Once the Polar Star was airborne, Hollick-Kenyon banked, then flew back over the island and dipped his wings to acknowledge the men below, who were cheering and waving wildly. Almost immediately, Ellsworth starting using his 35mm Leica; keeping a photographic log, recording when a frame of film was exposed and in which direction he was pointing his camera when he exposed it. Hollick-Kenyon checked his instruments and sent a test message to the Wyatt Earp. The radio was working, and radio operator Lanz received it clearly. During the next hour, Wilkins and the crewmembers who had assisted the takeoff hurried back to the ship and crowded around the radio to listen to the messages as they were received.
At 0830 GMT 1 Hollick-Kenyon reported they were still climbing and were passing James Ross Island. The Pratt & Whitney radial engine was turning at 1,720 rpm: its ideal cruising speed. Hollick-Kenyon also reported they were flying into a headwind with an estimated strength of around fifteen mph. Forty-five minutes after takeoff, he reported he was on a magnetic compass bearing of 180°, flying at 7,400 feet and the Indicated Air Speed (IAS) was 126 mph.
On the Polar Star the IAS was measured by an Air Speed Indicator on the left side of the fuselage. A small, wind-driven propeller turned a speedometer, which the pilot could then read. A headwind increased the revolutions of the propeller, thereby making the indicated speed faster then the actual ground speed. If, for example, the IAS was 125 mph and the strength of the headwind was 15 mph, then the plane’s ground speed was possibly closer to 110 mph.
An hour later little had changed. The crew aboard the Wyatt Earp learned the Polar Star had leveled out at 7,000 feet and the IAS was still 126 mph. Hollick-Kenyon was steering a more westerly course on a compass bearing of 210°.2 They were still flying into a headwind with an estimated strength of 15–20 mph. At 1015 GMT, Hollick-Kenyon radioed that the wind strength was increasing. He was now following a compass bearing between 180° and 190° and flying at 7,400 feet.
At 1046 GMT, Hollick-Kenyon noted in his logbook that the right rear fuel tank was empty and that he had switched to the left front wing tank. He also made a calculation in pencil. In two hours and forty-six minutes he had consumed 67 gallons of fuel at a rate of 24.5 gallons per hour. Wilkins’s carefully detailed flight plan was based on the Polar Star flying at 150 mph. At that speed, it would cross Antarctica in less than fifteen hours. Flying at 120 mph it would take almost eighteen and a half hours and if its actual ground speed was 110 mph, it would take twenty hours to reach Little America. The Polar Star’s capacity was 466 gallons. Consuming fuel at a rate of 24.5 gallons per hour meant it had a total flying time of 19 hours.
It was going to be a close call.
At 1115, Hollick-Kenyon radioed that he was over the barrier ice. “We too far east. Going to make compass course 190.”3 Then a few minutes later he radioed, “compass 190.” Curiously, it was Hollick-Kenyon who was realizing they had drifted east. Ellsworth’s diary/log for the period only reveals he was taking photographs.
At 1123 Hollick-Kenyon informed the Wyatt Earp he had taken the Polar Star to 11,000 feet and could see Cape Eielson dead ahead. Cape Eielson was the eastern extremity of “Stefansson Strait” and, if it was eighty to one hundred miles ahead (Hollick-Kenyon’s possible range of sight), they were not only still too far east but, after less than four hours of flying, they were almost an hour behind schedule. Hollick-Kenyon informed his listeners he was changing the compass course to 210° “to bring us west of Cape Eielson.” He also radioed ominously, “IAS 110. Very slow.”14
At 1241 Hollick-Kenyon explained he was at thirteen thousand feet and still climbing. He noted the fifty-two-gallon left front wing tank was empty, so the Polar Star was now using twenty-seven gallons per hour. The higher consumption was probably due to gaining the altitude. At 1255, almost five hours into the flight, the listeners on board the Wyatt Earp heard the fliers had passed Stefansson Strait and were nearing the mountains seen in the distance on their flight three days earlier. This time the sky was clear and, despite the headwind slowing their progress, they had no intention of turning back. For the next hour they flew above the mountains that Ellsworth had already named the Eternity Range.
Six hours into their flight, and almost two hours behind schedule, they had crossed the Eternity Range and commenced their great circle route. The next known landmarks were one thousand miles ahead. They were the mountains that bordered the Ross Ice Shelf on the other side of the continent. The nearer, the Queen Maude Range, discovered and named by Amundsen, would be on their left, while Marie Byrd Land with the Rockefeller Mountains, discovered and named by Byrd, would be on their right.
Writing a report for the newspapers on Ellsworth’s behalf, Wilkins had previously explained the two mountain ranges would be the signposts to the Ross Ice Shelf. The fliers had to locate them and fly between them.
If no indication of land has been seen by the time we are halfway across, we might swing more southerly to come within sight of the extension of the Queen Maude Mountains. In any case, the southeastern end of the range, as reported by Amundsen and Byrd, should be located between the eleventh and twelfth hour out, if our course and speed have been maintained. About thirteen hours out the Rockefeller Mountains should be seen to the northward of our course.2
At 1350, perhaps noticing that Ellsworth was not taking sightings, Hollick-Kenyon passed him a note saying, “It is opening up nicely ahead. Better keep that camera and sextant busy, eh.” Ellsworth took his first elevation of the sun, but did not record the angle or his computations.3
Cramped in the narrow cockpit, his broad shoulders and barrel chest squeezed on all sides, Hollick-Kenyon flew on relentlessly. Behind him, Ellsworth peered over Hollick-Kenyon’s shoulder to glimpse the white plain that was appearing before them, or he stared to either side, often lifting his camera to snap a photograph of an ice sheet that had waited more than thirty-five million years to greet human beings.
Having crossed the Eternity Range, which had spread to their left and right, the peaks piercing the snow became less frequent. Hollick-Kenyon brought the plane down to 10,000 feet. Flying conditions were ideal.5
Beyond the mountains they were greeted by a vast polar plateau. Hollick-Kenyon recorded his IAS as 120 mph and was pleased to radio to the Wyatt Earp, “Getting better all the time. Not much wind. Lots of places where one could land.”4
Hollick-Kenyon was steering a compass course of 185° and recorded that the altitude of the ground was between 6,000 and 7,000 feet. They were flying lower. “Seems to be end of mountains,” he noted.5
At 1455 the normally reticent Hollick-Kenyon passed Ellsworth a note reading, “Well, so this is the Antarctic. How do you like it?’ Ellsworth responded, “Yes. 100%.”6
Ellsworth was anxious to know when they had passed 80° West. The area of Antarctica to the east of this meridian of longitude (20° West to 80° West—over which they had just flown) was the United Kingdom’s Falkland Dependency Claim.6 From 80° West, continuing ahead of the fliers to 120° West, mostly comprising the unexplored Pacific Quadrant, was unseen and unclaimed. As the first person to reach the area, tradition dictated that Ellsworth had the right to name any land discovered and claim it for his country.
Ellsworth knew that 80° West was approximately one thousand miles from Dundee Island and, had they been flying at 150 mph, the Polar Star would have reached the area in seven hours. But they were flying slower than anticipated. It would be nearer to nine hours before they could be certain they had crossed 80° West.
After flying for seven hours, the navigator asked the pilot where they were, by handing him a note reading, “How far from 80?” Hollick-Kenyon scribbled a note and passed it back, “I estimate about along 70 now, roughly two hours to 80—but unless we land and take a sight I would wait three—to make certain.”7 At least Hollick-Kenyon understood they were two hours, or more, behind schedule.
The pair flew on. An hour later Hollick-Kenyon sent a radio message, which was received by the Wyatt Earp. Lanz wrote it down as:
I estimate that we are at sevent . . . one . . . erabouts . . . my guess is . . . at . . . pect still clear . . . to s . . . ight dull . . . little no wind.8
Aboard the Polar Star Hollick-Kenyon did not receive a reply and began to suspect that he had lost contact with the Wyatt Earp. He passed a note to Ellsworth:
Aircraft transmitter appears to have gone out of action. Casing hot and no reception of our signal in receiver. Only thing to do is go on. We have another [radio] for land use.9
Hollick-Kenyon had told Ellsworth to wait until they had been flying ten hours to make certain they were over unclaimed territory before claiming it for America. Ellsworth was content with nine. At 1709, he slid the cockpit canopy forward and tossed out the American flag that had been sewn by his niece. In his diary he wrote simply, “What a thrill.”10 After years of attempts, he had discovered new land. He claimed it for the United States and named it, not for himself, but for his father: James W. Ellsworth Land.
Hollick-Kenyon recorded the IAS as 122 mph. The visibility was 150 miles in every direction. Except for a few odd peaks they could see nothing but snow plains. Beneath them spread a white featureless landscape. Puffs of snow blew up, so the fliers could judge the direction of the wind, but there was nothing against which to measure the drift of the plane or the ground speed. In his diary Ellsworth quickly wrote: “No landmarks visible. Only limitless expanse of white.”11
Ten hours into the flight, far away to the north, toward where Byrd had taken his ship into the Devil’s Graveyard in a fruitless search for land, Ellsworth saw mountains poking through the snow. He named them the Sentinel Range and the central peak Mount Mary Louise Ulmer, in honor of his wife.7 They flew on.
At 1835, Hollick-Kenyon passed a note saying, “water sky dead ahead.”12 A water sky is the appearance of a dark blue sky, caused by reflection off water. It indicated they were nearing the sea. But how could that be, without having reached the mountains that edge the Ross Ice Shelf? Had they somehow veered north and were heading for open ocean instead of the ice shelf? If that was the case, why were they still flying at nearly ten thousand feet? And Hollick-Kenyon’s magnetic compass bearing was 190°. They were flying west.
A bewildered Ellsworth took a sextant sighting, quickly did his calculations, and arrived at the surprising conclusion they were not north of their route, near water, but close to the South Pole, much farther south than they expected to be. That did not make sense. An hour later the water sky vanished without explanation, and they were still above the plateau.
At 2035 they had been in the air for twelve and a half hours. Their flight plan told them that they should have been off the plateau and over the Ross Ice Shelf, but they were still flying at 8,000 feet. There was no sign of the Queen Maude Mountains to their left or the Rockefeller Mountains in Marie Byrd Land to their right.
Things got more confused. Hollick-Kenyon saw a water sky again. This time it was ahead and to their right. Far away to their left were mountains. But which mountains? Were they somehow skirting the coast to the north of the Rockefeller Mountains? If that was the case, then they were going to miss the Ross Ice Shelf altogether.
Ten minutes after seeing the water sky to his right, Hollick-Kenyon handed Ellsworth a note reading, “I really have no idea where we are.”13 Hollick-Kenyon knew that Ellsworth had no idea where they were either, but understood their only chance was to follow the compass course set by Wilkins and, hopefully, it would lead them to the Ross Ice Shelf. But if they had drifted off course, was it to the north, toward the ocean, as the water sky indicated, or to the south, nearer the Pole, as Ellsworth’s calculations indicated? They were conscious they could not waste fuel by flying hundreds of miles searching for the Ross Ice Shelf.
Finally, they decided they had no option but to land and attempt to determine their position. It would be risky because the plateau was covered with a fine swirling mist and they could not see whether the surface underneath was packed hard or made up of soft snow that would trap the Polar Star. Still, there was no choice. It was attempt a landing or continue flying, not knowing where they were going, until they ran out of fuel.
At 2155 Hollick-Kenyon skillfully brought the plane down to land with a jolt on granular snow that was packed so hard that the skis made no impression.
After fourteen hours in the cramped cockpit, both men climbed stiffly out of the plane and looked around. Their elevation was 6,300 feet. They were on the plateau and the undulating white silence stretched to the horizon in every direction. “We stood in the heart of the only unclaimed land in the Antarctic—in the world,”14 Ellsworth wrote.
But where were they? Near the South Pole, as Ellsworth’s sight from the plane had indicated? Or near water, as the water sky had indicated? Nothing made sense.