic discoveries were made, and furthermore, Amundsen expressed the following conviction:

“According to the valuable experience gained by our expedition team, the meteorological conditions of the Arctic region are not such that modern aircraft would find them difficult to traverse.” “In the near future, a major air route connecting Europe to East Asia via the polar regions may be established.” “If this air route is opened, it goes without saying that it will be shorter than any other route between the two regions.” “We firmly believe that the development of this Arctic air route will be accomplished in the near future.”

However, it cannot yet be said that this has been fully accomplished to this day. Nevertheless, polar flights proliferated after Amundsen’s era, with numerous aircraft—from the Zeppelin airship onward—attempting them. From the Siberian coast across the vast ice fields of the Arctic Ocean, numerous flight paths can be traced. In 1937, Chukalov flew from Moscow to the United States of America via the Arctic skies and named this route the Stalin Airway.

However, Amundsen himself was no longer able to witness how Arctic flights had flourished in this manner.

After being promoted to major general, Colonel Nobile launched a new Arctic expedition by leading a team of Italians aboard the large airship Italia. Using Spitsbergen’s Kings Bay as their base in May 1928, they began flights toward the polar regions. This party eventually met with disaster, lost contact for an extended period, and on June 20 were found adrift on an ice floe north of Tōhoku Island—most crew members being rescued within days.

At the time of this disaster, Amundsen set out on a rescue search. Though there were several disagreeable aspects to General Nobile’s attitude toward Amundsen，Amundsen cast aside my feelings and resolutely embarked on rescuing his former comrade. At 4:00 a.m. on June 16th，Roald Amundsen boarded the seaplane *Latham* with five companions and took off from Tromsø Port on Norway’s northern coast.

At this time, it is said that preparations for the *Latham* were not fully completed because they had rushed their departure to prevent any delay in rescue efforts. Whether because of this or not，communication was soon lost. At Tromsø radio station，they maintained wireless contact with the *Latham* for two hours and forty-five minutes after its departure，but then suddenly all responses from the seaplane ceased. If a malfunction had occurred aboard the *Latham* around that time—calculating from its flight speed—the seaplane would likely have reached a point approximately two hundred kilometers out to sea from Tromsø Port. Unfortunately，they did not know its direction.

With the *Italia* disaster now compounded by the disappearance of the *Latham*, public anguish deepened further. Though people from various nations devoted their utmost to the search efforts, only the *Italia* crew was discovered—no clues regarding Amundsen’s party were ever found, and their fate remains unknown to this day. It was later discovered that fragments of the *Latham*’s airframe had been found off the northeast coast of Bear Island, and from this, it was surmised that the *Latham* had crashed into the sea due to an unexpected mechanical failure.

Roald Amundsen was due to celebrate his fifty-sixth birthday in just one month, but without waiting for that day, he embarked on an eternal journey across the ice-covered sea.

“I want to die in the midst of action.” He would often say this to Ellsworth and other friends. By “action,” he meant exploration—but that final action became a search flight to save lives.

Where could Amundsen have truly gone?

In Norway, there was an old legend. Long ago, there was a king called Olaf I. A brave king who constantly embarked on expeditions to the Baltic Sea and North Sea, but in the year 1000 AD, he was swallowed by a giant wave near Svolder Island and perished. Yet whenever people saw the raging waves of the sea, they clung unshakably to their belief that the king would surely rise again from those very depths. In Norway, there are many people who consider Amundsen to be the reincarnation of that King Olaf I. Such feelings of respect and trust toward Amundsen are heartwarming, and his spirit likely smiles as it lingers eternally over the ice sea.