The death of James W. Ellsworth meant that Lincoln and his sister, Clare, inherited a fortune—what today would be many billions of dollars. Ellsworth was in a position to finance any polar venture he cared to. While still at Kings Bay, the shrewd Amundsen pitched another idea to Ellsworth. He proposed they investigate making the flight across the Arctic in an airship. Encouraged that his brief time in the spotlight had people admiring him, the cash-rich Ellsworth pledged $100,000 on the spot, then hurried back to America to collect more fossils from the Grand Canyon.
Amundsen had already researched the available airships which, in 1925, could be loosely divided into three categories: smaller, lighter blimps, which had no frame within the “gas bag” or “envelope”; rigid German zeppelins with a full internal metal frame; and semi-rigids, which had a partially flexible spine within the envelope. Amundsen supposed the inflexible zeppelins were too large and cumbersome to survive the high winds of polar regions, while the blimps, which were mainly used as observation balloons for one or two people, were too small. The most suitable airship, Amundsen concluded, was a small semi-rigid dirigible. Such an airship had recently been built by an Italian air force officer, Umberto Nobile. Named the N1, Nobile’s airship did not have the lift capacity of the huge zeppelins, but its flexible spine might withstand stronger winds, suggesting it was more suitable for Amundsen’s requirements.
Shortly after the affairs of the 1925 expedition were wrapped up, Amundsen met with Nobile and discussed his idea of a trans-Arctic flight via the North Pole. Nobile was enthusiastic, welcoming the opportunity to demonstrate the advantages of his airship to the world. He immediately traveled to Rome to sell the idea to his boss, the Italian dictator Benito Mussolini.
At the time, Mussolini was absorbed in rebuilding Italy after World War I and intent on demonstrating the advantages of strong fascist leadership. After listening to Nobile, Mussolini graciously bestowed his support for the venture. What better way to show the efficiency and resourcefulness of the new Italy than to have an Italian airship fly across the Arctic? Nobile reported Mussolini’s eagerness to Amundsen, who immediately became concerned, because he wanted to lead the expedition and have it fly under the Norwegian flag. He also wanted to claim Amundsen Land if he found it. But if the airship was coming from Mussolini and the money from Ellsworth, where did it leave him? Squeezed between the ambitious Italian fascist and the insecure American, Amundsen feared Norwegian eminence, and his role, would be diminished. To preserve his authority, he sought the help of Rolf Thommessen, president of the Aero Club of Norway, who was also the owner of Norway’s daily newspaper Tidens Tegn. Thommessen agreed to throw some money, along with the resources of his newspaper and the Aero Club, behind the undertaking, to ensure it would be seen as Norwegian.
Pressing ahead, Amundsen wired Ellsworth in the U.S., asking if he would confirm his interest in the airship idea and raise his pledge to $120,000. Ellsworth replied that he would, but only if he was to be credited as a leader of the expedition.
Amundsen then traveled to Rome where he met with Mussolini and, after negotiating the details, signed a contract. The Italian government agreed to sell the dirigible airship N1 to the expedition for $75,000 for the flight from Spitsbergen to Alaska, via the North Pole and, at the completion of the flight, would buy it back for $46,000 if it was still in good condition. It was a better deal than Amundsen had expected. Mussolini was being suspiciously generous.
With the airship secured, negotiations shifted to the duties and composition of the crew. Amundsen and his Norwegian backer, Thommessen, wanted to include as many Norwegians as possible, to satisfy national pride. For the same reason, Mussolini wanted lots of Italians. Additionally, Nobile, as the builder of the airship and the person best qualified to fly it, believed he should be airship commander.
While the discussions became bogged down in details, the problem arose as to what to do with Ellsworth who, thus far, had only demonstrated an ability to sign the check. Mindful that the “Norwegian expedition” had to assign a prominent role to the American, Thommessen announced in his newspaper that Ellsworth would share the responsibility of navigating the flight with Leif Dietrichson. Unfortunately, that didn’t please Dietrichson, who immediately declared he would have none of it. He had been Ellsworth’s pilot in the Dornier Wal and, based on that experience, believed the American would struggle to navigate his way through a hotel lobby. Dietrichson flatly refused to navigate if Ellsworth was going to take even partial credit. Amundsen was forced to promptly sack his old friend. It was easier to replace the navigator than the sponsor. Henceforth Ellsworth was listed as navigator, but everyone understood the role would need to be discreetly delegated to someone competent.
As the negotiations regarding crew members and roles continued, Thommessen cabled Ellsworth, asking him to forward the money. Ellsworth cabled back that he would only release it after it was announced in both the Norwegian and the American press that the expedition would be known as the “Amundsen-Ellsworth Trans-Polar Flight.” Thommessen reassured him that it would be, made the announcement, and waited for the money to arrive. But the title upset Mussolini, who threatened to withdraw his generous offer to buy back the airship unless Nobile’s name was also included. By that time, Thommessen, who was responsible for building the airship hangar at Kings Bay, had committed a sizeable amount of his personal fortune. He could not afford to have the Italians renege on their offer to buy back the airship, so he lengthened the title to “Amundsen-Ellsworth-Nobile Trans-Polar Flight.” That promptly upset Amundsen and Ellsworth, who could not understand why Nobile’s name had to be included at all.
Nobile, meanwhile, emboldened by his elevation from obscure airship designer to national hero, demanded assurance that as commander of the airship he had the final say during the flight. If, for example, when they reached the North Pole, he felt it unwise to continue to Alaska, he expected the right to order the airship back to Kings Bay. To ensure that his authority went unchallenged he proposed that the entire crew, including the Norwegians, swear a solemn oath of loyalty to him. The Italian government sent a message to Thommessen saying that unless that request was met the Italians would withdraw from the venture altogether. Poor Thommessen, caught in the middle again, smoothed that situation out as well with a deftly managed compromise. He explained to Nobile that he would be commander and, as recognized by international law, had ultimate say in the control of the airship. In matters not related directly to flying, Ellsworth and Amundsen would be in charge. In reality, no one really knew who was in charge.
Other finer details were negotiated and contractually stipulated as well, such as the order in which the national flags were to be dropped at the North Pole (eventually agreed to be Norway first, America second, and Italy third), along with who had the right to say what to the press.
While Nobile was preparing the airship in Italy, and its name was officially changed to Norge (Norway), Amundsen traveled to the U.S. to deliver a series of lectures on the expedition. One of the lectures was attended by Richard Byrd, who was secretly preparing to upstage the forthcoming flight.
Richard Evelyn Byrd was born into a wealthy and influential Virginia family on October 26, 1888. He was raised carrying the high expectations of an ambitious mother until his poor academic record convinced her that young Dickie would not be following his alcoholic father and elder brother into politics. Disappointed, Byrd’s mother packed him off to the U.S. Navy, where his handsome features and family influence, initially at least, saw him promoted quickly. But good looks and name could only get Byrd so far and, by the end of World War I, his career had reached a plateau and he was regularly passed over for promotion. Realizing his future options were limited, he left the full-time Navy to become a reservist, so that he could pursue private interests, yet still wear the uniform and maintain some Navy involvement. Byrd identified a future in aviation. He knew pioneering flights bought fame and that where fame went, fortune often followed. In 1924, like Amundsen, he hit upon the idea of making the first flight to the North Pole. He convinced the Navy to loan him three seaplanes, then accompanied an expedition to Greenland where he constantly argued with his leader and, after making short exploratory flights, returned to the U.S. determined that the next time he went north he would be in command, rather than a subordinate.
Byrd convinced the Navy to give him a ship, then recruited a crew of mostly volunteers and received sponsorship from leading businessmen. While he was putting the expedition together, he became aware that Ellsworth and Amundsen were also planning a flight to the North Pole, but using Nobile’s airship, rather than an airplane. So as not to appear to be a rival, Byrd kept his intentions secret and instead announced that he planned to explore the unknown area of the Arctic between Svalbard and Greenland looking for Robert Peary’s “Crocker Land.” He knew the best departure point from which to fly to the Pole was the Norwegian settlement at Kings Bay, Spitsbergen, and realized that he needed to be there at the same time as Amundsen’s and Ellsworth’s expedition.
So when Amundsen was in New York to speak about the upcoming airship flight, Byrd seized the opportunity to introduce himself. Ellsworth, who was privy to the conversation recalled:
. . . Byrd confided in us his plan to continue the search for the evanescent Crocker Land the following spring as an independent explorer, using airplanes. The Amundsen-Ellsworth airship expedition had been announced, so Byrd knew we would be at Spitsbergen. He asked us if we had any objection to his using Kings Bay at the same time, as a preliminary base from which to fly to the north coast of Greenland, where he planned to set up the permanent base for his search.
Said Amundsen heartily: “We will welcome you with open arms.”1
At the conclusion of Amundsen’s lecture tour, he and Ellsworth sailed to Norway and subsequently to Kings Bay, where they expected to rendezvous with Nobile, who would fly the airship from Rome. On April 28, 1926, while they were waiting, Byrd turned up, as promised, with a fully equipped expedition and a Fokker Trimotor plane fitted with skis. Since their meeting in New York, Byrd’s true intentions had become public knowledge. Smelling another race (particularly one involving Amundsen) newspapers had begun loudly promoting the “Air Race to the North Pole.” Who would reach it first: Amundsen or Byrd?
For Byrd, it was a race he could ill afford to lose. To fund his large expedition he had borrowed money and signed agreements with publishers and newsreel companies. If he reached the North Pole first he would make a profit. Should he come second to Amundsen and Ellsworth, he would be left in debt.
As his ship neared Kings Bay, Byrd learned that Amundsen’s arms were not as open as he had suggested in New York. There was only space for one ship at the Kings Bay jetty and that was occupied by Amundsen and Ellsworth’s ship Heimdal. Byrd radioed for it to be moved temporarily so he could dock and unload his plane. The Heimdal’s captain replied that it was not possible. Byrd came ashore in a lifeboat to confront Amundsen, who explained they were waiting for the Norge to arrive from Italy, via Leningrad (now St. Petersburg), and that the Heimdal needed to remain where it was. If the airship had difficulties en route the Heimdal might be needed to go to its assistance. The tense exchange was watched by a young Norwegian pilot, Bernt Balchen, who recorded the reactions of Ellsworth:
Lincoln Ellsworth edges unobtrusively in from the kitchen. He and Amundsen had met Byrd in New York three months earlier, and they shake hands briefly. I am curious to see these fellow countrymen greet each other. They are courteous, of course, but there is no real warmth in their greeting, and a couple of times, glancing at Ellsworth as he slips into the background, I detect a trace of annoyance in his face, as though he is piqued at the fact that he is no longer the only American explorer in Kings Bay.2
Byrd stormed back to his ship, furious that Amundsen would not allow him to unload his plane until after the Norge had arrived and, presumably, departed for the Pole. With his future riding on getting to the North Pole first, Byrd implemented a risky strategy. His crew lashed lifeboats together and, first the fuselage, then the wing, were carefully floated ashore on the makeshift raft. While Amundsen watched in dismay, Byrd had his plane assembled and ready for a test flight within twenty-four hours. And there was still no sign of Nobile.
Needing a runway for the big plane, Byrd’s entire crew pitched in to dig out and flatten the snow-covered ground. A suitable runway was prepared within forty-eight hours, but on Byrd’s first attempt to test his plane the metal skis fitted to the Fokker twisted. By that time, the young Norwegian, Bernt Balchen, had become friendly with Byrd’s pilot, Floyd Bennett. Himself a ski champion, Balchen explained to Bennett that metal skis would not slide easily on an icy surface. What the Americans needed, Balchen continued, were wooden skis coated in tar. Not surprisingly, Amundsen reprimanded the naïve Balchen for his unbidden assistance, but nevertheless Byrd’s crew hurriedly fashioned new skis for the Fokker. While they were doing so, Nobile, with his crew of Italians and Norwegians, arrived in the airship.
The relationship between Amundsen and Nobile was already strained as a result of the disputes over titles, rights, and the makeup of the crew. But after Amundsen learned of the events on the flight to Kings Bay, it came perilously close to breaking irrevocably. For the trip north, the Norwegian crew had wanted to wear warm polar clothing, but Nobile forbade it, saying weight had to be reduced. The Norwegians had therefore boarded the airship in lightweight street clothes, only to be greeted by the Italians clad in furs, mitts, and boots. The Italians enjoyed their flight to Kings Bay, while the Norwegians shivered through the intense cold. Amundsen interpreted it as a personal slight, writing later, “[Nobile’s] arrogance and egotism and selfishness were unparalleled in my experience.”3
Once on the ground at Kings Bay, Nobile informed the enraged Amundsen that he needed two days to repair a motor before the Norge would be ready for the Arctic flight.
Meanwhile, on May 8, Byrd had replaced his skis and was ready for his flight to the North Pole. When he attempted to take off, however, his new skis became bogged in the slush. Again, pilot Floyd Bennett turned to his new friend Balchen, who explained that Byrd needed to take off after midnight, when the snow was frozen hard, instead of during the day when it was soft. That night, at 12:37 A.M., Byrd and Bennett got airborne. They flew north with a full load of fuel and returned fifteen and a half hours later. Byrd emerged from the plane and announced he had reached the North Pole. He had, he claimed, circled the Pole for thirteen minutes and taken repeated sextant readings to prove conclusively he had made it. The air race to the North Pole was over. Byrd had won.
Amundsen and Ellsworth felt cheated. They had conceived their expedition first and selflessly made their plans public, whereas Byrd had misled everyone by stating that he wasn’t flying to the Pole. He had extracted a promise from Amundsen to use the Norwegian facilities at Kings Bay, then worked around the clock to get airborne while he watched Amundsen and Ellsworth wait for Nobile to repair the Norge. Finally, Byrd had flown to the North Pole and back in a suspiciously short time—about an hour less than expected, given the flying performance of his airplane.1 But Amundsen and Ellsworth could do nothing but congratulate their victorious rival.
Two days after Byrd returned from his Pole flight the Norge was ready. Nobile had replaced a broken crankshaft in one of the motors and repaired torn fabric on the rudder. He told Amundsen and Ellsworth their flight could take place as soon as the weather was suitable. But having lost the race, Amundsen now felt it was more important to let Nobile know who was in charge than it was to reach the North Pole.
On the morning of May 11, the weather was clear. Nobile had been awake all night overseeing the preparation of the airship and understood that it was crucial to get airborne while the temperature was cooler, so the envelope could be filled with more gas. With everything prepared by 5:00 A.M., Nobile sent word for Amundsen to quickly get Ellsworth and the Norwegians on board. Word came back that the Norwegians had not finished their breakfast. The Italians could wait. Amundsen and Ellsworth finally emerged after 9:00 A.M., having enjoyed a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, to lead the Norwegians on board. Bernt Balchen, who had advised Byrd on the use of skis for his airplane, was not among the Norwegian crew. He had been informed by Amundsen he could wait at Kings Bay.
The flight finally lifted off, much later than Nobile had wanted, at 9:50 A.M.
Nobile guided the airship to the North Pole, where it arrived safely at 1:30 A.M. on May 12. The national flags were dropped in the pre-negotiated order, but again Amundsen and Ellsworth received a surprise. Obeying Nobile’s instruction to save weight, they both dropped flags the size of pocket handkerchiefs. They were then astonished to see the Italians produce an armful of flags, the largest of which was the size of a tablecloth, then ceremoniously throw them out a window.
For Ellsworth, finally reaching the Pole seemed an empty gesture. In his diary he recorded only the briefest details:
The North Pole 90° 1:28 A.M. GMT. Fog cleared and sun came out. Came down to 130 metres & with hats off dropped our flags. Both the Norwegian and American struck landing. We circle once around.4
Aboard the Norge there was a noisy partisan celebration. The Italians spoke Italian and slapped each other on the back. The Norwegians congratulated each other in Norwegian. Amundsen shook hands quietly with Oscar Wisting, who had stood with him at the South Pole fifteen years earlier. They were the only two men who had been to the top and bottom of the world. Ellsworth was unable to share the moment with anyone.
The Norge headed past the Pole into the unexplored region of the Arctic, where experts prophesized undiscovered land. But aboard the Norge nothing was sighted because continual fog made observation difficult. What lay below the airship remained unknown. After an epic 72-hour, 3,000-mile flight, during which Nobile worked tirelessly to keep the Norge aloft and on course, they landed at the small settlement of Teller, Alaska. Safely on the ground, Amundsen and Ellsworth promptly headed for the nearby city of Nome, where they could find a comfortable hotel. Nobile and the rest of the crew were left to dismantle the airship and pack everything for freighting back to Italy. After three weeks at Nome, a ship arrived to take the whole expedition to Seattle, Washington.