into the ice

EINAR-ARNE DRIVENES | HARALD DAG JØLLE (eds.)

The History of Norway and the Polar Regions

EIN

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HARALD

DAGJØLL

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Finally, this first collected presentation of Norwegian polar history is availableto the public.

In the 1880s, few regarded Norway as a polar nation. Exploring the frozen territories atthe ends of the world was expensive, and this activity was reserved for the more powerfulnations of the world. This situation changed after Fridtjof Nansen’s journey on skis acrossGreenland in 1888. Soon Norwegians were among the main contenders in the race to breakgeographic records, to exploit resources, and to map and conquer unknown territories.

The polar explorer became the hero of his time, and at the same time a key player inNorwegian expansion into the Arctic and the Antarctic regions. Into the Ice takes its readerson the legendary polar journeys with Fridtjof Nansen, Roald Amundsen and OttoSverdrup. In addition, the reader can follow the daring, pioneering expeditions by air,as well as modern polar expeditions.

The book also shows how Norwegians seeked economic profit; how hunters pursuedadventure in the wilderness and how Arctic sea captains sought out ever new hunting grounds.

For the past century researchers have looked to and traveled to the ends of the earth inorder to study the land and sea, to gain answers to their questions about ice ages, climateand biological conditions. It has been proven that a number of the earth’s naturalphenomena can better be understood by studying the polar region.

www.gyldendal.no

ISBN-13: 978-82-05-36185-0

ISBN-10: 82-05-36185-1

Editors:

Einar-Arne Drivenes(born in 1946), Associate Professor,

Department of History,University of Tromsø.

Harald Dag Jølle(born in 1971), University Research Fellow,

Department of History,University of Tromsø.

Into the Ice is a revised edition of the three-volumeNorwegian edition of ‘Norwegian Polar History’(Norsk polarhistorie), published in 2004. Into the Ice isillustrated with a wealth of original photographs andother pictures.

‘Norway keeps its position as a leading polar nation ...a reliable reference work for a long time to come ...Norwegian Polar History is an impressive work.’

Torgny Nordin, Svenska Dagbladet, Sweden

‘a significant contribution to the understanding ofNorwegian polar history.’

Peder Anker, Isis, USA

‘Norwegian Polar History is well-written and covers a widerange of topics.’

Jan Christensen, Verdens Gang, Norway

‘In all, this multidisciplinary work presents a goodoverview of Norway’s interests and national feats, accom-plishments, sins and omissions in the ‘polar regions’,viewed in light of and in cooperation with the interna-tional community … a magnum opus.’

Odmund Søilen, Bergens Tidende, Norway

‘This beautiful work has once again shown Norway tobe a leading polar nation!’

Erik Winther, Infonor, Denmark

Cover design: Kristin Berg Johnsen, kobolt

Into the Ice

Einar-Arne Drivenes | Harald Dag Jølle (editors)

Ketil Zachariassen (picture editor)

The history of Norway and the Polar Regions

© Gyldendal Norsk Forlag AS 2006

Translated by Bruce Bawer, Deborah Dawkin, Joan S. Rongen and Erik SkuggevikThe King’s Mirror (p. 6) is translated from Old Norse by Laurence Marcellus Larson, 1917

General graphic design and cover design: Kristin Berg Johnsen / kobolt

Front cover photo: Fridtjof Nansen, 1894. Henrik Greve Blessing is on his way to takingalgae tests. The polar exploration vessel, Fram, is in the background. The Norwegian National Library.Back cover photo: © Trym Ivar Bergsmo, 1999, Samfoto

Repro: RenessanseMedia A/S, Oslo 2006Printed in DenmarkPrinted by Nørhaven, 2006Paper: Arctic Volume 115g (1,12)Typeface: Adobe Garamond 11/13,5 pt og MetaPlus 9,2/13,5 ptISBN-10: 82-05-36185-1ISBN-13: 978-82-05-36185-0

This book has been published with support from:

The University of TromsøThe Norwegian Ministry of Foreign AffairsThe Norwegian Ministry of Justice and the PoliceStatoilThe Norwegian Polar InstituteGC Rieber Fondene

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored ina retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permissionof both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

CONTENTS

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The History of Norway in the Polar Regions

THE EMERGENCE OF A POLAR NATION

I The pioneersII The heroes

A POLAR SUPERPOWER

III The entrepreneursIV The explorersV The conquerors

A POLAR COMMUNITY

VI Playing with the big boysVII A greedy hunting nation?VIII New frontiers, new bordersIX The memories

Expeditions and eventsList of terminologyContributionsBibliographyIndexIllustration creditsThe authorsAknowledgements

The answer to your query as to what people go to seek in that countryand why they fare thither through such great perilsis to be sought in man’s threefold nature.

One motive is fame and rivalry, for it is in the nature of man to seek placeswhere great dangers may be met, and thus to win fame.

A second motive is curiosity, for it is also in man’s natureto wish to see and experience the things that he has heard about,and thus to learn whether the facts are as told or not.

The third is desire for gain; for men seek wealth whereverthey have heard that gain is to be gotten, though,on the other hand, there may be great dangers too.

About Greenland in The King’s Mirror, ca. 1250.

‘Nowhere else did we advance at a slower pace, nor toil so hard each step ofthe way, nor endure so much deprivation and suffering; and nowhere else didthe discoveries made promise less material gain.’ This is how Fridtjof Nansenbegins Northern Mists, his great opus about early Arctic exploration. He himselfhad paid the price for getting further north than any other human being. ‘Wemay have struggled, but we also experienced great satisfaction. What words candescribe the exhilaration we felt when we cleared the last ice floe, and aheadof us lay the high seas, leading to new kingdoms?’ The polar heroes’ tales ofperilous explorations held the world spellbound at the end of the 19th and thebeginning of the 20th centuries. Traversing each new latitude was celebrated asa milestone in the struggle toward higher goals: the public waited in anxiousexpectation to see which nation would have the honour of planting its flag atthe poles or sailing the northern passages. Who would add new territory tohis nation? As it happened, many returned empty-handed, while others did notcome home at all – like John Franklin’s men in the mid-19th century.

Considering Norway’s geographical location, it is natural to assume thatthe country always played a part in the exploration of ‘polar regions’. Bothgeographically and climatically, Norway’s northern coasts border on northern‘polar regions’. The dynamic conditions in the atmosphere and oceans, andthe Gulf Stream – whose mild Atlantic air masses collide with Arctic currentsand polar air fronts – have greatly influenced people’s ability to survive on landand at sea. The warm ocean current caresses the Norwegian coast and providesthe easiest route to the Arctic. In fact, the name Norway means ‘the road tothe north.’

It is natural to think that the inhabitants of this outpost were the first to

t h e h i s t o r y o f n o r w a y i n t h e p o l a r r e g i o n s 7

THE HISTORY OF

NORWAY IN

THE POLAR REGIONS

harvest the rich marine resources of the ‘polar regions’, like whale, seal, walrus,beluga, and shrimp.The islands and land masses are home to musk oxen, reinde-er, foxes, and vast numbers of birds of every description, and – last but notleast – the mighty king of the ice, the polar bear. The mountains, too, harbourriches: minerals and coal.

However, there is no unbroken tradition of Norwegian business activity inthe Arctic. Of course, people of Norwegian origin founded the Norse colonieson Greenland, but communications were severed, and the colony died out sometime during the Late Middle Ages. When European countries started whalingon a large scale near Spitsbergen in the 17th century, the Norwegian role wasmodest and sporadic. The same can be said of seal hunting. Norwegian activi-ty in the Arctic only began in earnest in the 19th century, and especially after1850. But when the world began to turn its eyes towards the Antarctic duringthe first decades of the 20th century, Norway had become a superpower in termsof its polar economic and trade activity.

This can also be said about polar exploration and research, in which Norwaytook part only sporadically before the end of the 19th century. Most scientificcontributions were made by other nations – in Scandinavia, principally bySweden, but also by Denmark. But then, in the late 19th and the early 20th centu-ry, Norway emerged as one of the world’s leading polar nations. This break-through was accompanied by spectacular expeditions, which caused a worldwi-de sensation. Taking the technology of the period into consideration, the Framexpedition of 1893 to 1896 could be compared to the moon voyages of ourown era.

Does the label polar nation fit Norway? That depends, of course, on whatwe mean by the term. Important criteria are polar exploration and economicand trade activity; but the term polar nation should also reflect a nation’s self-image.

Norway’s status as a polar nation depends on where one draws the bounda-ries of the Arctic, Antarctic and ‘polar regions’. In this book, ‘polar regions’means the Arctic and the Antarctic. Several criteria might be used to defineArctic boundaries: the tree line, permafrost limits, average July temperature,or (quite simply) the Arctic and Antarctic Circles. In this book, Arctic bounda-ries are generally defined as areas with an average July temperature of +10° Cor less. Strictly speaking, this means that a narrow strip of Finnmark, Norway’snorthernmost county, falls within the Arctic; but for the purposes of this book,mainland Norway has been omitted. Hunting and fishing in coastal watersare therefore not included, whilst economic and trade activity in the BarentsSea, near and on Bjørnøya, Svalbard, and Greenland falls within the definiti-on of Arctic. This demarcation is also in accordance with Norwegian publicperception as to where the northern polar regions lie.

8 p r e f a c e

Antarctic is the generic term for the land and sea areas around the SouthPole. Here, the ratio of land to sea is virtually the opposite of what is found inthe area around the North Pole. In the South, a vast land mass is surroundedby sea; and in the North, an ocean is surrounded by islands and other land areas.The Antarctic is often delimited by the ‘Antarctic Convergence’ – the line wherecold polar water collides with warm water from lower latitudes. This line ofdemarcation lies somewhere between 53° S and 62° S.

Norway’s polar history is also about culture and politics, which is unavoid-able in a book that deals with Norway’s assimilation of ‘polar regions’. It wouldbe strange to write about the birth of Norway’s Polar Institute without alsodiscussing Norwegian polar imperialism; difficult to write about Amundsenand his conquest of the South Pole without examining its effect on Norway’sself-image; impossible to write about Norwegian seal hunting without bring-ing up environmental politics and international condemnation.

What drew men into the icy regions? It was, among other things, the strong-est of all human motivations: competitiveness, the lust for power, the cravingfor honour, the thirst for knowledge, and the desire for profit. Some of the majorscientific questions of the time could only be resolved by exploring ‘polarregions’ and this is what attracted Nansen and other explorers. National andpersonal honour was also at stake. Lesser known polar explorers were concernedwith more mundane questions. For them, the ice was a place of work, a placeto earn a living. Many were perpetually captivated by the vast polar landscape,the light, and the silence.

What riches lay hidden in and beneath the vast expanses of polar ice andfrozen mountains that could tempt so many to risk life and limb to get theirshare of the wealth? What were the unsolved scientific riddles that could onlybe answered beneath polar skies?

These scientific contributions and expeditions took their toll. Just a fewyears after he was married, Fridtjof Nansen left his wife and family for an indefi-nite period of time to lead the Fram expedition of 1893, risking his own lifeand that of his mates, in his attempt to discover the routes of ocean currentsacross the polar basin. A small wooden crucifix on the grave of hunter ArneM. Olsen in the Svalbard churchyard bears witness to one of the many who lost,in the battle against the destructive Arctic forces. In his case it was scurvy; othersmight succumb to storms or the drifting ice.

After all, what was there to gain? Is the answer today the same as the oneFridtjof Nansen gave in his 1911 book Northern Mists? ‘People rarely foundriches and never discovered paradise, but we always gained more knowledge’.

t h e h i s t o r y o f n o r w a y i n t h e p o l a r r e g i o n s 9

THE EMERGENCE

OF

A POLAR NATION

European polar commerce had become important in the 17th

century. However, it was not until the early 19th century that

Norwegians developed their own hunting tradition. They

were inspired by the Russians. Many entrepreneurs generated

income, and they brought knowledge and tales of heroism to

a young nation.

Exploring the frozen territories at the ends of the world was

expensive. For a long time, this activity was reserved for the

most powerful nations. After a journey on skis across Green-

land in 1888, ‘a seed was sown’ and a thought grew. Norwegians

could also join the competition for polar records.

Early in the summer of 1820, the lodya ship St. Olav departed from Hammer-fest, Norway’s northernmost town. The ship commanded by skipper and tailorErik Fahlgren, set course for Spitsbergen. It was to be an extraordinary voyage,one of the first to have been fitted out from Northern Norway, and it must havemade Fahlgren wish he had stuck to his tailor’s trade. The ship was supposedto head straight for Spitsbergen. But when the crew sighted Bjørnøya, theydecided to go ashore and check out the terrain. There was no suitable harbourso the agreement was for Fahlgren to tack to and fro outside the island whilstthe crew rowed ashore in the tender. But out on the roadstead the skipper raninto difficulties and before he knew what was happening the ship drifted off.Fog crept in, and it became simply impossible for Fahlgren to find his wayback to Bjørnøya. His only choice was to return to Hammerfest. In time, theterrifying reality of the situation dawned on the men who were stranded onthe island. Following lengthy discussions, they decided to attempt the returnjourney in the 14-foot tender, in spite of their misgivings as to whether thiswould be possible. They stocked up on walrus meat and water, and set out onthe dangerous voyage. Their journey ended successfully, eight days later, whenthey reached Nordkyn, on the coast of Finnmark.

The crew of the St.Olav suffered from poor training and unfamiliaritywith the Arctic Ocean, but that did not put them off. Later that same summerthey set off on another fishing voyage to Bjørnøya with the same skipper. Soonafter reaching the island, they killed 180 walrus, but they were pursued bybad luck. As they were about to return to Hammerfest, the wind turned intoa full-blown storm, and the ship failed to clear the island. The storm reachedhurricane force, and the St.Olav was caught by a large wave.The vessel was liftedup and carried inland – where it remained.

t h e p i o n e e r s 13

THE PIONEERS

The men decided to try their luck yet again with the tender. After all, ithad worked once before. But the summer was drawing to an end, and the boatwas so small that some of the men had to lie down so that others could get tothe oars. Day after day, the tiny boat was tossed about by foaming waves. Then,halfway between Bjørnøya and the North Cape, the men sighted a ship, anEnglish brig, probably en route back from Archangel.

The British crew spotted the small vessel and tried in vain to pull theNorwegians aboard; but the waves were enormous, and the British dared notcome alongside the boat. In the end the men on the St. Olav decided to contin-ue towards land. Against all odds, they landed in Finnmark, safe and sound,as they had done before.

These rather inept hunting expeditions were the start of what was to growinto a major Northern Norwegian industry. However, in many Europeancountries at this time, it was not an unknown phenomenon to travel north toharvest Arctic riches.

It appears that European hunting activity in the polar seas evolved fromvirtually nothing early in the 17th century, and developed rapidly into a large-scale industry within a few decades. The industry quickly grew in importance,but the unique prerequisites for this development originated at a much earlierdate. First, it was necessary for Europeans to discover the Arctic and its riches.Second, a market had to exist – or be created – for Arctic resources. Last butnot least, technology had to be developed to utilise and process these resources.All these conditions were in place in the 16th century.

The British and Dutch led the way. They were first and foremost drivenby a desire to find alternative sea routes to the East. They were unsuccessful.However, knowledge of Arctic geography increased. The English MuscovyCompany was founded as early as 1555, opening up trade with Russia viaArchangel. In the 1580s, the Dutch joined the White Sea trade. Through thiscontact with Northern Russia, western Europeans became acquainted withthe seal and walrus hunting of the Pomors, who then hunted in the WhiteSea, the Sea of Pechora, and as far north as Novaya Zemlya.

The Dutch continued searching for the Northeast Passage in the 1590s,with varying success. During Willem Barentsz’ third expedition from 1596 to1597, Bjørnøya and Spitsbergen were discovered. The expedition was exhaus-tively documented, and a map was published in 1598. News of new territoryand its rich animal life quickly spread throughout Europe. Soon, the Britishdispatched reconnaissance expeditions. As early as in 1603 and 1604, StephenBennet sailed in to the waters around Bjørnøya; and during the next twosummers, he hunted walrus there. In 1607 Henry Hudson explored Spitsbergen,and sent home reports of abundant seal and whale resources. Whaling and sealinggrounds were known, even before the first decade of the 17th century.

14 t h e e m e r g e n c e o f a p o l a r n a t i o n

Whale and seal meat might not have been traditional European fare, buttheir by-products could be utilised. Walrus hide was made into straps and rope,and walrus teeth were valued more than ivory. Sealskin was turned into leather,which could be used in countless items. Seal and walrus were both resourcesfamiliar to northern Europeans from time immemorial; thus the market wasalready in place. Whalebone from right whales was used for springs, in furni-ture and carriages, and later in luxury products such as parasols and corset stays.Prices rose and fell with demand, in step with changing styles; and from timeto time, whalebone could demand good prices.

However, the most important by-product was fish oil, or blubber oil. Theoil extracted from whale and seal blubber had many uses – in the productionof paints and pigments, in textile and leather processing, in soap-making, andas a lubricant – all uses to which oil products are still put today. Most of thisoil, though, found its way into oil lamps. Blubber competed everywhere withvegetable oil, which was made from linseed, rape, olive oil, and ground nuts.Whale and seal blubber also competed with cod-liver oil, a major Norwegianexport since the Middle Ages. The cod-liver oil was in the main used as the poorman’s lamp-oil.

Norwegian ship-owners, principally from Bergen, took an active role in thecompetition for Arctic resources. Beginning in the late 17th century and throug-hout the 18th century, Bergen’s shipping industry supplied and equipped sealingexpeditions. In the larger scheme of things, this Norwegian activity was veryminor, but it was not insignificant. Arctic Ocean expeditions exerted a positi-ve influence on their home ports, above all Bergen, from whence continuoushunting took place in 1670 and onwards. When foreign trade was slack, ArcticOcean expeditions represented an important alternative investment for ship-owners and employment opportunities for local seamen. Products from the expedi-tions helped diversify local merchants’ stock. Foreign skippers and hunting speci-alists brought valuable expertise to the town. Yet, one cannot say that Bergen andthe other Norwegian ports, like Farsund, Arendal, Kristiansand, and Trondheim,were stamped as ‘Arctic Ocean towns’, if by that we mean that Arctic expeditionswere culturally and economically of primary importance to these towns.

Nonetheless, for the pioneers of Norway’s northern fringe, the inspiration forArctic Ocean hunting came to them not from the south, but from the east.Many Russian Pomor ships en route to Svalbard sailed via Finnmark to catchthe southerly winds, or visited settlements in Finnmark on their way home;so that Russian fishing and hunting activity in Svalbard was well known inFinnmark by the mid 18th century. There were even times when Russian shipsmight even winter in Norwegian ports. More and more Russians came toFinnmark to fish or trade with the local population – the so-called PomorTrade.


It was crucial to have an experienced man in the crow’s nest. It was his job to pilot the vessel through the ice,

while also keeping an eye out for seals.

Merchants in Hammerfest were kept informed about Svalbard by their Russianconnections. The Russian hunting industry on Svalbard flourished from 1770to 1800.

Experts disagree about how long the Pomors hunted on Spitsbergen andBjørnøya. However, it is evident that the Pomors, who called Spitsbergen‘Grumant’ (i.e. Grunlandt, ‘Greenland’), were there long before the NorthernNorwegians, despite Norway’s proximity to the hunting grounds. From timeimmemorial, the Pomors hunted seal on the White Sea ice in the winter. Inthe 16th and 17th centuries, they had extended their hunting grounds eastward,along the coast as far as the Kanin Peninsula, Pechora, and even further toNovaya Zemlya. In the 17th century or earlier, the Pomors started winteringthere. Having first established themselves on Novaya Zemlya, it was only naturalthat they sooner or later would continue out to sea to find new hunting groundsto the northwest (Svalbard).

A Northern Norwegian polar sea industry

For no other town in Norway was Arctic Ocean hunting more important thanfor Hammerfest. Other factors contributed to the town’s expansion, not leastPomor trading. The commander of a Norwegian naval schooner visitingHammerfest in 1816 noted a multitude of Pomors. Boats loaded with fish filledthe harbour, and the town’s streets ‘were so littered with discarded fish entrailsthat one could slip on them at any moment’. During this period, fishing andthe Pomors were key elements of the town’s economy; but when the Britishgeologist Robert Everest visited Hammerfest in 1827, it was his impression thatArctic hunting had become the town’s staple industry.

Initially, prices of Arctic Ocean produce were high, and everyone mademoney from expeditions. In 1826, one ship sold its entire haul even beforecoming alongside the quay in Hammerfest. But prices fell towards the end ofthe 1820s, and walrus hide, which was used for shoe soles, sold badly. Walrushide was also used in Finland and Russia to make thongs for horse-drawnvehicles, but it was difficult to prepare the hide and render it saleable.Hammerfest merchants tried, with varying success, to market walrus hide inEngland, France, and other countries, where industrialisation increased demandfor durable transmission belts.

At first, the price reduction did not cause activities to slow down. Statisticsshow that up until 1835, ten to 12 ships left Hammerfest for the huntinggrounds every year, on average; and only four or five left from Tromsø. Thechange came in the 1830s. From then on, and until 1850, only five or six shipsleft Hammerfest each year for Svalbard, and and the over-wintering came to a


standstill. This was no doubt owing to the fact that the walrus becameincreasingly rare, combined with the rising death rate amongst hunters. Inthe winter of 1834–35, two hunting parties from Tromsø, totalling 14 men,perished on Spitsbergen and Bjørnøya. But there were still one or more over-winterings in the 1840s. In some instances, ship-owners demanded that ifsummer hunting had been a failure, then crews had to winter on the islands.Some winterings were involuntary, caused by the ship sinking, freezing inor drifting off and unable to find its way back to the crew..

It was rumoured that Norwegians could not tolerate the harsh climate onSvalbard as well as the ‘hardier Russians’ could. The European concept of thetough Russian was an old one (cf. Montesquieu’s assertion that one must flaya Russian before he feels pain). Some must also have heard the dubious-sounding but true tale of the four Russian hunters from Mezen, who were forcedto winter on Svalbard’s Edge Island, after the ship disappeared with the rest ofthe crew. The four survived in the icy wasteland, with no other equipment thana rifle with 12 rounds of ammunition, a tinder box, an axe, a knife, and akettle. After five years one of them succumbed to scurvy, but the others wererescued one year later by another Russian hunting vessel that wind and weatherhad driven in their direction.

The Mezeners’ long wintering on Edge Island is the first and most famousof Svalbard’s Robinson Crusoe tales. Nothing that came later could evercompare with it. But we know that in the 19th century even the Russians lostsome of their ability to survive on Svalbard. In the 1830s, the Pomors died‘like flies’, as did the Norwegians; and in the 1840s Russian ship-owners stoppedsending hunting expeditions to Svalbard.

Norwegian hunting expeditions also experienced difficult times in the1830s, and the Governor of Finnmark County questioned whether walrushunting had not been pursued ‘with too much zeal’. The many shipwreckssuffered by Norwegian and Russian hunters appear to be connected to thewalruses’ retreat further north and east on Spitsbergen. Hunters were forcedto hunt walrus in new and partly uncharted and dangerous waters. At the endof the 1830s, pessimism was tangible in both Hammerfest andTromsø. In 1838,only one ship from Tromsø took part in the hunt, and the newspaper TromsøTidende insinuated that Northern Norwegian Arctic Ocean hunting would soonbe a thing of the past.

The 1840s started on a pessimistic note. In 1841 reports from Hammerfestdeclared that Svalbard, ‘this river of riches, which in days of old flowed throughour town and created large oil and blubber depots, is now drying up’. Then,two years later the Spitsbergen hunting season was particularly successful. Theice broke up at a point, probably north of Spitsbergen, where the waters hadbeen blocked for many years ‘and ships’ crews indulged in the magnificent sight


of a large number of walruses resting on the shore’. However, this proved ananomaly, and the 1840s were difficult years.The Russians stayed away, althoughthat did not mean that they had given up Arctic Ocean hunting completely.They moved some of their activity to Novaya Zemlya, where the new boomwas fishing for beluga (white whale). The Pomors tried to get things going againon Svalbard in 1851–52, but the results were depressing. This led to severaltragic episodes, which put a stop to Russian hunting on Svalbard.

Svalbard was thus at the disposal of the Norwegians. But in the long runthey were obliged to look east. The 1870s saw a major shift in hunting grounds,towards Novaya Zemlya and the Kara Sea. Once again the Norwegians followedin the wake of the Russians, but even in those waters, hunting was in decline.From Norwegian and Russian sources we can conclude that Pomors and their oceanfarming were now viewed differently. In the 18th century the Pomors wereconsidered skilful and experienced fishermen and hunters who could teachthe Norwegians a thing or two. However, during the 19th century the Pomors’and the northern Russians’ Arctic fishing and hunting skills gradually beganto lag behind, as rapid economic and demographic developments took place


In 1838 the French scientific La Recherche expedition documented clear traces of Russian acti-

vity on Svalbard.

on the Norwegian side of the border. Arctic Ocean activities of the Pomors weremore frequently considered backward, their boats badly adapted to the indus-try, and their equipment unfit for use. Norwegians took the lead, as was evidentfrom their new ships: yachts, sloops, and schooners overtook the discardedand re-rigged Russian lodya, which had dominated Northern Norwegian seamammal hunting in the 1820s and 30s.

New ships from the south

The Russians had disappeared, but soon Northern Norwegian boats encoun-tered competition from unexpected quarters – from Vestfold, a county inSouthern Norway. This trend also started modestly. In the 1830s the Mikkelsenbrothers from Vestfold County, Anders and Peder, settled in Hammerfest topursue Arctic Ocean hunting. They were successful but their boats were nolarger than the Hammerfest boats and owing to the recession profits were longin coming. In 1844, when Peder Mikkelsen fitted out his boat the Enighedenin Tønsberg, a young man named Svend Foyn signed on as a crew member, andalso helped finance the expedition. The journey took them to Bjørnøya,Svalbard, and Hopen, and was replete with drama. Foyn realised that the smallships that were fitted out in Finnmark, would never yield much financially.His ideas of hunting were completely different and more efficient. He thoughtthat voyages should be made north of Iceland, between Greenland and JanMayen, in the so-called Western Ice Fields, rather than in the Northern orEastern Ice Fields.

Svend Foyn (1809–94) was to become the key person in the developmentof Southern Norwegian Arctic Ocean hunting in the 19th century. He workedhard to carve out a seafaring profession; he studied foreign languages and naviga-tion. He passed his skipper exams when he was 19, and five years later wascommissioned as captain of a timber vessel. In many ways he represented the‘puritanical capitalist’; he was convinced that ‘if he was a God-fearing man,and made himself worthy through unstinting toil, then the Lord would blessall his efforts, in the Old Testament tradition.’

Foyn did not follow Northern Norwegian hunting traditions. Instead, helearnt from the Scots and English, who for many years had been hunting sealwith large vessels in the Western Ice Fields. This was large-scale seal hunting;but even this form of hunting was facing fundamental changes. The slaughterhad been so extensive that seals were retreating ever further into the ice. Topursue the animals, more powerful and efficient boats were needed. Built ofseveral layers of strong wood, the vessels were reinforced with iron rails andcapable of breaking a lead through the ice. The shape of the bow was of vital


importance. The stem at the waterline was slanted so that the boat could slideup onto the ice and thereby break it down. Had the stem been built bolt upright,the ship might easily have succumbed to the ice’s embrace. The solid bow washeld together by 16-foot iron bolts. Several of the sealers had two layers outsidethe timber frame, overlain with an ice-resistant layer made of greenheart, beech,or oak. In addition, closely packed iron rails ran along the entire side of the ship,from stem to stern. Foyn had a ship like this built in 1845, called Haabet (TheHope).

The first season in the Western Ice Fields, however, was unsuccessful. Thecrew of the Haabet caught no more than 937 seals. That meant a huge deficit;and the men were dissatisfied. Some lost confidence in Foyn’s brainstorms.The 1847 season did not look promising either. The ship reached the sealinggrounds, having made good time, but then got stuck in the ice. Together withtwo ships from Germany and one from Denmark, the Haabet came to a stand-still. Foyn realised there were plenty of seal nearby, but how were they to getto them? The other three ships gave up and returned home, but Foyn pressedon into the ice and was rewarded beyond measure. The yield was 6,000 seals.The new ship construction had passed with flying colours.

Foyn built a new ship in 1853, the Eliezer. It was much larger than theHaabet, being 480 tonnes, with a crew of 60 and nine tenders. Like all Foyn’sships, the Eliezer was green with a yellow stripe along its bow. Year in and yearout, the ship’s haul broke all records. In April 1858 the Eliezer returned fromthe Western Ice Fields with 16,400 baby seals; the hunt had lasted a mere fivedays and had brought in the largest catch ever by a Norwegian vessel. For afew seasons Foyn’s hunting continued undisturbed by his southern Norwegianrivals. Before long, however, others followed in his wake. First there wasCornelius Bull, in his brig the Fremad, in 1852. Bull’s first effort was a failure,but soon Lady Luck smiled on him as well. Other ship-owners followed, notjust from Tønsberg, but from the nearby southern Norwegian towns ofSandefjord, Larvik, Horten, and Holmestrand. But like Northern Norway,where Hammerfest and Tromsø had dominated the trade, the SouthernNorwegian seal industry also became a ‘tale of two cities’: Tønsberg and Sande-fjord. These two cities predominantly controlled southern Norwegian sealhunting, which in the mid 19th century included over 30 vessels and employedmore than 1,500 men. Most of the ships were built using the same principlesas Foyn’s Haabet and Eliezer.

The Southern Norwegian seal hunters operated between Spitsbergen, Iceland,and Greenland, in the area called the Western Ice Fields. Hunting vessels fromHammerfest and Tromsø had visited it as early as the 1830s; but when huntingstarted in earnest, Northern Norwegian vessels proved too small and fragile


to tackle the region’s challenges. They participated with difficulty in ‘cub-hunting’ early in the season; the crossing was too perilous for these ships, notleast owing to the dangers of icing. Nonetheless, prominent citizens of Tromsøinsisted that their town was superior to any town in Southern Norway, wherehunting in the west was concerned. Toward the end of the 1850s, a partner-ship arose in order to operate the brig Jan Mayen, for the purpose of challeng-ing Southern Norwegian seal hunters and bringing the Tromsø hunt up topar. In addition to the skipper, the Jan Mayen carried four to six harpooners anda crew of 27, which was most unusual on a Northern Norwegian hunting vessel.The ship was under the command of the experienced Arctic Ocean skipperElling Carlsen. On behalf of the partnership, Carlsen was sent to Tønsberg tofamiliarise himself with seal-hunting in the Western Ice Fields. Later, JohanHauan took command of the Jan Mayen, but the ship was never the success itwas made out to be. The vessel did not sail well, either; it was too small andlight to force its way through such thick and extensive ice.

When Foyn started to equip his ships with steam engines in the 1860s,he distanced himself even further from the Northern Norwegians. The questionarose whether the North Norwegian hunters should not also fit their boatsout with auxiliary steam engines. Engines would ensure a faster and saferpassage, and in addition the actual hunt would be more efficient. Storms andfog were a hazard in the Arctic Ocean; but even in calm weather, huntingcould be difficult. A ship might have drifted off for miles during storms andrough weather, and moved away from the ice and the hunting grounds. Andthere it remained, until the wind started to blow again.

The main problem, however, was that Northern Norwegian sailing vesselswere unable to force their way through solid ice. They had to operate on theoutskirts of the ice and were only able to reach land once the ice broke up.For instance, it was difficult for the ships to perform well in the White Sea,where they were constantly being overtaken by Southern Norwegian vessels.


Fridtjof Nansen’s map of the hunting grounds in the Western Ice Fields and the 1882 route of

the hunting vessel the Viking. Nansen took part in the trip, which lasted fromMarch to July, and

he collected data for his doctoral thesis.

The catch

As the passage from Tønsberg to the Western Ice took place as early as Februaryor March, the weather was usually bad, and the skippers were constantly report-ing that ‘this time the weather was the worst we have ever experienced’. Butto take part in the so-called ‘cub-hunting’ in the Western Ice Fields, it was neces-sary to go early. The Greenland seal drops its pups at the end of March in thevicinity of Jan Mayen. In the White Sea, this takes place 20 to 30 days earlier.The exact location varied from year to year. Seals might be clustered into smalleror larger herds, tightly packed on ice floes that were spread over large areas.The idea of the hunt was to find the herds; so as soon as the ships arrived, theystarted to explore the edge of the ice, in search of a way in to the ice proper. Thismight result in the ship becoming icebound, but as the ice drifted southwards,it would then pull loose and start the search all over again.

During this phase the atmosphere onboard could be tense. The skipperwould take up his position in the crow’s nest, searching the horizon with hislong field-glasses – back and forth, back and forth - while the ship moved slowlyforward. If the field-glasses stopped moving, tension on deck rose. At last, theseal pups were spotted. ‘Now’, as Fridtjof Nansen wrote in On Skis acrossGreenland, ‘stoke the fires and get going after the seal, as quickly as possible.Otherwise, one might run the risk of being beaten to it. There is no loyalty ingambling, as the saying goes; and this certainly goes for the seal hunt in the ArcticOcean. Here everyone is hell bent on swindling something out of someone.’

The ice in the Western Ice Fields might be thick enough to walk on, so crewcould walk straight off the ship; but sometimes they used tenders. Each manwho took part in the hunt was furnished with a seal pickaxe, a flaying knife, asharpening iron, and a so-called dragstert or pulling hook. The pickaxe wasthe most important implement. It was about five foot long. On top of the imple-ment, there was a pick with a long spike on one side, and a short hammer onthe other. The pickaxe was useful when jumping from floe to floe, but its mainpurpose was to kill seal pups. The pickaxe was useful when jumping from floeto floe but its main purpose was to kill seal-pups. For that purpose the longspike was used.

Seal pups were too young to take refuge in the ice-cold water; that wouldhave killed them. Thus, they could not escape. An accomplished hunter couldkill 200 to 300 pups per day, fleece them, and pile up the hides. Naturally,hunters could not allow themselves much emotion. While mature seals werehunted from a distance with high calibre rifles, seal pups were slaughtered atclose range. The author Jonas Lie, who accompanied a Southern Norwegiansealer in 1870, describes the look that met the hunters’ eyes, the moment thepickaxe was raised to strike the seal pup’s head. ‘The seal pup has an expression


Seal hunting near Jan Mayen in the late 19th century.

in its beautiful blue eyes that is so strangely soft, trustworthy, and pleading, thatit is like a child’s; and that look, before they become immune to it, has bothe-red many men who otherwise are not bothered by much.’

From Tromsø and Hammerfest, passage to the hunting grounds usually tookplace at the end of March or first half of April. If the winds were favourable,the journey only took a few days. As soon as the ship arrived at the huntinggrounds, preparations were made for the hunt. The two small boats on deckwere launched, made ready, and manned. The equipment consisted of somerifles, lances, six to seven harpoons, and ten to 12 fathoms of rope. A typicalcrew on one of these light boats was made up of a captain, a harpooner, a so-called linesman and a ‘stern sheets’ man, i.e., the cook whose place was in theback of the boat. It was important for the light boat not to lose contact withthe mother ship. If a harbour was not at hand, the ship would tack back andforth as close to the light boat as possible; and if visibility was bad, a gunshotwould be fired from time to time, or a trumpet would be sounded. When neces-sary, the ship’s boat could sail away from the mother ship. Normally, a light boatcarried provisions for up to eight days.

When setting out in the ship’s small hunting boat, it was important tokeep a lookout for walrus. Walrus normally stayed on the ice off the coast, butmight also have been in the sounds between small islands and skerries. Whenthe crew surprised a herd of walruses on land, the most efficient method ofattack was to strike from the sea, using rifles and lances. If the animals thatlay closest to the shore could be killed first, the remainder of the herd wouldbe prevented from escaping into the water, and the haul would be huge.However, walrus no longer languished on the shores, like in ‘the good old days’,during the pioneering era of the 1820s and 30s. The hunt had become moredifficult. It became standard practice to use field-glasses to take one’s bearingson a small herd on the ice floes; and then slowly and carefully close in,downwind. If the walrus smelt a rat, it would dive into the water and swim away.

But if everything went well, the boat could get close enough for the harpo-oner, poised at the prow, to just thrust his harpoon into the walrus’s body. Itwas the linesman’s job to make sure the rope was available and unobstructed,so it could unreel and not miss its mark. When the walrus was struck it woulddive as far as the rope would let it go. But sooner or later, the walrus had tosurface, and then the harpooner would be ready to attack again, with a lance ora rifle. Sometimes a walrus would swim off, dragging a boat with it at high speed.A very large walrus might attack the boat with its enormous tusks to try and pierceit. However, the crew could repair the damage; most ship’s boats carried a largesheet of lead, which was used to repair holes made by attacking walruses.

If several walruses were caught by surprise at the same time, the harpooner


Walruses lying in the sun on the beach. This distinctively Arctic

animal, with its valuable tusks and all its blubber, was hunted

to such an extent that almost all were killed off, until they

became a protected species in the beginning of the 1950s.

would try and strike all of them before they escaped. But if these were bulls, itwas unwise to tackle more than two at a time; and even that might cause a danger-ous situation.The walruses might pull in different directions, capsizing the boat.Sometimes, five or six walruses might be caught at once; but these were usuallycows. Reportedly, the record was held by Ludvig Sebulonsen of Tromsø, whocaught eight walruses without harming any of the crew. Under certain circum-stances, though, cows might also attack. Johannes Person Kyrö of Hammerfestonce harpooned a pup. The mother attacked, capsized the boat, and took theharpooner down with her. He floated up after a while, virtually scalped and withsome of his teeth knocked out. But he was alive and was hauled onboard the boat.

Other mammals in the waters around Svalbard were the bearded seal andseal. They were shot with rifles and then fastened with harpoons before theysank. Norwegians learnt to catch beluga white whale like the Russians. However,the first breakthrough for that trade was in the 1860s.That is when special whitewhale seines came into use. They were 150 fathoms long, four to five fathomsdeep, and attached to a thick rope. Fishing began by stretching the seine acrossa shallow creek where the white whales were known to swim. A test of patien-ce ensued. It was necessary to keep watch day and night in order to be on thespot when the white whales migrated – or rather rushed into the stream. Thatphenomenon occurred only once a summer. A passage was kept open betwe-en land and one side of the seine net, allowing white whale entry. When theentire school was snared inside the seine wall, the net was drawn towards landwith the aid of a winch. As many as one hundred white whales might be hauledin, and each whale was worth about the same as a walrus.

In addition the hunters gathered eggs and down, especially of eider duck,but that was a sideline they only resorted to if the walrus stayed away. Eggand down gathering could be plied by boats with no more than three or fourcrew. Reindeer hunting took place in the autumn, immediately before the returnjourney. In spring, Svalbard reindeer were so scrawny that its meat was virtu-ally inedible; but in the autumn, the reindeer could get so fat that hunters cuttallow – inches thick – off the animals. During the reindeer hunt, polar bearswould often harass the men who shot the bears, initially in self-defence. Buteventually, hunters pursued any polar bear whenever they saw one from thecrow’s nest. Later, towards the end of the 19th century, polar bear hunting develo-ped into a lucrative business, particularly for those Norwegians who winteredon Svalbard. Whether the hunt had been good or not, the ships returned toHammerfest or Tromsø in August or September. Prolonging a stay might haveresulted in the boat being frozen in, and the crew being forced to spend thewinter on Svalbard. Many were the tales of crews who met that fate.


Fickle ice

The men’s safety on the hunting grounds depended upon wind and weather,and on the fickle ice. In those days, there was no meteorologist to tell hunterswhat to expect. Weather could change rapidly, and the ship was constantly indanger of being crushed by pack ice or suffering some similar fate. Nevertheless,there were significant differences between various hunting grounds. In the so-called Eastern Ice Fields, sealers only had to contend with winter ice, knownas ‘bay ice’. That was difficult enough when northerly winds set the ice inmotion, packing it tight. If a storm lasted, it could become hard to manoeuv-re in the shallow waters near the approach to the White Sea. Despite manyshipwrecks, few crews were lost, because it was usually possible to walk acrossthe ice to nearby boats or to the mainland.

In the Western Ice Fields, ice conditions were more complex. New ice wassteadily arriving with the currents that flowed from north of Franz Josef Landand Spitsbergen, toward Eastern Greenland and Jan Mayen. Between Spits-bergen and Iceland, ice conditions were particularly variable, from year to year,depending on wind, weather, and currents; as is the case even today. Pack iceforms, grows, breaks up, and is packed together by wind and current; and theice melts, and eventually disappears in the seas south of Jan Mayen. The parti-cular characteristics of the currents meant that the sealers would often let thems-elves deliberately freeze in and drift south with the current. They hitched aride on the ice, and accompanied it to about 75° N, where they disentangledthemselves from it. If during the ride they had failed to fill their holds, theywould sail north once again and repeat the manoeuvre. In spite of their daringbouts with the ice, solidTønsberg vessels were rarely shipwrecked. However, whenthey were wrecked, damage and suffering were great, because crews on these shipswere large.The worst catastrophe was in 1871, just as the people ofTønsberg werepreparing for the town’s millennium celebrations. Foyn’s Haabet sailed into the icein stormy weather, and ship and its crew disappeared. Forty-five men were lost.

Many more, albeit smaller, ships were lost in the Northern Ice Fields. Notmany Arctic Ocean skippers avoided ship-wreck if their whole lives were spentworking in the polar seas. In any event, relatively small calamities could addup to major catastrophes; as in 1872, when six ships became icebound nearGråhuken and Velkomstpynten on the north coast of Spitsbergen. Seventeenmen from the icebound ships left in October for Isfjorden, where they lodgedin a house built for scientific purposes by polar explorer Adolf ErikNordenskiöld. They all died of scurvy that same winter. Two men who stayedwith the ships at Gråhuken also died. That same year, on Novaya Zemlya,veteran SivertTobiesen and his son, Jakop, died of scurvy during a forced winter-ing.


Toward the East

The Arctic Ocean was thus not a field which yielded the same amount everyyear. Ship-owners and skippers in Tromsø and Hammerfest were preoccupiedwith making the hunt a safer and more consistent business proposal. That couldbe accomplished by opening up new hunting grounds, which would allow fordiversification. Until about 1860, Northern Norwegian vessels hunted almostexclusively on Bjørnøya and along the west coast of Spitsbergen. Then huntingactivities expanded rapidly with the result that stocks of walrus, seal and polarbear dwindled equally rapidly. Hunters were forced further north and east, intounknown waters, where they made some important geographical discoveries.More frequently, they sailed to the Norwegian Islands and Verlegenhook, whichwere considered good hunting grounds, and on to the Seven Islands. Closerto the ice pack, these places north of Spitsbergen experienced less fog and calmerseas than along the west coast. When the west wind prevailed, ice drifted towardsSpitsbergen’s west coast and prevented ships from making headway.

It was difficult to get to Nordaustlandet and the entire east coast ofSpitsbergen in general. Not many dared sail east of the Seven Islands, as it wasthought that the passage onwards to the so-called North Gate, the approachto the Hinlopen Strait, between Spitsbergen and Nordaustlandet, was barredby ice most of the summer. The same was true of the South Gate, at the mouthof the strait. Thus, the north and east coasts of Nordaustlandet were basicallyunexplored by Norwegian sailors who frequented Spitsbergen. The east coastof Spitsbergen, due to the ice conditions, was considered more inaccessible thanit actually was. It is interesting to note that the first time a skipper from NorthernNorway set eyes on King Karl’s Land was in 1859.That skipper was Elling Carlsen.

In 1863 Carlsen made a truly pioneering journey on the Jan Mayen, firstthrough the Hinlopen Strait, and then back the same way. But instead of return-ing along the west coast, which was the usual route, Carlsen decided to tryand sail around Nordaustlandet, and then travel further south, all the way toSouth Cape. He encountered no major ice problems, and he ascertained thatthe entire east coast of Nordaustlandet was covered by a continuous series ofglaciers which reached right down to the sea. Having made the first successfulNorwegian circumnavigation of Svalbard, Carlsen also returned from hisjourney with a full hold. He was not as lucky the following year, when his rigwent overboard, and he had to rescue himself and his crew using the smallrowboats.

Quite a few other boats ventured beyond North Gate that summer, and thewaters around Nordaustlandet remained ice-free. From here, ships could contin-ue due south and hunt along the east coast of Spitsbergen. This opened upnew hunting grounds, greater resources, and increased flexibility. When a strong


west wind forced pack ice in toward the west coast of Spitsbergen, renderingit inaccessible, vessels could head for the east coast, where the wind swept fromland to sea and kept the waters free of ice. And vice versa: when the wind camefrom the east, and sent pack ice toward the east coast of Spitsbergen, hunterscould opt for the west coast route.

Encouraged by his partner Consul O.I. Finckenhagen of Hammerfest,Elling Carlsen journeyed eastward to the Murman coast in 1867, in order tofind new hunting grounds in Russian waters. This journey marked the startof Norwegian hunting near Novaya Zemlya and in the Kara Sea.

Elling Carlsen was again blessed by the weather gods, and he sailed eastwardsunchecked until he reached the mouth of the Kara Sea. The Solid continuedunimpeded into the Kara Sea before returning via Yugorskiy Shar, which isthe strait between the island of Vaygach and the Russian mainland. Carlsenprobably had no idea how great a feat he had accomplished, almost inadver-tently. According to prevailing Russian beliefs – on which many Westerngeographers based their knowledge – the Kara Sea was ‘an ice cellar’ that formedan effective barrier to passage along the north coast of Eurasia. However, Carlsenand his men discovered open seas, and experienced no problems with the ice.

When Elling Carlsen returned to the same area the following year, hejourneyed much farther into the Kara Sea, and went as far as Belyy Ostrov onthe northern tip of the Yamal Peninsula. This time he returned via the ‘MatkaStraits’ (known as the Matthew Straits or Matochkin Shar), which divideNovaya Zemlya in two. Carlsen was accompanied by a second vessel, fromHammerfest. The newspaper Finmarksposten reported that both ships had re-turned safely, with large hauls; and the paper predicted that in the followingyear every sealer in Hammerfest and Tromsø would abandon Svalbard and optto sail for Novaya Zemlya. In 1869, there were no fewer than 18 Norwegianships at the new hunting grounds. That year, Finckenhagen tried to send aship to the estuary of the White Sea, to explore further; but weather conditionswere prohibitive. However, in 1871, a new attempt was successful, and as aconsequence, even more areas were opened to Norwegian hunters.

Sailing ships were not very manoeuvrable, as noted above, but in goodweather the Norwegian vessels could approach the ice barrier at the entranceto the White Sea, and then catches could be extraordinary. That did not happenevery year. The Gulf Stream does not reach as far east as the White Sea, so theice tends to form a continuous, solid mass. The extreme edges of the ice wereexposed to waves from the Arctic Ocean; so to enter the area, conditionsrequired an offshore breeze and reasonably calm weather. If that proved impos-sible, ships could continue on to Novaya Zemlya. Alternatively, as the summerwore on, they could set sail for Spitsbergen or Bjørnøya. The season in theEastern Ice Fields was usually over, by the time it began in the Northern Ice


TheAustro-HungarianTegetthoffexpedition thatdiscovered

Franz Josef Land in 1873. Elling Carlsen was the ice pilot

on the expedition.

Fields. The opening up of hunting grounds in the east gave the polar huntersmore opportunities, so the risks of returning empty-handed were considera-bly reduced. It seemed that the Arctic Ocean industry was assured for theforeseeable future.

The opening up of new hunting grounds in the Eastern Ice Fields pro-duced major growth opportunities for Hammerfest and Tromsø, at a time whenindustrial development elsewhere was increasing the demand for oil products.Developments in communications and better transportation along the entireNorwegian coast made it easier to move products from the Arctic Ocean tomajor markets abroad. Expansion in Tromsø not only equalled Hammerfestin the 1860s, but even overtook her. But the Eastern Ice Fields held a new andspecial danger that the Northern Ice Fields did not. Unlike Svalbard, thesenew hunting grounds could not be considered as ‘no man’s land’ – just like that.After all, they were on the frontiers of Russian territory. This created a great dealof political uncertainty; and starting in the late 19th century, Russia guardedits territorial rights with increasing vigilance.

The Empire strikes back

The Norwegian government warned hunters who sailed east against challeng-ing Russian interests or violating Russian territory. They had good reasons. ThePomors had hunted around Novaya Zemlya since time immemorial, and werenot too keen on the invasion of Norwegian hunters. During the 1870s, severalconfrontations between Norwegian and Russian hunters were reported; themost serious being in 1878, when the crew of the Prøven, out of Tromsø, gotinto a brawl with the crews of two boats from Kem, Obshchee Schastye (OurMutual Delight) and Svyatoy Sergiy (the Holy Sergius). The Russians accusedthe Tromsø crew of having destroyed a number of old, Russian wooden crosses,which were plentiful along the coast of Novaya Zemlya. The Russians asked the‘uninvited’ guests to leave, but allegedly the Norwegians threatened to kill them.The upshot of this episode was that the Pomors disarmed the foreigners andconfiscated all weapons on board the Prøven.

Russian newspapers reported the alleged ‘vandalism’ on Novaya Zemlyaand claimed that Norwegians sought to undermine Russia’s historic right to the‘twin islands’. However, Russian authorities chose to act cautiously, probablyto avoid complicating their relationship to the United Kingdoms of Norwayand Sweden.The authorities cautioned against excessively harsh reprisals againstNorwegian skippers, because they feared that this could provoke Norwegiancountermeasures affecting the Pomors’ right to fish and trade in Finnmark.Russia lacked naval bases on its northern coast, so that any supervision or surveil-


lance had to be conducted from the Baltic, a solution that was very expensive.Ever increasing Norwegian activity in Russian waters, combined with a rise

in the number of scientific expeditions made by other countries, led Russia torestrict access to its territorial waters at the end of the 19th century. In 1893the old cruiser Nayezdnik was despatched north from the Baltic Sea.Though notits primary brief, it was under order to keep an eye on Norwegian sealers. Duringthe first season, the Nayezdnik seized seven Norwegian sealers. The justice ofthe peace in Kola confiscated the catches of four vessels and fined their skippers.

These arrests shocked Northern Norwegian hunters, and there was tremen-dous dissatisfaction at the Swedish-Norwegian Foreign Office’s failure to protestthe seizures. The Foreign Office had its legitimate reasons for its behaviour.During this period, Norway was fiercely protective of its own territorial waters,employing a policy that differed considerably from the system elsewhere onthe continent. Whereas European countries generally observed the three-milelimit and baselines of no more than 10 nautical miles, Norway demanded afour-mile limit and a long baseline which, for instance, included all of Vestfjordand Varangerfjord. If Norway provoked any excessively close entanglement withits ‘big neighbour’, this might lead a presumptuous Russia to copy Norway’sexample, and demand a baseline extending all the way from Svatoy Nos to KaninNos. Such a move would have barred Norwegian sealers from entering theWhite Sea. Instead of directly intervening in the Nayezdnik case, the ForeignOffice offered the ship-owners diplomatic support by presenting the Tsar witha petition for mercy. Russian authorities chose to look kindly upon the petiti-on; and, on the occasion of Nicholas II’s coronation in 1896 – an event accom-panied by various ‘expressions of mercy’ – the sentences and fines were repea-led. The hunters were even compensated for the loss of their catches.

In seizing the Norwegian ships in 1893, the Russian government was takinga clear stance to protect its own territorial waters, while its pardon served tomaintain the traditionally excellent relationship with the United Kingdomsof Norway and Sweden. The firm posture on territorial waters was possiblythe reason why the Norwegian catch in the Eastern Ice Fields declined in thefollowing years. In 1893, 44 Norwegian ships had made the journey to the area;but the next year, the number was less than half that, and stayed at that reducedlevel until the turn of the century. The first Russian initiative to protect theseal population from excessive hunting was in 1898, when the St. Petersburgdivision of the Society for the Promotion of the Russian Merchant Fleet suggest-ed the prohibition of all seal hunting in the White Sea estuary. However, anyreal protection of the ‘Russian seal’ was still a long way off.

The Russian government tried to strengthen its grip on the region by persu-ading more Nenets, a Samoyed people, to settle on the virtually deserted NovayaZemlya, and hunt on behalf of a state-owned trading company run by the


Governor of Archangel. This caused problems, because the Nenets did not seetheir role in life as empire builders. On the contrary, the Nenets welcomedthe Norwegian presence; to them, Norwegians were potentially valuable tradingpartners. Norwegians could provide them with goods to which they mightnot otherwise have access via Archangel, and provide them with a more lucra-tive market for their own products. During the winter of 1902–03, a Norwegianscientific expedition led by the geophysicist Hans Riddervold, wintered onNovaya Zemlya. It was one of four expeditions that operated that winter underthe auspices of Kristian Birkeland and the Aurora Borealis program. A spokes-man for the Nenets contacted Riddervold, asking him to convey a greeting toKing Oscar II, and to inform the king that conditions for the Nenets on NovayaZemlya were now so difficult, that their only hope lay in Norwegian annexa-tion of the island.

The episode never came to the attention of the Russians, and thus therewas no occasion to counter the information. In the years after 1905, anotherproblem arose: Norwegian hunters started to winter on Novaya Zemlya. In 1910,this led to a serious diplomatic crisis between Norway and Russia. In the end,the hunters were evacuated, and Norway accepted the Russian standpoint, thatNovaya Zemlya was entirely a Russian possession and Norwegian wintering onthe archipelago was improper and a violation of Russian territory.

Swedish science and Norwegian seamanship

Despite the unrest involving Novaya Zemlya, Northern Norwegian voyagesand skippers attracted positive attention in certain Russian circles. The generalopinion was that Norwegian activity was to Russia’s advantage, as it produceddata that was important for exploration of the Kara Sea, that would otherwi-se have been difficult to collect, owing to navigational problems in that region.The Norwegian voyages also coincided with an extensive economic and scien-tific project that was being attempted towards the end of the Czar’s reign –the endeavour to open up a northerly sea route from Western Europe to themouth of the major Siberian rivers: the Ob and the Yenisey. This venture wouldsignificantly affect the economic development of Western Siberia.

This idea was first presented by Northern Russian gold-mining tycoonMichail Sidorov in the 1860s. Very early on, Sidorov envisioned the possibili-ties of involving Norwegian entrepreneurs and seamen in the work, in orderto better realise his grandiose scheme. He came to Norway in 1868 to publi-cise his proposal. Among those he spoke with were A.E. Nordenskiöld, SvendFoyn, as well as Elling Carlsen, whom he met in Hammerfest. Despite greatinterest in Sidorov’s plans, which would have had wide-reaching consequen-


ces for Northern Norway, the project was put on hold. Sidorov promised a prizeof one thousand silver roubles to any skipper who sailed to the Bay of Ob,and on down the river to the city of Obdorsk – today’s Salekhard. A few yearslater, in 1871, Tromsø skipper Fritz Mack hoped to win the prize. He sailedfurther east in the Kara Sea than anyone before him, all the way to 81° 11’ E,which is just east of the Yenisey estuary. Mack spotted neither ice nor the pheno-menon known as ‘iceblink’. Mack believed that it was possible to continuesailing, all the way to Bering Strait. But he also knew that Siberian estuariesfroze in September; and so when it became dark in the evenings, he decidedto turn around. That same year, Søren Johannesen of Tromsø sailed to themouth of the Ob; but neither he nor Mack thought that as responsible skippersof hunting vessels, that they should risk ship and crew in order to carry outSidorov’s plans.

Of course, hunting was the all-important purpose of Norwegian ArcticOcean voyages, although quite a few skippers were interested in geographicaland scientific questions. This curiosity might have arisen as a result of theircontact with Swedish polar explorers, who in the 1850s and 1860s hired vesselsand crews out of Tromsø for expeditions to Svalbard. In later years, the bigand solid ships from Vestfold were considered more suitable expedition vesselsfor foreign (and, later, also Norwegian) polar explorers. It is reasonable to assumethat people like Jacob Melsom and, later, C.A. Larsen, became interested inresearch because they were stimulated by their dealings with scientists. In thisrespect, they differed from Svend Foyn, who more than once declared hislack of interest in science, and who was furthermore unwilling to support itfinancially.

Swedish scientist Otto Torell (1828–1900) was barely twenty years old whenhe discovered the Arctic mollusc known as Yoldia Arctica, in Bohuslän. Howwas this possible? Had Southern Sweden recently been submerged beneath acold ocean? His teacher, Sven Lovén (1809–95), thought so.

In June 1837, at his own expense, Lovén hired the schooner Enigheten witha Norwegian skipper and crew in Hammerfest, and he set off for Spitsbergen.When he came back to Sweden, Lovén observed that several of the species whoseshells were found in Southern Sweden, were species he had personally seen, alive,in the Arctic. Slowly it dawned on both Lovén and his pupil Torell – about thesame time as the idea came to Micahel Sars in Norway and Japetus Steenstrupin Denmark – that Spitsbergen provided totally new evidence to support Swissscientists’ bold new theories about an ice age.

That is why Torell travelled to Switzerland in 1856 to see its glaciers andtheir effect on the Alps. The following year he visited Iceland for the samereason. He inherited a substantial sum of money from his father. Torell, mostly


‘squandered’ the money on science; he travelled to the Svartisen glacier inNordland County in Norway in 1858. He then sailed with the Frithjof out ofHammerfest to the west coast of Spitsbergen. In his party were two eager youngscientists, geologist A.E. Nordenskiöld and zoologist August Quennerstedt.Theyfound an abundance of beautiful fossils from the Tertiary and CarboniferousEras, which indicated that the climate there had previously been completelydifferent. (However, it was only in the first half of the 20 th century that scientistsdiscovered that these rocks had been deposited at a time when the seabed uponwhich Svalbard rests was located on a totally different part of the earth’s crust.)Nordenskiöld was immediately captivated by the Arctic; in the barren lands-cape he had discovered a geological history book that lay open for all to read.It was a paradise for a geologist. Luck was with these men, and the weatherthat summer of 1858 was good. The realisation that much of Spitsbergen wasgeologically younger than the rest of Scandinavia simply enhanced its attrac-tion. In Scandinavia, most of the fossils discovered were of small sea creaturesand dated from the earliest periods in the earth’s history. On the other hand,Svalbard contained rich fossil deposits of land organisms, such as plants anddinosaurs. Once again footing the bill himself, Torell travelled to Greenlandin 1859 in order to study glaciers. In 1861 a large and partly state-sponsoredexpedition sailed north to Spitsbergen on two Norwegian sealing vessels, theAeolus and the Magdalena (of Tromsø). The expedition was led by Otto Torelland included eight Swedish zoologists, botanists, geologists, and astronomers.The skippers were Swedish, but the officers, Fritz Mack and one E. Breii, wereNorwegian; as were the 26 crew members, most of them being from Tromsø,like Breii and Mack.

TheTorell expedition was a giant step in polar research and the first of manySwedish polar journeys over the years. In 1863, zoologist August Quennerstedtsailed with Captain Castberg on the Norwegian sealer Jan Mayen of Christianiato the hunting grounds in the Western Ice Fields, near Jan Mayen. In 1864,Nordenskiöld and two other Swedish scientists sailed to Spitsbergen andBjørnøya on the refitted Norwegian gunboat Axel Thordsen, which was hiredin Tromsø along with Norwegian Captain Hellstad and a crew of elevenNorwegians. In 1868, the Swedish postal steamer Sofia sailed to Bjørnøya,Spitsbergen, and reached 81°42’ N with Nordenskiöld and eight scientistsaboard. The crew consisted mostly of Swedish naval officers, but six Norwegianseal hunters were signed on as well. In 1870 and 1871 Nordenskiöld visitedGreenland with two Swedish ships and numerous Swedish scientists, plus aDanish geologist. In 1870 Alfred G. Nathorst and Hjalmar M. Wilander hiredthe sloop Lydianna, and sailed to Spitsbergen, with a crew from Tromsø.

For Tromsø skippers, their contact with Norwegian meteorologist HenrikMohn was important. Mohn encouraged them to make systematic observations


Swedish research in the Arctic, 1837–80. Despite a lot

of activity close toSweden, themajor accomplishment

was A.E. Nordenskiöld’s circumnavigation of the Old

World on the Vega.

and even found sponsors to pay for scientific instruments. Every day the skipperswere to fill out an observation form, indicating barometric pressure, tempera-ture, wind speed, and precipitation; and they would undertake depth soundings,observe the currents, and check the state of the ice. On their return, they wouldbe obliged to place the ship’s logbooks at the disposal of science. The observa-tions were made during routine hunting trips, and skippers very rarely alteredtheir routes to explore land or sea. There were exceptions, such as Edvard H.Johannesen’s famous circumnavigation of Novaya Zemlya in 1870, which waspersonally encouraged by Nordenskiöld.

While Norwegian hunters did not sail eastward to open up sea routes toSiberia or to further explore the Northeast Passage, their regular business activi-ties contributed substantially to the project and even gained them internationalfame. Later some of them were more directly involved, when they signed onas crew on Nordenskiöld’s two expeditions to the Yenisey in 1875 and 1876.These voyages actually fulfilled Sidorov’s dream and opened up the sea routesto Siberia. Additionally, the Norwegians joined his Vega expedition in 1878–79,which traversed the Northeast Passage for the first time in history.

Gradually, it dawned on the hunters that their role was important. However,hunters were ‘uneducated’ men who looked upon themselves as humble sailors,and they seldom expressed themselves in writing or speeches. The hunters’ viewof their own importance was nevertheless clearly stated in oral traditions, andthese were later put in writing by, among others, the student of Finnish folk-lore, Samuli Paulaharju. On his first expedition to the Yenisey in 1875, Norden-skiöld hired the Prøven with an eleven-man crew from Tromsø under skipperIsak Nils Isaksen, who had emigrated from Pajala in northern Sweden.According to Nordenskiöld, the Prøven was the first vessel from Western Europeto reach the mouth of the Yenisey River. But the crew obviously had differentideas about this. When the Prøven rounded Yamal Peninsula and approachedthe mouth of the Yenisey, Nordenskiöld went on at length about the feat theywere about to accomplish. He claimed that no ship in history had sailed sofar east, along the northerly sea route. At that point one of the crew clearedhis throat and mumbled that maybe he should not be so certain about that.Sure enough, before the end of the evening, the Prøven met the Hammerfestvessel, Freja, which came sailing with a good catch from the east. Nordenskiöldwas invited on board and received two walrus pups as a gift.

Virtually all the Swedish expeditions were publicised by means of beauti-fully illustrated accounts of their journeys, aimed at the general reading public.New polar literature greatly contributed to Sweden’s Arctic exploration. Privatesponsors and the royal family were eager to provide financial and politicalsupport. The public thought it all very exciting. The fact that this success wasmostly achieved because primarily Norwegian ships were up to the challenge,


does not come through clearly in the Swedish literature. Norwegian sailorscame from a different nation and a different social class than the scientists, anda sailor’s knowledge is different from that of a scientist. Before and during theperiod when Sweden was developing its scientific expertise, Norway was expan-ding its hunting of seals, walruses, polar bears, and whales; and the Swedessurfed upon this wave. Hiring Norwegian ships and experienced sailors to trans-port Swedish scientists into the field and back, was obviously the best andcheapest modus operandi, in spite of the discomfort and smell of fish and seal,which sometimes adversely affected Swedish nerves – and digestion.

Over four decades, Swedish researchers had made progress on a broad front,and this included the study of most of the phenomena that could be studiedin the Arctic. Why did the Swedes so dominate polar research during the secondhalf of the 19th century? And why did Norway lag behind?

The Swedish advance was the result of circumstance, theory, and indivi-dual initiative, rather than clear political, financial or geographical necessity.The union with Norway might possibly have opened Sweden’s eyes towards thewest and the north. And having taken the first step, Sweden enjoyed excellentprerequisites and advantages. First of all, it had a thriving and competent scien-tific community, especially in the subjects related to natural history, such ageology, botany, and zoology. Swedes such as Linné and Bergman were majorinternational figures in their fields; in the 18th and 19th centuries, the numberof Swedes with doctorates and other advanced degrees in scientific subjectsfar exceeded the number of Norwegians with equivalent qualifications. Severalof Sweden’s universities were founded as early as the 15th century; and duringits days of glory in the 17th century, Sweden had as many as six universities inthe Baltic region. The country was an intellectual superpower. The poverty ofNorway’s academia and scientific output in the early 19th century formed a starkcontrast with that of Sweden. Norway’s first university was not founded until1811, and it was primarily established to educate pastors, lawyers, and doctors.Its small faculty of professors spent most of their time lecturing. During theunion with Denmark, virtually all of Norway’s scientific activity was centeredin Copenhagen, which boasted an old university and the Royal Danish Academyof Science.

Based on its having colonized Greenland, Denmark was really the Scandi-navian country most deeply rooted in the Arctic. In its continuing explorationof Greenland, political and economic considerations manifested themselves.The push to map the country was driven by a desire to exploit Greenland’scommercial and especially its geological resources.

At the beginning of the 19th century, the challenge for Norway’s few scientistswas to explore their own country. Baltazar Keilhau and Christopher Hansteen hadundertaken journeys to Spitsbergen and Siberia, respectively, in the 1820s and


Howare fjords andvalleysmade?This questionwasmuch

disputed. Perhaps the ice-filled fjords of Greenland could

provide the answer? Amund Helland’s map, made after

his 1875 Greenland journey.

1830s. In the 1870s, geologist Amund Helland had conducted investigationson Greenland. But above all, because state-sponsored science was for the benefitof society, scientists felt obliged to first explore parts of their own country, asin the case of the ‘Northern Seas’ Expedition to Jan Mayen in the 1870s. Therewas a clear understanding that the costly exploration of the earth’s ice-coveredsurface was reserved for the great nations. The Arctic was not the Fatherland.This attitude, however, would soon change.

Six men on an ice floe

At 65° N, the nights are quite light towards the end of July. The man and hisfive companions are on the ice floe. He stands watch, and he both sees and hearsthe breaking waves toward which they are drifting.

It is July 21st, 1888, and the six men are drifting away from the east coastof Greenland out into the open sea. The coastal strip behind them is barren anddeserted. The currents are strong and erratic. At the transition between the driftice and the ocean, a thunderous wave grinds ice floes into bits. Should they getcaught in the surf, their only salvation would be in the form of two fragile boats.

The men planned to land in order to cross the inland ice on skis. Instead,they are heading at breakneck speed in the opposite direction. They are exhaus-ted, having tried to row against the current; and sleep comes uneasily.The watchwill rouse the others, should it be necessary to get into the boats. The latterare packed and ready with all the equipment, except for the small tent wherethe men lay sleeping.

They have decided on a two-hour watch. But Otto Sverdrup is loath toleave the responsibility to any of the others. He is a scientist, lieutenant, physi-cal education teacher, farmer’s son, reindeer breeder, and a forestry worker.He understands the currents and surf; after all, he is a ship’s officer. Four yearsearlier, he had been shipwrecked off the Scottish coast, and his efforts helpedsave the crew. Sverdrup keeps watch throughout the summer’s night.

The waves wash over the floe. Otto Sverdrup gauges the ice, wind, andcurrent with his experienced sailor’s eye. It does not look good. Twice he rushesto the tent opening and is about to grab the hooks, and wake the others, sothey can escape in the two small boats. In fact, he cannot imagine how thelast three men will be able to launch the second boat on their own. Both timeshe decides to wait. Could it be his silent expertise, his instinctive sensitivityto wind and weather, that gives him confidence?

All at once the current changes. The six men drift towards the shore.In fact, they drift south on the floe for another week, covering over 300

kilometres, before they can turn, row, and sail laboriously northwards again,


finally landing at a suitable place to start their journey on land. But the expedi-tion has been saved.

On that morning of July 21st, it was Otto Sverdrup’s practical seamanship,plus some good luck, that rescued the Norwegian polar endeavour from itsfirst serious danger, and prevented it from floundering before it had even started.Common sense had proved itself so valuable only a few days earlier. Sverdrupand the peasant boy, Kristiansen, patched up one of the boats, which had hita sharp edge of ice that had torn a large hole in the hull.

Fridtjof Nansen was a zoologist, a skier, and above all a strong-willed manwith grand visions; he was a restless, inquisitive soul who was never inhibitedby second-hand wisdom or conventional ideas. Only an exceptional man couldconceive of landing on Greenland’s deserted east coast, and walking clear acrossthe icy wilderness to the inhabited west coast. But was it a wilderness? Whoknew whether it was a wilderness; nobody had been there before? To carry outthat idea required men of substance, like Sverdrup and KristianTrana Kristiansen.Such a feat required men from traditional, self-supporting societies, who weresailors, hunters, carpenters, shoemakers, and cooks, if need be. And on theadvice of Nordenskiöld, Nansen employed the Laplanders’ powers of survivaland skiing expertise. He included two Samis (formerly known as Lapps) inhis party: Ole N. Ravna and Samuel J. Balto.

Norway’s pioneering achievements in the Arctic and Antarctic were foundedon the careful planning of the expedition leader, to the extent that journeys intototally unknown terrain can be planned. When unforeseen difficulties arose,the expedition depended completely upon intelligent improvisation, whichrelied heavily on the practical capabilities of the team.

Fridtjof Nansen knew that a strong current flowed southward along the eastcoast of Greenland, and that it packed the coast with drift ice, making it diffi-cult to land. He did not know, other than from rather vague conjecture, howstrong the current was or how difficult it would be to navigate through it. Butnow he was experiencing that firsthand on the ice floe. Every 24 hours, thesix men drifted as much as 50 kilometres south, without reaching land. At about65°30’ N, they disembarked the sealer Jason, which had brought them toGreenland, on July 17th. Having drifted helplessly for twelve days, they werein danger of reaching the southern tip of Greenland: Cape Farewell. Then,the weather changed, and they were able to launch the boats in a fairly ice-free belt close to land. But they were nearly four degrees further south; and asthe land narrows considerably towards the southern tip of Greenland, there wasnot much inland ice to cross.

Sverdrup was formally ranked on par with the other men in the expeditionhierarchy. However, in reality he was second-in-command. Sverdrup, the sailor,knew his place. Many years later Nansen admitted that ‘our preparations were


A camp on an ice floe. Otto Sverdrup stands night-watch. For

safety’s sake, Ole Ravna and Samuel Balto have chosen to

spend the night in the boat.

sorely lacking in many ways, as my friend Sverdrup would tell you if he werewilling to reveal the truth’.

Now, good seamanship was invaluable. The two small boats were rowedand sailed northwards along the coast until they reached a decent latitude. OnAugust 3rd the wind was strong enough for them to rig the boats with a singlesail, made from the tent canvas and two tarpaulins. But soon the wind grewto storm force and veered north. The men were now forced to row into thewind, and dodge the drifting ice.

They inched northwards using an axe and boat-hook for up to 17 hours aday, which as Nansen observed dryly, was ‘virtually unbelievable toil’. Fromtime to time, the tide would drag the boats off course. Suddenly, an icebergwould ‘calf ’, tip over, and produce a tidal wave. The mosquitoes nearly killedthem, ‘for if one cannot even take a bite of food without it being covered inmosquitoes, that can be unbearable.’

The west coast or death

On August 10th they had reached far enough north, so they pitched their tent,and shot some birds, acquiring some badly needed fresh meat. Provisions hadbeen generously calculated – for the trip across the ice. However, it had alreadytaken three weeks just to get to their initial starting point, and most of it requiredexhausting effort. Nansen had already cut rations drastically.

Sverdrup and Nansen set out on a 24-hour-long reconnaissance tour anddiscovered that the ascent from the coast to the plateau was steep and full ofcrevasses. The snow conditions were appalling. They journeyed on foot, andfound out that their boots were unable to withstand the ice and had to becobbled together with any available material.

All in all, there were more than enough reasons to call off the expedition,and even more because Nansen and the others had no idea what really awaitedthem on the ice plateau. It was unexplored territory, only previously seen byNordenskiöld and Robert E. Peary on their short daytrips inland, from the westcoast. This area, according to the Inuits, was inhabited by mystical creatures.

But turning back was not an option. Or, rather, there was no place to returnto. No sealers would come looking for them. In an absolute emergency, someInuit tribe or other might house them for the winter, but the remains of forsakencamps were proof than even Inuits starved and died in this inhospitable country.They just had to reach the west coast, where there were Danish settlementsand maritime trade and communications with Copenhagen. For Nansen, thetotal lack of alternatives actually formed the basis of his plan. It was ‘the westcoast or death’.


With that, the six men started their final preparations: They prepared theirskis, polished the sled-runners, reorganized and packed their provisions, and(most importantly) patched up their boots. Luckily, they could shoot birds, andso not cut too heavily into the food supplies. It was mild, it rained a lot, andthe men were hoping for frost, clear weather, and hard snow. They eventuallygot under way on August 15th, an entire month later than planned. Despitethe mild weather, summer on Greenland was nearly over.

Owing to the snow conditions, they decided to walk at night and sleep inthe daytime. Each man had to pull his own sled, which weighed about 100 kiloswhen fully loaded. But the ascent from the shore was so steep that three menhad to pull each sled. It was slow, heavy work. On the first day – or rathernight – they only managed to push ahead a few kilometres. It rained the nextnight, and the ice was full of cracks; and besides, it was too dark to continue.The weather worsened; it was pouring rain; and the wind picked up. For threedays they were confined to the tent. Nansen cut rations down to one meal perday: ‘After all, when we aren’t working, we don’t need much food’.

On August 20th the rain cleared. They were still ascending, so that twomen were required to handle each sled. The ice surface bulged underfoot; andthere were cracks everywhere. They were plagued by thirst. Because they hadinsufficient fuel to melt ice and so get all the water they needed, they were forcedto fill their tin cans with snow, put them under their clothes, and let theirbody heat thaw the ice. That yielded precious few drops of water.

They advanced slowly, for a few days. Eventually the landscape levelled out.They had reached the inland ice. However, there were still some steep ascents,which meant they had to zig-zag up and down, to get all the sleds with them. Slushwas no longer the problem. The nights were so cold that the sled runners stuckto the ice and snow; so they decided to travel in the daytime. But after just oneweek, a storm blew up again. On the morning of August 26th, they woke up inthe middle of a snow-drift.The snow had penetrated every single tent crack, sincethe ground-sheet was loose, and the snow had begun to bury them, along withtheir sleeping bags and equipment. The wind was howling straight into the tent.

The expedition kept on a northwesterly course. The plan was not to traverseGreenland along the shortest route, but to cross at an angle, in the directionof Christianshaab (Qasigiannguit), a distance of about 600 kilometres. In thecourse of ten days, they had covered 70 kilometres. This was doubtlessly thehardest part of the journey, by any man’s calculations. It was slow going, andthey were tormented by the wind, that impeded their progress.

Nansen then decided to change course. The journey straight across toGodthaab (Nuuk) was 150 kilometres shorter. Besides, the last leg of the journeywas on dry land and along a long fjord that they might be able to sail down.Sail? In what? The boats had been left behind on the east coast.


Theparticipants inNansen’sGreenland expedition. Standing:

Ole Nielsen Ravna, Otto Neumann Knoph Sverdrup, Kristian

TranaKristiansen, andSamuel Balto. Seated (in front): Fridtjof

Nansen and Oluf Christian Dietrichson

Nansen conferred with skipper Sverdrup. Why not turn the tarpaulinsand the ground sheet into primitive boats? Sverdrup thought that just mightwork. So they changed course and headed due west. Changing course hadanother major advantage: Where the ice was reasonably flat, they could lash thesleds together, rig up a sail and be pushed along by the wind. The wind anddrifting snow lasted for several days, so any help was welcome. The sleds hadto be dug out in the morning, the runners had to be scraped, the sleds thenlashed together, and the sail rigged.

The men were now two thousand metres above sea level. The wind dieddown and ceased skimming the snow, so they could not sail on the ice. Theyhad to ski or use snow-shoes for the ascents, and the snow was bad. The art ofski-waxing was in its infancy; and the dry, loose snow was ‘sticky like sand’. Theskis were made of birch and oak, and were 2.3 meters long and 8 to 9 cm wide.Nansen had expected wet conditions, so he had mounted narrow steel platesonto their running surfaces. A piece of elk hide had been wedged under thebindings, in the middle of each ski.

September arrived, and with it the cold; a more extreme cold than any ofthem could have imagined. While the midday sun could be almost uncom-fortably warm in the thin air, night temperatures sank mercilessly low. It wasimpossible to tell by how much the temperature sank because the thermome-ter did not register that far down. This surprising cold was a sign that Nansenand his men were behind schedule. But the temperature was also a meteoro-logical sensation.They could gauge that it was somewhere close to –45° C duringthe worst nights, lower than any September temperature ever recorded anywhereon earth. Nansen, the scientist, reasoned that this was due to tremendous heatradiation in the thin, dry air. But, Nansen, the leader of the expedition, hadhis hands full avoiding frostbite.

The diet on the expedition consisted mostly of pea soup, crispbread, English‘meat biscuits’, French chocolate mixed with 20 % meat powder, and pemmi-can. Having studied the results of experiments conducted with Prussian soldiers,Nansen had carefully worked out minimum sustenance requirements. But hehad not reckoned on their several-week-long sailing trip or on the cold, andhe had not checked the pemmican. It was not made from the standard recipe– and had no fat.

As a result, the men’s calorie intake was consistently too low, and they werealways hungry. They had brought a bit of butter along, and 250 grams wasmeted out to each man once a week. Kristiansen ate his share immediately,just the way it was. The others tried to ration their share of the wonderfullygreasy delicacy so it would last a whole week.

As the days passed, the men worked their way westwards with unrelent-ing perseverance, broken only by a day’s snowstorm. That storm was so violent


that Balto could not see the tent when he returned from the sled, where hehad gone to get food. He had to follow the calls of his comrades to find hisway back. The sleds gradually lightened, as the men ate their provisions.Nonetheless, it was a tough job to pull the sleds in the thin air. The harnessesdug into their shoulders. At the highest point on the expedition, the men hadclimbed to 2,500 meters o.s.l. The view was completely unchanging: white,undulating, deserted plateau, clear across the entire horizon.

By mid-September, they had been on the ice for a month. Based roughlyon their estimate of how many one-day stretches they had made, and accordingto their optimistic reckoning, the journey should have been over soon. Nansensuspected otherwise, based on astronomical observations, which were diffi-cult to make accurately in the snowy weather. There was still quite a distanceto go. To put it mildly, morale was not as high amongst all his hungry men,so he just stopped making his observations. On the other hand, they could allfeel the terrain starting to slope. Night temperatures began to rise. Then, onSeptember 17th, one month after the men had left the camp on the east coast,they heard a snow sparrow.

That same night a gale blew in from the southeast. The next day they lashedthe sleds together. This was freezing work in the biting wind because they hadto lash with their bare hands to be sure they had tied tight enough. At this point,they planned to sail down the gentle incline. One skier steered the craft witha pole. The others could hitch a ride or follow on their own.

But the slope got steeper and they gained speed. ‘We whizzed along overthe rough snow and snowdrifts of all shapes and sizes; it was breathtaking.The sleds twisted and turned, like snakes sliding over an uneven surface. Wewere dancing over the snowdrifts …’ The men and provisions fell off duringthat wild ride. It was not too difficult to gather things back together again. Afterloading everything, the wild descent continued. The greatest danger was tothe oarsman, because if he fell, the sleds would just ride straight over him. ‘Wecould not let this happen; we had to pay attention to our every movement, eachand every muscle was flexed. The skis held together [...]. We headed awayfrom the worst slabs of ice and snowdrifts, and took off, while we jumped thesnowdrifts with our skis’.

This reckless ride resulted in the longest one-day advance so far. That after-noon the men received their reward. On the western horizon they saw a long,dark shadow; and it was ice-free land. Nansen paused and solemnly doled outtwo rations of meat-chocolate to each man.

The ancient ice cap covering the high mountain plateau had been stable andfree of crevasses. But at this point, they started to encounter cracks again, just asthey had during the ascent on the east coast. It grew dark, but they continued sailingacross the ice under a full moon, until they had to halt before a series of seracs.


The wind stung, and it was difficult to anchor the tent on the blue ice.Frozen and exhausted, the six crawled into their sleeping bags. The feast theyhad imagined they would enjoy on the evening after sighting land, consistedof their last bit of Swiss cheese.

The next morning Nansen discovered his watch had stopped. The long andexhausting spell the previous evening had upset his routine, and he had forgot-ten to wind it. Strangely enough, Sverdrup had made the same blunder. Ofcourse, it was not all that important to know what the time was. The pointwas that to fix their position, their longitude, they had to compare ‘sun time’with a known reference point in time.

This oversight about the time was not that decisive.They saw the mountainsin the west and could aim for them. But in the clear morning light, they real-ised that this last phase of the journey would not be that simple. Before themstretched the wild, rugged, and challenging mountain terrain. There was nota glimpse of a fjord or the ocean.

The terrain had become an incline, so they were able to slide the sleds downthe slope, and steer them while skiing alongside. This was risky, because newsnow had settled in drifts that partially concealed crevasses beneath. Thingsworsened in the afternoon, as a hailstorm blew in from the southeast. Theyhad not gone as far as they thought. When the weather cleared, the shadowsin the west seemed as far away as ever.

The next day it snowed heavily. In the evening they reached some preci-pitous seracs and had to pitch camp. Nansen, Sverdrup and Kristiansen equip-ped themselves with some ‘alpine rope’ and crampons and made a foray downa crevasse to investigate. The three others stayed in the camp to prepare supper.

There found no way out of the labyrinth of impenetrable ice ridges andravines, criss-crossing one another. But they found something else: water. Forthe first time in over a month, they could quench their thirst. The melt watersent ice-cold shudders through their chests and heads, but the three men dranktheir fill.

Three more days of exhausting manoeuvring of sleds and equipment wererequired to get the sleds and equipment down the treacherous ice. Nansenhimself had a serious bout with the ice just before leaving the glacier. Duringa reconnaissance tour, he fell down a crevasse; but it was narrow enough for himto wedge his arms against the icy walls. Fighting his way out of the crack wearingheavy oak skis, took tremendous effort on his part.


Nansen’s map from the Greenland expedition, showing boat and skiing routes and overnight

stops.

A boat made of sailcloth

On the afternoon of September 24th, the six men reached exposed terrain.They put the sleds to one side and rearranged all the necessary equipment intocanvas sacks. It was painful to walk down the steep slopes, but the two Samisin particular cheered up considerably. No longer on the barren ice cap, theynow found themselves in the middle of reindeer moss extending over a largearea. That evening they lit a proper fire in front of the tent, before falling asleepon a soft bed of heather and moss.

They kept spotting signs of wild reindeer, but never caught sight of a singleanimal. The next morning Nansen managed to shoot a hare from quite a dis-tance, and dinner was saved. It was less encouraging to realise that the map ofthe west coast they were using to orientate themselves was completely wrong.The fjord was a lot further away than they thought; and the hare was lean,just a tiny taste of fresh meat per man.

The next morning they struggled down the valley, which was clayey andovergrown with willow brush farther down the hill. To Nansen, this was bliss.He came across old mussel deposits. Water, he surmised, must at one timehave covered this area, which was proof that the land was rising, and whichsupported a new theory among geologists at the time. The scientific reasonfor the expedition was to study Greenland ice. After all, the country was there,in the middle of an Ice Age. Geologists were focused more and more on the thesisthat this kind of phenomenon must have taken place elsewhere, in previouseras; but the theory was then still disputed.

The other five were more interested in exactly where the fjord was. In theevening they caught sight of it. They also saw traces (albeit old ones) left bythe Inuit.The explorers had done it; the interior of Greenland had been crossed,from coast to coast.

Yet, they had not reached their goal. The Ameralik Fjord was 60 to 70 kmlong. There was an Inuit camp on the south side of the entrance to the fjord.Though the mountains on this side of the fjord appeared reasonably passable,they decided not to try and walk. The reason was simple. The Inuit might notunderstand who or what they were.

Godthaab lay one mile north of the entrance to the fjord. On that side ofthe fjord, the mountains appeared impenetrable. The only alternative was thesea route. Otto Sverdrup took upon himself the task of sewing a primitivesailcloth boat out of the tent groundsheet, with ribs made from crooked willowbranches. The boat was shaped like a tortoise, Nansen said. The oars were hardto make, and the thwarts even more difficult; they were sharp and narrow.

The other members of the expedition had to make the long journey backto retrieve the equipment that had been left at the edge of the ice. Sverdrup


and Nansen were to row the boat to Godthaab. The first day was long and hard;they manoeuvred over sandbanks and clayey soil, being forced to carry the boatand equipment over land. On the trek, they sank deep into the soil with everystep they took. In the evening they slept under willow scrub. Only late the nextmorning, were they able to place the boat on the beach. Having previouslybeen forced to leave the equipment behind, they now had to go back and get it.

After carrying their gear for 24 hours, they finally had everything in place,and were ready to start the sea journey.

The first couple of days were heavy going. They rowed against the wind,but that was of little importance, because there were plenty of gulls around, and


The halfboatwas 2.56meters long, 1.42meters wide, and 62 cm deep. It was neither particular-

ly safe nor comfortable, but it was the best that they could manage to construct out of the base

of a tent and willow branches from underbrush.

Nansen was impressed by the Inuit mastery of nature. ‘This

kayak hunting is a magnificent sport; it is like a playful dance

with death and the sea.’

they could gorge themselves on fresh meat. The third day was October 1st.The wind was still up, and it was difficult to row. But on the other hand, theyfound an abundance of crowberries; they ate ‘first standing up, then sittingdown, but then that was too tiring, and we lay down; now we were able tokeep going for a long time’. The wind died down at night, and they roweduntil the middle of the next day, when they reached the mouth of the fjord.After a meal, they set off northbound, and by the time they stopped for theevening, they had managed a 20-hour stint. Knowing they were close to otherpeople, they gorged themselves on the remaining supplies. The meat-choco-late with butter on both sides, was a real treat.

The next day, they spotted the first Inuit settlements outside Godthaab;it was October 3rd. They ran into a Dane who asked who they were; and uponreceiving his answer, the Dane offered his congratulations – not on havingcrossed the ice, but on the Ph.D. Nansen had received just before leavingNorway. The first thing the two explorers wanted to know was about the boatto Denmark.

It had left – two months ago!The ski trip across Greenland would have to be extended to include winter-

ing in Godthaab. Sverdrup and Nansen went indoors, washed, and changedclothes (as they had walked and slept in the same clothes for over two months);and they organised the trip to pick up their colleagues who were still at AmeralikFjord. Two Inuits travelled south, and after fourteen days of hard paddlingjust managed to send off a letter with the last boat leaving from Ivigtut, notfar from Cape Farewell.That was how the news reached Norway that the expedi-tion had arrived on the west coast of Greenland.

This unanticipated wintering was to have a great impact on Norwegianpolar history. Nansen absorbed all he could of the Inuits’ practical knowledge.He got hold of Inuit clothing, learned to paddle a kayak and to eat their sortof food. He ’learnt to appreciate their delicacies, like raw lard, raw halibutskin, and frozen crowberries’. He even tried his hand at classic Inuit huntingtechniques, using a harpoon from a kayak.

Almost eight months later, on May 30th, 1889, the six men entered Christianiain triumph. Out on the Oslo Fjord, they were met by a flotilla of small boats,and escorted to a reception with fanfare, orchestras, and marches composedspecially for the occasion. They were led through town at the head of a proces-sion, along with floats decorated with models of Viking ships and stuffed polarbears.


At the beginning of the 19th century, a complete revaluation of Arctic naturewas taking place. The old religious view of the ‘wilderness’ was unambiguous-ly negative. Land that was not inhabited, cultivated, and controlled by human-kind was God-forsaken, infertile, and literally the realm of the devil. A morecomplex and enthusiastic view of pristine nature was developed during theRomantic Era. Scientific knowledge also became critical in field studies andexpeditions, not just in laboratory work and theoretical research. The role ofuntouched nature and the wilderness became more important in the overallinvestigation of nature’s unharnessed forces. This tendency went hand in handwith the new theological re-evaluation of nature, which postulated that, likeeverything else in the universe, the wilderness was created by God and there-fore good. This unleashed an avalanche of scientific expeditions to CentralEurope’s wilderness, in the Alps, where new studies were conducted, regard-ing snow and ice and their impacts on the landscape. Scientific attention wasdrawn to the ‘polar regions’, when geologists realised that the Scandinavian andNorthern European landscape had been formed by inland ice during previ-ous eras when the ice cover had been considerably thicker. In the ‘polar regions’,it was possible to study huge glaciers and inland ice in action. Here many cluescould be found to help answer questions about the formation of the landscapefarther south in Europe.

With this newfound scientific curiosity first centered on the Alpine regions,came a new approach to polar exploration, and also to the Alps themselves.Alpinism was born out of a combination of religious feelings, romantic viewsof the wilderness, and scientific curiosity about the field and its grand land-scape-forming processes. This experience was only available to fit scientistssupported by local guides. Alpinism thus contained physical, intellectual, andspiritual components. A large literature of travelogues and guide books developed,

t h e h e r o e s 57

THE HEROES

and (in its wake) came ‘wilderness tourism’. Mountaineers’ strenuous exertions,and their fascination with grand vistas, their grappling with the enigmas ofnature, and competitions to ascend peaks for the first time, were described inan ever more widely read literary genre. Spiritual, intellectual and moral virtuesof the sporting alpinist became a model for polar explorers, in their morespectacular search for new records and new discoveries of unknown lands andoceans.

Thus, in the early 19th century, Alpine scientists were joined by natureenthusiasts of the Romantic Age, and by such great poets as Goethe, Byron, andHeine.They were first accompanied by upper-class youth taking the GrandTour.In the latter half of the 19th century, a growing number of tourists followed, andthey were from a growing cross-section of society, as the industrialisation ofEurope and America spread prosperity, and made leisure and travel more acces-sible. New railways carried tourists over passes and through tunnels, higher andhigher into the Alps.

All these travellers were fascinated by the wild grandeur of the Alps.Philosophers of aesthetics described the impact of boundless and untouchedwilderness on the Western mind. It generated a mind-expanding sense of spaceand personal freedom. It also presented them with hardships and dangers, alone,in a place devoid of civilisation’s infrastructure. It brought out a feeling of small-ness and individual insignificance in the face of Nature. The aesthetes of the dayintroduced the word sublime to describe this terrifying, but elevating, mixtureof attraction and vertigo when experiencing Nature’s pristine beauty. In histo-ry, the importance of abstract ideas is often underrated. There is clear evidencethat fascination with sublime, Arctic nature is still significant, and a factor intoday’s expanding polar tourism, in the public interest in polar records, andin nature films about ‘polar regions’.

Subsequently, at the end of the 19th century, a trend in polar traveloguesemerged, not least the Norwegian ones. They emphasized individuality anddenial of civilisation’s conventional social values. The Alps could bewitch thetourist, and fill him or her with an inexplicable desire to return, just to experi-ence the space and freedom of the mountains. Arctic grandeur could overwhelmthe polar explorer, the hunter who winters on the ice, and (later) the polartourist, so that they felt an inexplicable urge to return to the unfettered life,in a fight against – or a covenant with – nature. Many people’s dissatisfactionwith over-regulated city life and the cultural hold that industrialisation took onthem, enhanced their fascination with the wilderness. In the north one hadto trust oneself and one’s own resources. Personal competency and inventivenesstook precedence over hierarchies and regulation. A small, united group of peoplecould make the difference between victory and defeat, survival and ruin. Inthe wilderness, nothing limited the individual; nothing held him or her back.


Here there was only Nature, which was unaffected by good or evil, or bytriumph or defeat. Nature was like a mirror held up in front of the traveller.It was a force against which groups and individuals could pit their strength.Nature could be a just and neutral judge of human fighting spirit in a fair game,where no corrupt official could influence the outcome.

In addition to the sublime Arctic, the ‘polar regions’ became attractive tothe social critics, around 1900. These were the last places on earth that were stillbeyond Western law and order. They fascinated armchair travellers, who readpolar travelogues, and dreamt of polar explorers’ exploits and lives as publicheroes, or of the self-sufficient existence of the unsung hunter and his wife,alone in their cabin in the Arctic wilderness, undisturbed by neighbours, church,or government.

Early in the 20th century, men began to realize that the polar landscape,despite its vastness, was not infinite and inexhaustive. It was to be exploitedin moderation and even protected from human activity. Among early polarexplorers, the botanists and zoologists were the first to promote the concept ofprotection of nature. Initially, they championed the safeguarding of animalspecies which they feared would be wiped out by sporting or commercialhunters. These concerns gradually led to the environment protection policiesthat are so important today. This focus on the vulnerability of animals and thelandscape added a new dimension to people’s fascination with the ‘polar regions’.

The polar hero

Around the mid-19th century, a public stage was set for polar explorers in aninternational world. The underlying concepts put forth, have survived virtuallyunchanged to the present day. It was on that stage that great polar epics un-folded, and where the polar hero was created. The metaphoric ‘scene’ beganwith the extraordinary attention afforded to polar explorers in newspapers andbooks, initially in England. In the 18th and early 19th century, as a rule, voyagesof discovery were only reported in scientific journals and expensive multi-volume tomes that few could afford. This changed when tales of the Northgained popularity through a revaluation of the wilderness concept. In England,a resurgence in polar exploration occurred after Napoleon’s army was finallyvanquished for good. After the peace conference of 1815, many sailors andofficers were made redundant from the British Navy and the Reserves. Naturally,most returned to civilian life, but others were recruited to join peaceful butextraordinary naval expeditions to the Arctic.These men, chosen from hundredsof volunteers of all ranks and skills, could improve their prospects and reputat-ions by showing themselves to be resolute, efficient, and tough seamen. This


activity, which flourished from 1820 to 1855, focused in particular on findingthe Northwest Passage, from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. Amongst thecelebrated expedition leaders were John Ross, his nephew James Clark Ross, SirWilliam Edward Parry, Sir John Franklin, and Leopold McClintock.

It became apparent that it would be necessary to influence public opinion,in order for the British Parliament to support expeditions financially. Once thiswas understood, supporters began working with publishers. One of these inparticular was John Barrow, Secretary to the Admiralty. He ensured thatimmediately after every new voyage, an inexpensive, easy-to-read, illustratedbook was published, usually ‘written’ by the expedition leader. While expedi-tion leaders were usually credited as authors, later research has shown thatmost of the leaders got plenty of help from ghost-writers and publishers whomade sure the accounts were written in a reader-friendly manner that glorifiedthe discoveries and that omitted no details of hardships. The accounts wouldincorporate descriptions of the wild and exotic polar landscape and its natives.These accounts of polar adventures soon became very popular in England,and were quickly translated into several other languages. Many of the increa-


The midnight sun and Arctic icebergs had become beautiful. ‘Let the reader fancy himself’ is

the clear message from the author of ‘The Arctic World Illustrated’, dated 1875–76.

sing multitudes of literate Europeans began to take an interest in the develop-ments surrounding polar exploration. This marked the start of popular polarreports and chronicles, a genre that is still common today.

England was the military and industrial superpower of the age. It was there-fore viewed as extraordinary that the most outstanding British Naval officersand their crew, aboard ice-reinforced vessels that were equipped with the mostpowerful steam engines available, could not force their way through theNorthwest Passage or even reach the North Pole, despite several attempts. Oneof the most ambitious expeditions led by John Franklin, on the old but well-equipped naval ships Erebus and Terror, disappeared without a trace. They leftWoolwich in the late spring of 1845. Two years went by without any news ofhow they were faring, and eventually the first search party set off. The newswas hot copy all over Europe and America. U.S. expeditions set out on searchmissions, and Hudson Bay Company trappers and traders were asked to checkwith their contacts in the frozen north. Finally the story emerged, through inter-views with the Inuit and after making finds on King William Land. Franklinand his entire crew of over one hundred men had perished, after being forcedto abandon their icebound vessels.

The tragedy was enormous, but it also increased the temptation to musclein on the action, and beat the British. In Germany, geographer August Petermannargued that German polar expeditions, having gleaned knowledge from theBritish experience, should make new and better planned thrusts into the north.Moreover, science and culture could be advanced by subsequently improvingArctic maps and charts. In America, too, there was an urge to reduce the remai-ning blanks on the map. Pioneers like Elisha Kent Kane and Charles Francis Hallwent north, financed by private supporters. In Sweden, British polar enthusi-asm had infected scientists; and marine biologist Sven Lovén and physicist ErikEdlund made strong commitments to polar expeditions under the auspices ofthe Swedish Academy of Science. They managed to raise funds from privateand public sources, and were supported by younger, well-qualified researchers,like the expedition leader from the 1860s, Otto Torell, and mineralogist AdolfErik Nordenskiöld. Austria-Hungary had a sponsor in Count Wilczek, muchas Sweden got support from Oscar Dickson. Julius Payer and Karl Weyprechtwere the big names in Austrian polar exploration. Their most important geogra-phical achievement was the official discovery of the archipelago Franz Josef Land.

In 1888, Nansen entered the arena, as the first, truly recognized Norwegianpolar explorer. During the next few years, Nansen and Amundsen defeated alltheir opponents. Peary’s insistence that he had reached the North Pole in 1909remains disputed, even today; while Roald Amundsen’s victory over RobertScott in the battle to reach the South Pole in 1911, is among the most drama-tic and frequently publicised races of all times.


The geographic record

Even in ancient times, scientific evidence had been presented for the thesisthat the earth was round. It was possible to gauge the size of the earth with reason-able accuracy, by measuring the difference between the height of the sun at noon,at two different places on a north-south axis, and where the distance betweenwhich the two points was ascertained. This meant that it was easy to calculatethe extent of the uncharted areas of the world, even before Europeans began theirocean exploration voyages in the 15th century; big white blank spots on the charts,where nothing was known, were distributed across the world map, especiallyin the southern hemisphere. In ancient times, mapmakers often filled these emptyspaces with pictures of fabulous sea creatures or daring ships in full sail. In actu-ality, information about uncharted territory was gleaned from rumours, myths,and sea captains’ tales.Then as now, differentiation between credible and unreli-able information was an important part of the scientific process. Preposterousgeographical and scientific information can only be discovered in hindsight.

When geographical explorers explored unknown territories, they drew onlogic as well as tradition. It was not always obvious what a particular area mightyield, or in which sequence one should seek different kinds of information.Another issue was that the colonial geography of the 19th century, to which polarexploration first belonged, had developed its own implicit routines. The firstduty of seagoing explorers was to search for unknown shores and establish thelocation of coastlines. In actuality, however, few discoveries fit the prescribed,heroic pattern; which was that a specific person suddenly, and without hesita-tion spied an unfamiliar coast. The example of the icy and fog-bound ArcticOcean is a case in point. Moreover, details of discoveries of new territories, ifnot interspersed with sea yarns, were often likely to be unclear; because explor-ers were often not scientifically competent enough to make proper observa-tions, or at least were not considered to be sufficiently competent. Sometimestheir education was insufficient. Sometimes their social status or ability toexpress themselves scientifically might be lacking. Often, the problem was alack of interest in cooperation among scientists and explorers who made obser-vations. At other times the only mistake was that faulty or old-fashioned naviga-tional instruments had been used, or observations of new land had been madeunder difficult weather conditions. As a result, the mapping process was slowand marred by serious inaccuracies. Maps had to be revised over and over again,because new information was received, sometimes after long intervals. Adjust-ments were not only made because better and more accurate instruments andbinoculars were being used. Sometimes whole islands and even small continentshad to be moved or removed from maps, because of complex negotiationswithin the international geographical community.


The problem of finding the coast in icy and glaciated regions led to certainoperational practices that are described in British Navy instruction books andother explorers’ field manuals. These manuals were carefully studied by anyonewho participated in polar exploration. During the journey, explorers were tonote muddy water and changes in fauna and drift timber, and view these as signsof proximity to land. The next step was to take soundings. If the water grewshallower in one direction, one was to look for land bearing that way. If anunknown coast was spotted, one was to gauge the distance, and take bearingsin the direction of any headlands, promontories, and mountain tops. Then,everything was drawn by hand in the logbook, which would form the basis offuture mapmaking. An opening in the coast could indicate a bay or a beach, afjord, or perhaps the entrance to a system of fjords or sounds with open season the other side. If a bay were discovered, one was to carefully sail into it,take soundings, and inspect the beach. If a sound was sited, one was to sailthrough it. If there was a question as to whether a land mass was an island ora peninsula, one was to try to sail round it. When going ashore, one was to climba high mountain and make observations in all directions. And all this was tobe used as the basis for new maps.


The struggle for the North Pole was also a theme at the 1900World’s Fair in Paris, from which

postcards could be sent via Tromsø, The North Cape and Spitsbergen.

For the explorers and their supporters, being accepted as the first discovererof new territory was important, scientifically and personally, as well as finan-cially and politically. From a colonialist viewpoint, the explorer was temptedby the riches of the ‘new’ territory. The discoverer had the right to exploit theseriches; and during the age of imperialism, it was an international conventionthat his nation could claim sovereignty over the territory in question. From ascientific viewpoint, a geographic discovery was always a major and honourablefeat; and the discoverer had the right to name the territory. In the 19 th century,no cartographers bothered to learn about native nomenclature.

Setting geographic records is a phenomenon that must be seen in the lightof these interlocking historic, practical and geographic conditions; and as suchis a valuable study in its own right. Geographical and scientific achievementsgive the polar records an appeal which has survived the imperialistic contextout of which they arose. During his circumnavigation of the world in the 1770s,and in the uncharted waters around 60° S, James Cook demonstrated that ifthere was land further south, it was not connected to already known territory,like Australia or New Zealand. Cook’s circumnavigation of the earth was laterhailed in books and journals as a national achievement and a great seafaringfeat, the same way Nansen’s journey across Greenland was the only record ofthat island’s interior based on direct field observations. Direct field observationswere important, because certain scientists, like Nordenskiöld, argued basedon indirect observations and theories, that the interior of Greenland was notcovered by an ice cap and that it might even be forested. Nansen’s journey acrossGreenland was also hailed as an outstanding sporting achievement. At the time,the Scandinavian method of moving about on snow – skiing – aroused inter-national enthusiasm.

Hence, it was that the first documented circumnavigation or passage, thefirst ascent or crossing, or the first climb not only developed from mapmakingambitions, but out of colonial and popular interests. The rule was that thefirst to come took everything. This was nowhere more true, than for the mostabstract places of all, where the earth’s meridian system converged: the Northand the South Poles. The poles themselves, at first entirely theoretical, invisible,and very difficult to locate, became the greatest polar trophies of all. The battlefor the poles eventually overshadowed all other polar exploration. To an extent,the magnetic poles played a role in the scenario, and were conquered beforethe geographical poles. Other expressions, such as ‘inaccessible poles’, or ‘frigidpoles’, gained great influence at certain times, but have not been that signifi-cant in the long run, as scientists never managed to agree on their precise locati-on. The magnetic poles even move, but slowly and predominantly in one direc-tion. That is why the magnetic North Pole today is situated further north thanwhen it was first located by James Clark Ross in 1831.


So, the hunt for polar records began primarily with science. However,attempts to conquer the poles caught the attention of the public to such a degree,and demanded such huge resources, that as early as the 19 th century, criticismwas raised that the obsession was hampering financing of other polar research,like extensive nature and climate studies. Of course, one might ask, given thehuge costs, risks and relatively small gains involved, whether polar research couldhave been so heavily funded, were it not for the key role played by the specta-cular hunt for making and breaking records.

The polar question

Talk of the ‘polar question’ was common during the second half of the 19 th

century. The ever-recurring question was: what did the interior of the Arcticand Antarctic look like? Throughout the century, many expeditions tried toreach the poles, but none succeeded. Some claimed the record for going furthestnorth and held it for a period of time, like Edward Parry’s record of reaching82° 45’ N in 1827, which he achieved on sleds pulled by men, over the ice northof Svalbard. That record remained unchallenged for several decades. TheEnglishman Albert Markham held the record in 1876, having reached 83° 20’N, but he was beaten by American Adolphus Greely in 1882, when his expedi-tion reached 83° 24’ N. Fridtjof Nansen took over the record in 1895, havingreached 86° 14’ N, which was a considerable improvement, over his prede-cessors. However, that lasted only two years, and was then surpassed by a fewmiles, by Lieutenant Cagni during the Duke of Abruzzi’s expedition to FranzJosef Land. Toward the late 19 th century and in the early 20th century, makingworld records was an intense pursuit, and it always began with an urge to chartwhat were then the largest continuous blank spaces on the world map.

The polar question was also characterised by various theories regardingthe unknown ‘polar regions’, and by different strategies as to how to test thesetheories in the field. To understand, today, how polar expeditions were plannedand carried out, it is necessary to understand the geographic questions that werebeing asked at the time, even though some of the theories may seem strange,now. It might be useful to remember that in the 19 th century, more was knownabout the visible side of the moon than about the ‘polar regions’. The mooncould at least be seen with a good telescope; whereas when the Fram set outfrom Christiania in 1893, no one had set eyes on land north of 85°N in theArctic or south of 80°S in the Antarctic.

Information we take for granted today, that the centres of both the Arcticand Antarctic consist of ice caps and glaciers covering ocean and land alike, isthe result of having collected vast amounts of data and having made numerous


observations over the last 100 years. In the 18th century, there was a theory thatthe earth was hollow, that the North and South Poles were openings at eachend that were connected by a long channel. According to the old myth aboutthe Northern Lights, sunlight passed through the channel and lit up the nightsky. This theory was discarded by the scientific community in the 19th century.The questions then were whether there were undiscovered continents in the polarinteriors, whether land or sea predominated, whether these were wholly or parti-ally covered by ice, and how large the melt water seas were in the summer months.

The biology of the 19 th century did not make do with the previous century’sprecise descriptions of species. Scientists began to chart habitats. Combining thesedata with information from animal and plant fossils, scientists were able to recordhow the environment of various species had changed over time. In the polarregions, several expeditions observed that the rock on the mostly ice-covered partsof the Antarctic peninsula, contained fossils of extinct animals and traces ofverdant tropical vegetation. This was long before the acceptance of the theoryof continental drift. Scientific discussions were the source of extraordinary visionsof these unknown ‘polar regions’. Today’s geological studies of the QuaternaryPeriod, combined with climate research, indicate that there have been several iceages; and that the Arctic and Antarctic have experienced various types of ice cover.

When the Ice Age theory was first accepted by geologists and climatolo-gists, it generated wide interest, especially amongst Scandinavian polar scien-tists. They wanted to explain the effect that ice had had on the formation ofScandinavia’s land masses, and to study the existing and active glaciers and inlandice in the ‘polar regions’. Everything from sand ridges and terminal moraines,to fjords and glacial boulders, could be explained by studying inland ice in the‘polar regions’, and by investigating the effect ice had on the surrounding terrain,as it slowly grew, melted, and slid down mountains and through valleys.

Yet, the truly big question in polar exploration was: what did the centralpolar regions really look like? It was possible to predict many natural pheno-mena, but impossible to gauge their scale, given the absence of direct measure-ments and data on temperatures or the strength of ocean currents.

One crucial problem was the question of the effect of the Gulf Stream onthe unknown Arctic interior. Nobody knew whether the stream’s impact waslimited by as yet undiscovered land, though scientists tried to answer the ques-tion by making tidal observations at more southerly latitudes. The problemremained unanswered, as long as there was very limited oceanographic datafrom the North Atlantic. An abundance of information was required, such asmeasurements taken at a variety of depths, places, times of year, and tempera-tures; and in ocean currents with varying directions, velocities, and degrees ofsalinity. Without such data, it was not possible to survey the strength or dimen-sions of the Gulf Stream. Many were surprised by the results of marine research


in the 19 th century. That indicated that the Gulf Stream is the very reason whythe European climate is not harsher than it is. It was more difficult to accept,after much further research, that the Gulf Stream had a rather limited effecton the central Arctic region.

In the mid-19th century, some scientists, such as the influential Germangeographer August Petermann, thought that large portions of the central Arcticwere kept open by the Gulf Stream during the summer months, and that theNorth Pole could be reached by a steamship negotiating the pack and drift iceafter the ice melted in spring. He based his theory on what was, at the time,the most up-to-date Gulf Stream research, as well as his knowledge of JamesClark Ross’ successful journey to the Antarctic in the 1840s. Ross was able tonegotiate a large area of drift ice, and continued to sail across virtually open water,farther south than any other explorer had managed.That was only until autumnset in, and the threat of new ice forced him to turn back. What no one knew inthose days was that the Antarctic consists primarily of ice-covered land, whichmeans that the ice works loose in the summer. In contradistinction to this, Arcticice drifts move uninterruptedly across the polar basin, in somewhat complica-ted circular paths, but head more or less from the Bering Sea to the North Atlantic.

The Antarctic – the last continent

Knowledge about the distant Antarctic was more limited than the informationabout the Arctic. After the 1840s Antarctic expeditions by Ross, Wilkes, andd’Urville, over 50 years passed before any explorer from any country was ableto raise enough money to finance a southern polar journey with any scienti-fic ambitions. Their expeditions had been the greatest research efforts to date,yet they had never managed to land on the Antarctic mainland; they had onlymade tentative observations from a distance, and visited islands on the edgeof that unknown territory. Only in the 1890s, when the whale stock in the northwas reduced, and whalers began to ply Antarctic waters, did an occasional scien-tifically trained ship’s doctor or captain on one of these ships begin to makescientific observations. One of the more famous, fortunate and successful ofthese observers was Norwegian whaling skipper and ship-owner Carl AntonLarsen. From 1901 to 1903, he was captain of the first Swedish polar expedi-tion to the Antarctic Peninsula, west of the Weddell Sea. When the whalersbegan organised hunting expeditions to the south, it became possible for polargeographers in several countries to raise enough money to hire these ice-rein-forced vessels and their crew for scientific polar expeditions. Soon, there wasmajor competition to break records and win national prestige. Britain sooncame to consider it a national goal to conquer the South Pole. But geographi-


cally, the Antarctic was a new and unknown world, where there were severaltypes of sea ice, land ice, and ice formations that had never been encounteredbefore. New climatic zones had to be incorporated into maps of the conti-nent, where weather conditions proved to be more severe than anywhere elsein the world.

Antarctica proved a challenge for the well-established research proceduresof the 1880s. Towards the end of the 19th century, plans were in place for virtu-ally anything that needed to be researched elsewhere in the world. Field manuals,which combined colonialist and scientific perspectives, offered guidelines onhow and in what order everything was to be studied. But Antarctica posed manynew problems, apart from extreme weather and long distances to the nearest port.At first it was thought that difficulties could be handled if only one could getclose enough to land to conduct reliable observations. But in the 19th century,no one was able to discover exactly where land and ocean met in the centralSouth Polar regions. It was very disappointing that the charting of Antarctica’sboundaries, its islands, and its coastal regions, was hindered for decades owingto confusing, conflicting and unclear information from various explorers. Theanswer dawned but slowly on field researchers and cartographers. There wasno coast to be discovered, in the regular sense of the word. There were manysigns of land sited as one travelled south, but nobody reported really seeing land.There was really only snow and ice that met the eye. Today we know thatAntarctica’s inland ice is several thousand metres thick and covers the entireinterior of the continent. True enough, there is little precipitation, but icefrom this vast territory flows constantly towards the ocean. These huge massesof ice rarely break up as soon as they reach the coast; instead, they tend to floatfar away from land, in large, continuous floes. Thus, the coast is basicallycompletely covered by ice. Ice barriers are formed several miles out to sea, ofvarying extent, depending on weather or time of year.

Completing geographic surveys of Antarctica in the tradition of the 19 th

century became more than a practical, scientific problem. The coast wasicebound, and changed its position and appearance from day to day; or at leastfrom season to season, or year to year. The location of the edge of the ice couldonly be reported as an average point based on the season. For a long time,there were no scientific methods for sounding the coastline through the ice.Mountain tops and bedrock knobs that rose above the surrounding glaciatedarea, known as nunataks, could be seen; and they marked the surest indicati-ons of Antarctic land. However, the mountains could be far inland, away fromthe coast and the areas where the glaciers could start to move out to sea.

Field geography in the tradition of the 19 th century also came to a standstillin Antarctica because much of the colonialist incentive dwindled. The urge tobe the first explorer to arrive, name places and coasts and make territorial claims,


The Swedes issue an invitation to celebrate after Otto Nordenskjöld’s Antarctic expedition of

1901–04. The captain of the Antarctic which was lost at sea in 1903, was whaler C.A. Larsen of

Sandefjord.

largely evaporated, when it became apparent that conducting thorough coastalreconnaissance was impossible, and that the resulting rights of ownership wereso controversial.To be sure, the quest to set new records remained important, andwhaling continued to generate competition; but it was impossible to explore formineral deposits elsewhere on the Antarctic Peninsula, than in the ice-freemountain ranges. At the beginning of the 20th century, politicians looked toAntarctica and used their influence to intensify research, but only when modernwhaling in the Southern Ocean, spearheaded by Norway, proved profitable.

The poles – how to get there, when, and by which route?

To a large extent, the contradictory, and now forgotten, geographical theoriesabout the Arctic and Antarctic interior, explain why polar expeditions in the19th century were organised in such different ways by explorers from differentcountries. In the absence of directly observable data, supporters of varioustheories chose their routes, methods of transport, and timetables according towhat they expected to find. In hindsight, it is easy to consider polar theories ofthe day to be too speculative, and the respective expeditions rather peculiar. Butno one conducts research without a theory, an idea of what he or she plans to lookfor or expects to find. It is not possible to conduct research without premises;that is not how science and human reasoning function. Moreover, in those days,it was impossible for a polar explorer to get a sponsor to provide sufficientfinancial support for a project, without setting an imaginative, useful, prestigi-ous, or lucrative goal.

August Petermann’s theory that a large stretch of open water was formedin the Arctic during the summer, obliged the polar explorer to hold a steadycourse northwards during the summer or autumn seasons, and to steer rightinto the drift-ice belt until he reached this supposed ocean. This theory wasthe underlying theory behind many unsuccessful German and Austrian polarexpeditions in the 1870s. Still, Petermann’s theory brought in considerablefunding from financiers, because they assumed that an open polar basin wouldbe a refuge for whales and make northern whaling profitable again. Thoughwrong, the theory actually contributed to increasing understanding of the polarregions. Scandinavian polar explorers believed for many years that there werelarge land masses in the north. Swedish scientists, who had explored Svalbard,reported the northward migration of birds, and interpreted it as an indicationof land there. In the 19 th century, many geographers thought that Greenlandwas connected to a larger land mass, while others believed in a permanently ice-bound Arctic. At the beginning of the 20th century, the Swede, Nordenskiöld,and several German geographers argued that Antarctica consisted of two large


islands or continents, East and West Antarctica; and that the Weddell Sea andRoss Sea were joined by a navigable channel. This was the theory behindWilhelm Filchner’s 1911–12 expedition on the Deutschland, which reachedfarther south into the Weddell Sea’s solid pack ice than anyone else. The theoryof a divided Antarctica proved to be wrong, although the continent’s east andwest were geologically different.

Polar theories played a part in all attempts to beat the greatest records,reaching the actual poles, and being the first to sail the Northwest and NortheastPassages.The critical issues were to determine how to travel, what routes to take,and what time of year to choose. The Northwest Passage was the prize par excel-lence during the first decade of British polar exploration. Operations wereprincipally conducted from the sea, and initially without a notion about theextent of the vast system of twisted, wind-blown sounds, bays, and fjords thatmake up the archipelago of northern Canada. Discussions about the best routethrough this labyrinth went on for years.

A.E. Nordenskiöld had previously investigated all available geographicalmaterial, in archives, through interviews and correspondence, in his quest toobtain information about the possible existence of a Northeast Passage, fromthe North Atlantic to the Pacific via the Bering Strait.The area had been chartedin stages, during extensive Russian exploration in the 17th and 18th centuries.However, ice conditions and unsuitable vessels had rendered complete naviga-tion impossible, and left the Northeast Passage unconquered. An initial anddisputed question was where the real ‘gateway to the east’ lay. Perhaps it wasnorth of Novaya Zemlya? Julius von Payer and Karl Weyprecht had tried thatroute on their Austrian Expedition of 1872, but their ships got stuck in theice and drifted back and west; until the crew were forced to abandon ship, andwere eventually rescued by a Russian fishing smack in 1874. The correct routefor Nordenskiöld proved to be a course close to land. It had been used bymany before him, in spite of persistent rumours that the Kara Sea east of NovayaZemlya was always icebound. The literature on geography had characterisedthe Kara Sea as the big ‘freezer’, but it was a known fact that Norwegian whalerEdvard J. Johannesen of Tromsø had navigated it in 1869. The next year hecircumnavigated Novaya Zemlya, and was awarded the Swedish Academy ofScience gold medal for his achievement. Nordenskiöld navigated the entireNortheast Passage in 1878–79, keeping close to land, where warm water fromSiberian rivers usually kept the sea open into the autumn.

Various theories were developed regarding the best route to the North Pole.At first the British eagerly advocated a route north from Svalbard. DespiteSvalbard’s location so far north, the Gulf Stream rendered it accessible by shipin summer and autumn. Several British expeditions used Svalbard as their pointof departure in the late 18th century and early 19th century. Parry’s long-standing,


How does one survive in the polar regions? Food, equipment and transportation have always

been a challenge. Participants in Carsten Borchgrevink’s 1899–1900 Antarctic over-wintering

eat in a snow cave while on a skiing and dog-sledding trip.

record-breaking expedition started out from Svalbard. Nevertheless, his encoun-ters with broken and difficult ice led the British to conclude that expeditionsto the North Pole, although they should start by boat, ought to be conductedas much as possible over land. The west coast of Greenland was identified as anew route. The passage hugged the shore along Baffin Bay as long as possible,until sleds and harnesses were used to cross the unfamiliar North Greenlandterritory near Smith Sound. Many American expeditions chose this route; andit was also the same route Peary took, after many attempts, when he insistedthat he had reached the North Pole in 1909. Doubt has been cast on this expedi-tion, and there are clear indications that Peary never reached the Pole. Yetanother theory, supported by scientists in France and America, advocated sailingthrough the Bering Straits to the New Siberian Islands, and continue northfrom there to the North Pole. This was attempted in 1879 by an Americanexpedition led by Lieutenant George W. De Long, who lost his life on thattrip. Wreckage from the expedition ship, the steamer Jeanette, was later foundnear Greenland, which became one of the important proofs that the ice driftsacross the Arctic. It was on this assumption that Fridtjof Nansen based his1893–96 expedition. Nansen’s planned expedition was strongly criticised inEngland, partly because he sailed north on a route that did not hug a known coast.

A vessel of hitherto unknown description

Even before his Greenland expedition, Nansen’s mind was made up as to how toreach the ultimate goal of Arctic exploration, the North Pole itself. The ice wassimply impenetrable; and no technology existed to move around on the surfaceof the ice, other than by walking on foot or snowshoes, and by piling up sledswith provisions.The British had tried using sled dogs, but without much success.

When Nansen and his men returned from Greenland, the record was heldby the U.S. Army Lieutenant Lockwood, who participated in the AdolphusGreely expedition. Greely and Lockwood sailed through Smith Sound, betweenGreenland and Ellesmere Island, and established a base at 81° 45’ N. Lockwoodreached 83° 24’ N during a courageous sledding journey, and with an Inuitfrom Greenland as his dog handler.

Greely was an experienced organiser, and a communications expert in theU.S. Army. His expedition was run like a military operation, and manned bya crew whose Arctic experience was non-existent. Two years in camp ran reason-ably smoothly. However, the expedition relied on a reinforcement party thatnever arrived; one ship had to turn around because of ice, and the next year asecond vessel was pressed down by the ice and sank. Greely then ordered a marchsouthwards. The expedition ended in an improvised camp, where the men died


‘limb by limb’ of frostbite, the cold, scurvy and starvation. Of the 24 originalexpedition members, Greely and five others survived; probably because someof them, in total desperation, seized upon their very last option: cannibalism.

Another American journey was the one that most caught Nansen’s imagi-nation: the Jeanette expedition, led by George De Jong, who approached theArctic Ocean through the Bering Straits. That expedition built on the experi-ence of whalers. Whale hunters in the past, that should have become icebound,drifted north. It was thought that currents moving north were warm enoughto provide an open route to the far north; and some optimists hoped that wouldlead them all the way to the North Pole. That hope was literally crushed. TheJeanette became icebound as far south as 71° 35’ N, and over the course oftwo years drifted to 77° 15’ N. There it was pressed down by the ice, and sank.Of the 33-man crew, only 13 reached inhabited areas of Siberia after havingwalked across the ice. De Long himself was not among them. He had reachedland near the Lena Delta; but without a proper map, got hopelessly lost in amaze of marshes and gullies.

Three years after the shipwreck of the Jeanette, Nansen read newspaperreports of remains, undoubtedly stemming from that wreck, and which hadbeen discovered (of all places) on the southwest coast of Greenland. Found atmore or less the same spot was an Inuit hunting tool from Alaska, which hecompared to the driftwood that regularly washed ashore on Greenland.

Nansen was not the first to draw the conclusion that there had to be a strongsea current from Alaska, flowing north toward the North Pole and thereaftersouth towards Greenland, where it joined the very East Greenland Current thathad caused him major problems, when he tried to land on the east coast. Nansengot his idea from meteorologist Henrik Mohn (1835–1916). The Jeanetteexpedition had been on to something. However, Nansen realised that sailingwith the current was only part of the solution. It was also necessary to drift withthe ice. Thus an entirely new ship, of new dimensions had to be a speciallyconstructed. It would be shaped like a tub, and so would avoid the ice’s grip;it would be a vessel which would be lifted up rather than pressed down by thepressure of the ice. Additionally, the ship’s hull had to be extremely strong,and if possible capable of preserving heat.

The ideas began as theoretical speculations; but when Nansen presentedhis plans after returning from the Greenland expedition, he had substantialpractical experience under his belt. From an organisational point of view,American and English expeditions were not up to standard because they weretoo large. If there were an accident, and the crew were forced to abandon ship,and to live ‘off the land’, being an experienced hunter was just not enough. Itwas important that as few people as possible had to share the prey.

Nor did the traditional division of crew function: with non-commissio-


Polar hero Fridtjof Nansen, as presented in the biography by W.C Brøgger and Nordahl Rolfsen.

A picture published before Nansen’s return from the Arctic.

ned participants on the one hand, and officers and scientists on the other.During the Jeanette expedition, adherence to military procedures resulted bizarreand tragic consequences. For disciplinary reasons, De Jong had de-commis-sioned some crew members, whilst the remainder of his men had worn them-selves out dragging boats and provisions over the pack ice.

What was needed was not a certain number of men, but a collective levelof competency. The ability to survive under extreme circumstances was mostpronounced amongst ordinary, practical men: like a Sverdrup (who, to be sure,was a ships’ officer) or a Kristiansen (the crofter’s son who mastered gun, hammer,and a shoemaker’s awl). Because success and survival depended on each expedi-tion member, crew needed to be treated as equals on a daily basis – like byallowing everyone to eat at the same table or to live together. This was far fromobvious; in fact, the Fram expedition was probably the first in which officersand crewmen shared the same mess.

In addition, Nansen gradually realised that it would not be necessary togo through the Bering Straits, which in the 1890s, before the Panama Canal,would have meant travelling halfway round the world, through the Suez Canaland across the Indian Ocean. On virtually the same day in 1879, as the Jeanettewent in through the Bering Straits, the Swede Nordenskiöld and his Vega cameout of it. Nordenskiöld had sailed from Vardø, on the northern coast of Norway;and had thus demonstrated that, despite severe ice problems, there was aNortheast Passage. Nansen could take the same route, to a suitable point ofdeparture for the drift ice.

The plan to drift with the ice was received with international scepticismbordering on derision. ‘The history of Arctic expeditions contains enough stupi-dity not to also have to bear the burden of Dr Nansen’s illogical plan for self-destruction’, wrote Greely; who himself was in no position to criticise others– on the topic of self-destruction. Firstly, Greely believed the North Pole layin the middle of a large land mass, so it was hopeless to try to drift there.Secondly, he thought that it was impossible to survive long in the icy wilder-ness. Thirdly, he thought that any ship, regardless of its construction, wouldultimately fall victim to the ice. Similar views were voiced by many experts.

Nansen did not consider it an obstacle that there might be undiscoveredland in the north; on the contrary, he felt the expedition would make new andimportant discoveries. However, he concluded that the current theory preclud-ed large land masses. As for survival, he declared tersely that it depended on twothings: proper clothing and plenty of food.

But the reservations regarding the force of the ice could not be brushedaside; too many trailblazers had lost ships and equipment. Nansen’s answerwas that no other ship had been constructed solely with this purpose in mind.He joined forces with Norwegian shipwright Colin Archer, who sunk all his


expertise into the project. Of no less importance was the fact that Otto Sverdrupwas drawn into the venture. The result was the Fram, which means Forward,a broad-beamed, round-bottomed schooner with a steam engine.

Nansen had every reason to be proud of the Fram. Originally, he had envi-sioned an expedition of twelve men, but on impulse en route north, he signedon a thirteenth man in Tromsø. The number thirteen was of no importance,Nansen declared; in reality there were fourteen on the expedition, as the Framherself had as much personality as a human being.

Sverdrup was an obvious choice for skipper. Of course, ideally a crew con-sisted of versatile members, but there had to be a leader with specific credenti-als as a seaman. In addition to Sverdrup, Nansen hired a mate, two machinists,a cook, two men with considerable polar maritime experience, and two jacks-of-all-trades. In addition, he took on a newly qualified doctor and botanist, alieutenant who was given instruction in scientific observation, and a brilliantgymnast. The latter was so keen to take part that he volunteered as stoker, neverhaving worked as one. The man had just graduated from the first year of themilitary academy, and become a reservist. His name was Fredrik HjalmarJohansen.

This three-to-five-year journey in a comparatively small ship, measuring39 metres long and eleven metres across, was a grand wrestling match withthe world’s worst climate, and a logistical challenge with no ‘cooling-off ’ period.

t h e e r a o f h e r o e s 77

The Fram was constructed so that the ice could not get a grip on the hull and so that the ship

could withstand extreme pressure. The result was a vessel ‘built less for speed and navigabili-

ty than to provide a safe, warm haven.’

Everything that was needed had to be packed before departure. It was also afoolhardy psychological experiment; with thirteen men from different back-grounds and with different temperaments, living together 24 hours a day andfor several years; not only fully occupied during a demanding voyage, buthelplessly icebound month after month.

We do not know what Nansen thought about this situation. However, wedo know what De Jong thought about it, the whole time that he was still safelyensconced on the Jeanette. Providence could not have devised a tougherchallenge to man’s psychological and physical endurance. And the next summer,Greely’s second-in-command sighed that when the crew was still lodged in awarm cabin with enough food and clothing: ‘We are a happy quartet’, he wroteironically about life in the officers’ mess. ‘We often do not speak all day. Adelightful prospect ahead, for four dark, winter months.’

Going north

The emphasis placed on the Fram’s ability to handle the ice made sailing theship an ordeal. It pitched and rolled; and during the maiden voyage along thesouthern coast of Norway, bad weather taught Nansen that the deck cargohad to be better secured. In addition, Nansen and others suffered severe seasick-ness. But, the weather was mostly good on the voyage north. The journeyproceeded like a celebration before the fact, with convoys of small boats andsalutes fired from ashore. Here and there along the coast, a party was thrown,the biggest one being in Vardø, the last port of call in Norway. There was verylittle alcohol onboard, so it was no wonder that some crew members took theopportunity of getting drunk. Neither Nansen nor Sverdrup approved, andboth of them were not quick to forget these episodes.

The Fram was heavily loaded when she sailed northeast from Vardø, withprovisions for five years. Naturally, the key item was food. Previous polar expedi-tions had suffered badly in this department, not just from starvation, but alsoprobably just as much from the dreaded scurvy. For several centuries, the BritishNavy had controlled scurvy on long journeys by forcing crews to eat lemonsand limes; but no one, not even Nansen or his nutrition expert Professor SophusTorup, knew that it was a lack of vitamin C that caused the illness.They concen-trated on a varied diet, not just salted and dried meat, but also tinned food stuffs,dried fruit and vegetables, jam, and marmalade.

The vitamin C content of all types of stored food diminishes rapidly. Thatthe expedition was not struck by scurvy is probably due to another factor.They ate plenty of fresh meat, from animals they had killed themselves. Humanslack the ability to synthesise vitamin C, but most animals have this capacity;


and raw meat is full of vitamin C. Although food preparation destroys mostof the vitamin, there was enough of it to keep the men scurvy-free.

Of course, the expedition was equipped with scientific instruments. A fewlarge ship’s boats would be used to evacuate if, in spite of everything, the Framencountered difficulties. There were also six smaller boats on board, for variouspurposes. A library of six hundred volumes was there to ensure that the crewhad enough reading material to occupy them. There was adequate reading light.In addition to paraffin lamps, the ship was equipped with ‘modern’ electric light.Electricity was powered by a dynamo that could either be driven by a windmill,or by muscle power, using a treadmill. This ingenious combination of an exer-cise and lighting contraption, however, was never used.

In Khabarovo, a small settlement near the Yugor Strait between the southtip of Novaya Zemlya and the Siberian mainland, the last cargo was takenonboard: sled dogs from Siberia. One might ask what sled dogs were doingon an icebound boat; in fact, they could be of great importance ‘under variouscircumstances,’ as Nansen wrote rather vaguely. One such a circumstance mightbe evacuation, of course. But Nansen knew full well that it would take a greatdeal for the ice drift to carry them over the North Pole.

From large American expeditions, Nansen had generally learned what notto do. Still, in the autumn of 1892, a young man from Christiania, who hadparticipated in one of those expeditions, gave a very informative lecture to theNorwegian Geographical Society. Eivind Astrup had wintered twice on NorthGreenland with American Robert E. Peary. With his small crew of men, Pearyhad hit on a new and logical method of polar exploration; he had more or lessgone native, and learnt whatever he could from the local Inuit. He dressed inInuit clothes, and drove dog sleds.That is how, in the summer of 1891, Peary andAstrup had covered about two thousand kilometres in 97 days, and roughly tra-velled at twice the speed Nansen had managed on his Greenland expedition.

Fridtjof Nansen wrote immediately to both Astrup and Peary, and askedfor detailed technical information. He intended to leave the Fram and set outon a ski and sled journey to the actual pole, with just one companion, à laPeary and Astrup. But it was not something he was willing to discuss.

On August 3rd, 1893, the last letters home were dispatched, and the Framleft Khabarovo with 34 yelping dogs on deck. They now aimed for the straitand the Kara Sea; and fear of the ice set in. From the crow’s nest 34 metres abovedeck, the lookout reported ice-free coastal waters, as far as he could see. Furtherout, the ice lay solid and thick. Then, after a few days, the ice thickened, andfog made it difficult to manoeuvre. They hove to, went ashore, and made obser-vations.The land was low-lying, grey, and water-logged, and there was little floraor fauna, except for tame reindeer belonging to the Nenets. The coastline didnot coincide with the charts.


On August 13th, they reached open water. But now they had to contendwith a strong, steady easterly wind; and the heavy, broad-beamed boat boreawkwardly into the wind. For several days, they hardly moved. On the 18th,Otto Sverdrup was in the crow’s nest trying to spot walrus or polar bears onthe ice floes. Instead, to everyone’s surprise (as this stretch had been sailed manytimes before them), he sited some low-lying, uncharted islands. With that,the Sverdrup Islands were christened.

This would not be the last time they named unknown territory.The channelto the east was peppered with unknown islands, and worse – unpredictableshoals and shallows. Nordenskiöld’s maps were relatively inaccurate. Accordingto the chart, one observation indicated that the Fram, was 14 kilometres inland!Worse still, winter was approaching. It was already the end of August. Nansenhad to face the fact that they might become icebound here, just off the coastof Siberia, barely halfway to his intended goal. He tried to comfort himself withthoughts of seal and reindeer, and the fact that there were still large geographicalproblems to solve. But it did not seem to help.

They sailed on at a snail’s pace. A storm broke up the ice at just the rightmoment; they hoisted sail, and moved full steam ahead. On September 9th,the Fram passed Cape Chelyuskin, mainland Russia’s northernmost point; at77° 41’ N; it was 6° 30’ farther north than the North Cape. They now turnedsouth into the Laptev Sea and hoped for less ice. Having replenished theirsupplies of meat from good-sized walruses, they hit on open water, and headedconfidently northwards into an area they supposed would be reasonably ice-free for a long ways north.

Their optimism was tangible. On September 19th, they were back at 77° N.Nansen indicated with caution that he would be satisfied if they reached 78° Nbefore the ice closed in altogether; Sverdrup had other expectations. He reck-oned they would easily reach 80° N; he even spoke light-heartedly about 85° Nor more. There were fewer and fewer birds about, a sign that they were far awayfrom any land mass, and that they were sailing straight for open – or icebound– seas.

But as early as the 20th, Nansen wrote in his diary: ‘The entire dream hascollapsed.’ Suddenly, and without warning, they encountered a massive barrierof ice. The only thing to do was to sail alongside it and try and find an entranceinto (and through) the ice. This was how they managed to reach 78° 30’ N.They moored the ship to a mountain of ice, and started to prepare for the longwinter night.

Wintering was not supposed to be a life of ease. Several ‘workshops’ wereset up, onboard or out on the ice. The windmill was erected to provide electriclight; but the ‘treadmill’, as noted, was never used because there was more thanenough to do, to pass the time of day. The ship needed to be pumped out


from time to time, but less and less frequently as it started to freeze in. BetweenDecember 1893 and the summer of 1895, the pumps were never used, whichproved that the Fram’s construction was definitely superior. The Jeanette hadsuffered badly from leakages, and a good deal of her coal supplies were usedto operate the steam-driven pumps. Only a superhuman effort on behalf of thecrew had prevented the boat from quite literally filling up. At worst, she took in15 thousand litres per hour.

Besides, the Fram was on a scientific mission. The word ‘Unknown’ figuresin bold and in two different places on the map Nansen published in the magazi-ne Nature, which appeared together with his ‘Plan for a New Polar Expedition’.These notations were inside a circle marking the 80th parallel. On the same map,there is a large shaded area north of the Bering Strait, reaching towards the Pole,marked tentatively: ‘Land?’ Today this is the hardest and most importantconcept to grasp; that the areas around the North Pole were completelyunknown. Furthermore, Nansen asserted, ‘it is of the utmost importance toexplore them. We do not have to go far in our scientific research of the world,before we encounter difficult questions, whose answers lie in the as yet unknown‘polar regions’.’ The most important discovery of the Fram expedition was madetotally unexpectedly. It had always been thought that the Arctic Ocean was ashallow sea, its bed made up of the colliding continental shelves of Alaska andCanada, Greenland, and Siberia. Nansen, himself, had dismissed as ludicrousthe idea that no land would be found further north. Somewhat prematurely,the French newspaper Le Figaro announced in 1895, that Nansen had plantedthe Norwegian flag on ‘the mountains’ of the North Pole. The Fram expediti-on was simply not equipped with instruments capable of measuring great depthsat sea; and the sounding line had to be improvised with hemp hawsers andsteel wire. They managed to collect some seabed samples from depths of 3,850metres; but when the lines snapped, the expedition had to accept that it couldonly determine with certainty that the water depth was over three thousandmetres. Their line never reached the seabed. The Arctic Ocean was indeed adeep ocean.

Right from the start, the current acted as a pretty reliable force of forwardpropulsion. On September 29th, they crossed 79° N, icebound and moored. Butthen a northerly wind started to blow, and they drifted backwards, first to 78°47’ N, and then to 78° 35’ N. They began to lose heart. At the same time, theice started to press them down; the whole ship groaned, and the Fram was lifteda few feet into the air, before sinking down into the ice again. ‘Slowly, the hullstarted to creak and moan. We are treated to the entire register of sounds, fromhigh wailing sounds to growling and snarling; and then suddenly there was abang, and the ship jumped into the air,’ Nansen wrote poetically. He proudlycontinued: ‘There is something comforting about sitting here and listening


to all this uproar, knowing that the ship is strong; other ships would have beencrushed ages ago.’

Not everyone aboard felt as comfortable as Nansen did, listening to theenormously powerful ice. Pressure ridges and ice slabs rose into the air to a heightof six to seven metres, while moving slowly and with an overpowering presence.Huge leads opened up and then closed. There was no doubt that the ice moved,by fits and starts, backwards and forwards; but on the whole it moved in thewrong direction.

The crew took comfort in looking after the dogs, which were now let looseon the ice, after having been tied up on deck throughout the journey. Theyalso indulged in one or two exciting polar-bear hunts. Otherwise, they had tomake themselves as comfortable as they could; not least by partaking in threegood meals a day, plus extra refreshments on all special holidays, like the anniver-sary of the launch of the Fram. The doctor, Dr. Blessing, started monthly healthcheck-ups, and was soon able to confirm that the crew were not exactly sufferingany physical hardship; in fact, most of them were steadily putting on weight.

By November 8th the ship had drifted south to 77° 43’ N, or to approxima-tely the same latitude as Cape Chelyuskin. Nansen was in a bad mood. He triedto view this all in the grand scheme of things; but the drift to the south erodedhis self-confidence. ‘My plans lie in tatters. At the first gust of wind, my theories,my castle, where I self-assuredly rose above all foolish objections, have comecrashing down like a pack of cards.’ He was also suffering from a guilty con-science for having left his wife Eva, whom he had only been married to forfour years, and their newborn daughter, Liv.

Then their luck changed, or rather the current, turned; and slowly the Framstarted to drift, tentatively, and with many setbacks, in more or less a norther-ly direction. The sun disappeared. The pressure of the ice was relentless. Thetemperature sank drastically. The ship proved not to be as well-insulated asNansen had anticipated. The crew were bothered by frost in their cabins,although they were no doubt far more comfortable than other men who win-tered in the north. But they were, in spite of everything, undoubtedly driftingnorth. On December 9th they once again crossed the 79th parallel.

In their spare time they read, played cards, smoked, and talked. Nansenkept a certain distance. The fact that he addressed the crew formally did notmean much, according to the social norms of the day. He rarely sat down atthe card table, or with a group of smokers in the galley (smoking in the messwas normally forbidden). He would rather sit in his own cabin, and writemelancholic observations in his diary: ‘I read about summer pastures and tallmountains, and it makes me moody and weak. Why think about it? After all,it will be years before I set eyes on them again. The ship is moving at deadlyslow pace, like a snail, but not as reliably.’


Fridtjof Nansen’s map from 1890. The dotted line

shows the probable route of remnants from the

wreck of the Jeanette. According to Nansen, the

Fram would be able to take the same route as the

wreckage.Note that largeparts of the central Arctic

are marked ‘ukjendt’, which means ‘unknown’.

This monotonous daily life was broken up by sudden drama. When therough Arctic sailor Peder Hendriksen went to investigate the dogs’ barking,he ran into a polar bear. He tried to retreat between twisted pressure ridgesand hummocks; but his slippery wooden shoes made him fall. The bear attack-ed and bit his hip. Lacking any weapon, he used his lantern to hit the bear ashard as he could, which gave him enough time to scramble back on board.The others rushed out and shot the bear close to the side of the ship; the bearwas obviously hoping to get Hendriksen.

In addition to having killed two dogs, the bear caused consternation andconfusion. No one had expected polar bears so far from land. Second engineerLars Petterson was probably the most prolific Jack-of-all-trades onboard. Aformer blacksmith, he forged a formidable bear trap, which they rigged upand stuffed with bait some distance from the ship.

On Christmas Eve there was moonlight, and the thermometer registered–37°C. Festive food, Christmas fare, and presents they had brought with them,could not distract them from the fact that they were moving very slowly. Theirposition was 79° 11’ N. Speeches were made, a poem recited, and a special edi-tion of the ship’s paper Framsjå published, in which Hendriksen, an experiencedArctic Ocean harpooner, was lampooned for being poorly prepared for hisencounter with the bear.

All the men were homesick. Most of them had wives and children, and noneof them knew how many Christmas Eves would pass before they would be backhome with them. In an attack of pessimism, Nansen calculated that, at theirpresent rate of speed in the ice drift, it would take eight years to get home.Sverdrup was also irritable, although he tried to hold it back. He wrote in hisdiary: ‘… but one thing is certain: that there is absolutely no indication ofany northbound current, which we have put our trust in and which was sotangible, and obvious for all to see, according to the scientists.’

New Year 1894 arrived and brought with it cold and frost. Temperaturesfell to –52° C. On February 2nd, the Fram crossed the 80th parallel. But thenit moved south again; and two weeks later, they were back at the same latitude,and remained there the rest of the month. A sounding, using a line measuringnearly 3,500 metres, gave no indication of a seabed; and some witty soul sug-gested they were sounding the hole out of which the earth’s axes poked.

The sun returned towards the end of February, and the crew started totest their skis in the rough terrain between the ice hummocks. By the doctor’sestimates, they had stopped putting on weight, either because of exercise orbecause they had run out of beer.

The Fram started to move a bit; first in a southerly direction, and thenslowly, slowly northwards. On April 7th they were able to enter a new milestonein the log: they had reached 80° 15’ N. Nansen tried to convince himself that


it was the scientific results that mattered, not reaching the pole, the latter havingalways been a matter of vanity. The more politically conscious amongst the crewinterpreted the drifting as a battle between progress and reaction – followinga favourable ‘lefthanded’ wind and speed towards the north, the conservativesdominated with a subsequent calm and backwards drift.

Spring arrived, then summer and perpetual daylight. Nansen occupiedhimself with dog-sledding, but not with the idea of evacuation. The Fram satthere, safe and sound. During the summer, however, open leads and meltingsnow made skiing and dog-sledding difficult. Still, they were now headed northagain, and would reach 81° 52’ N before encountering yet another setback.

The summer of 1894 was very long. Midsummer Night’s Eve arrived in aflurry of sleet, northerly winds, and a southerly drift. Naturally, the atmosphereonboard was affected by the lack of forward motion, and the prospect of yetanother winter onboard at more or less the same latitude. When the observa-tions recorded bad results everyone was bad-tempered and withdrawn: ‘Thirteensuch silent men do not exactly contribute to an uplifting atmosphere’, wrote Jack-of-all-trades Bernhard Nordahl in his diary.

The decision

When September arrived they had been icebound for a year. With obstinateoptimism and faith in the drift, Nansen figured that they were moving. For theywere moving in the right direction; even though the progress was maddeninglyslow, thanks to their drifting back and forth. He then proceeded onto the iceand started to experiment with dogs pulling heavily laden sleds.

Then they had to prepare for another winter. A large tent was erected overthe ship, which provided considerable warmth and shelter. Nansen let the menlight fires in the saloons, as there was sufficient coal. This lessened the problemof condensation and frost in the cabins.

What he did not mention was that this winter, 1894–95, was his last onboard.At the first sign of spring, he intended to set out northwards with one of thecrew. If the American Peary and young Astrup could manage a journey like that,surely an experienced Greenland explorer in the prime of life (Nansen was 33 thatautumn), with a fit companion who was also an expert dog-handler, could dothe same. Peary had not even used skis, but had stuck to snowshoes.

Nansen’s many calculations regarding weight, provisions, speed, and direc-tion were initially probably quite sensible. However, in reality, the many unpre-dictable factors in the entirely unknown territory into which he was nowheading, proved these calculations to be qualified guesswork. The drift of theice was one example; after all, they had first-hand experience that it could be


The solar eclipsewasoneofmanyphenomena that the

Fram crew got to study. Johansen, Nansen and Scott-

Hansen make observations on April 6th, 1894.

unreliable. At best it was with them, at worst, the ice might drift in an oppositedirection causing them to remain more or less on the spot. Returning to theFram was not an option. She would, in the meantime, have drifted on and wouldbe impossible to find. The two-man expedition would have to return over thepolar ice to some inhospitable coast: ‘after having reached land, any decentperson should be able to survive by hunting either small or large game, be theybears or seaweed fleas’.

The crux of the matter was that Nansen did not want to return to the Fram.He wanted to go home, preferably as the polar hero with the North Pole ‘scalpdangling from his belt’; but even without that, if need be. The plan was to reachland north of Svalbard, and then head south down the archipelago early enoughin the season to find sealers who were still hunting in those waters before return-ing to Norway for the winter. The atmosphere on board, the idea of beingcooped up in the ice, perhaps for several years, without actually achievinganything, and maybe his guilty conscience regarding his wife and daughter –all contributed to Nansen’s willingness to leave the safety of the ship and setout into the icy wilderness.

The question was: With whom? The natural first choice was Sverdrup, theonly one onboard whom Nansen addressed informally (using the Norwegianword for ‘you’, du). Sverdrup was a man whom Nansen knew and who haddemonstrated his supreme ability to survive. But the two of them, the leaderand the skipper, could not both leave the Fram, whose mission after all was toreturn safely to Norway. Nansen realised that, in case of an evacuation, he wouldbe depriving the ship of two men and important resources, above all, the dogs.

Hjalmar Johansen’s duties as stoker had, for good reasons, come to an end,with the Fram settled comfortably into the ice. Instead, he had been workingas an assistant on meteorological observations, a cold and boring job he execu-ted without complaint. He was the most physically fit of all the men. He alsospent a lot of time with the dogs, and was an adequate dog-sledder.

Otto Sverdrup liked this quiet boy from Skien, thirteen years his junior.Johansen had turned 27 in May of 1894. Sverdrup would have liked to attemptthe polar trip, himself, with Johansen as his companion. Now, he encouragedNansen to take Johansen with him. The latter said ‘yes’ without hesitation.Of course, it was an honourable commission; and besides, someone was waitingfor him.The prospect of returning to his childhood sweetheart, whom he hopedto marry, made Johansen even more eager to make the trip.

Frantic activity began onboard the Fram. Everyone set to work equippingthe two polar explorers. Four sleds needed to be made. Otto Sverdrup sewedsleeping bags of reindeer fur, and then sails for the sleds. Petterson was promo-ted to cook, to everyone’s delight, while Jacobsen, the mate, took over as black-smith. Jacobsen forged axes and other tools. The real cook, Adolf Juell from


Kragerø, was now entrusted with the important job of sewing and fitting thedogs with harnesses. The dogs known to gnaw their harness were given specialharnesses with sewn-in steel wires.

Nansen and Johansen wore two watches each, and checked them dailyagainst the ship’s chronometer to choose the more accurate one. One thingwas to err regarding the exact latitude of Greenland; they needed to head westto find the coast, in any event. The polar wilderness was an entirely differentmatter. Whether they returned by way of the tiny Seven Islands (Sjuøyane) northof Svalbard, or via Cape Fligely, the northernmost point in the islands of FranzJosef Land, their navigation depended on minute accuracy, in a ‘landscape’ withno obvious landmarks or fixed points.

The last, and southernmost, stage of their journey would necessarily takeplace in the late summer, and they would have to expect open waters.Therefore,in addition to provisions for themselves and the dogs, they would need to pulltwo slender, ready-made canvas kayaks. Nansen recalled his monster of a boatfrom the Greenland expedition. By now, he had learnt from the Inuit how toreally move around on the water.

The work of outfitting the expedition did not improve the atmosphereon board. Nansen was irresolute, got stuck in details, and thus ‘never got going’,according to Sverdrup’s irate diary entry. But they all recognised one advantage.If the two arrived home before them, they could carry letters to those who waitedat home in Norway, with mail delivered by way of the North Pole! Christmas1894 was dedicated to letter-writing. And the month of December brought asudden southerly wind, and they picked up speed. On December 13th they wereable to celebrate. On December 13th they were able to celebrate; the day beforethey had reached 82° 30’ north and with that ‘Fram’ had been further norththan any other ship before her. In the days that followed, the wind blew fromthe south, sometimes with gusts reaching storm strength. Christmas wascelebrated in the knowledge that they were on their way north, but the weatherwas too bad to permit observations. On Christmas Day, observer Scott-Hansencaught a glimpse of the starry sky, and reckoned they were north of 83° 20’N, which was very close to Lieutenant Lockwood’s record.

The movement in the ship, however, got the ice going too. The shipboomed, leads opened up and the dogs fell into them. Crates and othermaterial and supplies, which had been piled on the ice, had to be moved. OnJanuary 3rd, Nansen ordered provisions, tents, and cooking utensils to be carriedout of the Fram, and made ready for evacuation. A huge pressure ridge toweredabove them, and was closing in on the ship, which was listing more and moreto port. The ridge had reached the ship’s side on January 5th and was level withdeck or even higher. The tent roof started to collapse under the weight of theice, which was closing in on the vessel.


Clothes and lifeboats were brought out on to the ice, and Nansen command-ed all hands on deck. Otto Sverdrup took it calmly; he was having a steambath when the orders came, and he got busy. The ice crashed and banged overthe Fram; the dogs were about to be crushed and had to be rescued at the lastmoment. Other sacks and personal belongings were offloaded.

Then the ice stopped its downward action. The low-lying port side wasburied in ice, but the tarpaulin over the deck was intact.The crew went on boardto try and catch some sleep, with all their clothes on and all doors open; sothat if the ice started acting up again, they would not be crushed by it. But beforegoing to bed, the men helped themselves to all the ‘luxuries’ they would have toleave behind in the event of an evacuation: cakes, chocolates, and the like.

By the next day, the ship had righted itself, slightly, and the crew tried tohack away at the ice, reaching as far as the port rail. The weather cleared, andthe navigator triumphantly reported that they were at 83° 34’ N. With that,the thirteen men on board could boast of having gone farther north than anyother human beings. Of course, in practice that meant they were farther awayfrom home than any one before them.

The Fram stood her ground, and the ice pressure subsided. Work to prepareNansen and Johansen for the sled journey started anew. The two men testedthe double sleeping bag Sverdrup had sown, but discovered that a night outon the ice in –39° C temperatures was uncomfortable. Sverdrup, who by thistime was quite irked by what he called Nansen’s indecisiveness, thought theywere wimps. ‘When you think of how we were dressed on Greenland, it is extra-ordinary that they should be cold, what with their wolf-skin clothes inside thesleeping bag.’

Worse yet, the sleds had not worked out successfully, and Nansen overes-timated how many provisions the two could manage to take. Twice he andJohansen left accompanied by salutes and festivities; and twice they turned back.

The third and last departure took place on March 14th, 1895. Nansen andJohansen headed north with three sleds. Nansen led on skis, followed by hissled, thereafter the reserve sled, and Johansen with the last dog team bringingup the rear. On the first day they were accompanied by some of the crew.Sverdrup turned round first; he was keen to get back to supper. Three othersremained with them until the next morning. Then, in the words of Sverdrup,they ‘stood watching the procession until it turned into tiny black dots, farout on the endless ice flats’. The two men were on their own, 650 kilometresfrom the North Pole, with 28 dogs, two kayaks, guns, enough dog food forone month, and food for themselves for 100 days.

According to Nansen’s written instructions, Sverdrup was appointedcommander of the Fram for the rest of her journey. The document was wordedin such a way as to give Sverdrup broad powers of attorney. The atmosphere


on board improved significantly. Not only were spring and light around thecorner, but no one really missed Nansen. ‘I think we were all glad to get rid ofhim, or at least that is how it appears, and I wish him all the best,’ wroteJacobsen. Sverdrup tidied up, after all the hustle and bustle of the provisioning,and he moved into Nansen’s cabin.

Then he began methodical preparations for a possible evacuation. The icepress in January had given the crew a fright, and the two polar explorers hadhelped themselves to a lot of valuable equipment. He had new skis made, bysplitting a large oak beam. Starting on May 1st he ordered training for the crew:two hours of skiing a day. Norway’s Constitution Day, on May 17 th, was a farmerrier affair than it had been when Nansen was present; and the next daySverdrup realised he had gone a bit too far: ‘The punch gave us all huge head-aches.’

Otherwise, life proceeded much as it had before, with some ice press,labour-intensive soundings, and increased frustration amongst the crew, as theyrealised summer was waning and a third winter stay was imminent. More atten-tion was given to what latitude rather than longitude they were on. Observationsindicated a westward drift. Summer offered some diversion in the form ofanimal life and hunting: mostly of birds, a welcome addition to their diet.

The drift continued in a northwest direction. In November, long after thethird icebound winter had started, the Fram reached the northernmost pointduring its entire expedition; it was close to 86° N. What no one knew at thetime, was that Nansen and Johansen had only got a few minutes further northbefore being forced to turn around. They could have achieved the same thing


The first attempt to reach the North Pole. The equipment was too heavy and Nansen had to

re-prioritize. The dogs were blithely unaware that they were on the menu.

by sitting in a comparatively comfortable ship, rather than by risking theirlives in the icy wilderness.

86° 14’ N

In November 1895 things were looking bad for Nansen and Johansen, in everyway. While the crew onboard the Fram found some consolation in the thoughtthat the two men were now at home in Norway, had told friends and relationsthat all was well on board the ship, and had delivered their letters, the pairwere actually hibernating in one of the world’s most inhospitable places, atthe northern tip of the Franz Josef Land archipelago.

Nansen and Johansen’s trip to the north was a disaster from the start. Itwas cold, about –40° C, and everything froze: ‘The sleeping bag was our bestfriend,’ wrote Johansen, ‘but it became stiffer and heavier as each day wentby. Sometimes we had to turn it inside out and knock the ice off with our ski-poles. When we crept into it at night, it gradually softened along with ourclothes. Our poor bodies had to thaw the bag out before beginning to get warm,’wrote Johansen. The dogs suffered from the cold and did not pull well.Nevertheless, they managed to make mischief by tangling up the harness andbiting it to pieces. After a few days, the first dog was slaughtered.

What was worse was the ice, which was not very navigable. The sleds hadto be pushed and pulled over pressure ridges and hummocks. The leaderlessmiddle sled was always overturning.They had to depart from their course owingto large open leads. It was unthinkable to use the canvas kayaks in the cold,because that would mean pulling heavy, ice-covered boats the moment theyhauled them up on the ice. Besides, the kayaks had suffered tears during strenu-ous transportation. Eight days into their drudgery, they found themselves at85° 9’ N. At that speed, it would take them at least 48 days to reach the pole;and the route back to land could be twice as long, without food for the dogs,and in conditions that certainly would not improve with the coming of summer.

The puzzle was unsolvable. Pitching and breaking up their camp was tootime-consuming, made cumbersome by the cold. They were also continuous-ly being reminded of the dangerous condition they were in. If one of them wereto meet with an accident, or fall ill or die, the other would not be able to copealone. On March 31st, a lead opened up, with Nansen, Johansen and one ofthe sleds on one side, and with the dogs and all the equipment on the other.While they pondered what to do, the ice under Johansen’s feet gave way. Hemanaged to scramble up onto the other side, but the channel got wider and wider.Then, he ran back and forth on the ice to try and keep warm, and his clothesfroze to ice immediately. Meanwhile, Nansen looked for a way around the


channel. It took hours before they had retrieved all the equipment and managedto get Johansen ‘inside’. Nansen’s comment: ‘After all, we’re not womenfolk’, whenJohansen insinuated that he was cold, did not add to the general atmosphere.

They had lost the odometer, so were entirely dependent on observationsto calculate their position. These were disappointing, as well. Not only werethere strong indications that they had made little progress under these horribleconditions; but the unpredictable ice they were moving on at the time, wasdrifting in a southerly direction.

They struggled on for a few more days; or, more correctly, they struggledon night and day. During the first days of April, the temperature rose to –30°C, but the ice was still rough and difficult. They slaughtered another dog tofeed the others.

On April 5th they crossed the 86th parallel N. They were moving, then, moreslowly than ever; in spite of struggling day and night, and sleeping only whennecessary. It was obvious that there was no solution but to turn back, although,good and faithful subordinate that he was, Johansen waited for Nansen to makethe decision, which came on April 7th.

And so, they pitched their tent. Nansen made a small reconnaissance tripnorthwards to see if conditions were as bad there as where they stopped. Maybehe also wanted to make sure that he was the person who had been furthest north.However, they made their official observation by the camp, and calculated theirposition to be 86° 13’ 6’ N. Lieutenant Lockwood had been beaten by nearlythree degrees. (Later calculations have shown that the correct position wasactually 86° 4’ N.)

As can be expected under these circumstances, the celebrations were moder-ate. The festive meal consisted of stew, dried chocolate, and cranberry porridge.The two flags they were carrying were left behind at the camp. One was theofficial Norwegian flag, with the mark signifying the union with Sweden inthe corner. The other was the ‘uncontaminated’ Norwegian flag.

Then they turned south.The mild weather continued, and the ice was easierto negotiate. They rarely had to stop and help each other pull the sleds overobstacles.Their mood improved, as they made progress, during a couple of gooddays’ marches. Johansen started to get used to the unpleasant job of dog butcher-ing, while the dogs themselves began to enjoy the taste of their own kind.

On April 12th, Good Friday, something happened that cast a dark shadowover their home journey. Their irregular daily routine had made them bothforget to wind their watches.

Consequently Nansen had to spend much of Easter Sunday in the sleepingbag, calculating and fumbling with logarithm tables in –30° C. As quickly aspossible, he needed to calculate their position by estimating how far they hadmoved and how long the watches had been standing still. The computation


produced a new, disturbing surprise.They were further north than they thought,86° 5’. The conclusion was as obvious as it was sad: Now, when they wantedto get south as quickly as possible, the ice was finally drifting north.

In reality their situation and their new position were even worse than theyrealised. Nansen consoled himself with the thought that they would at leastreach Petermann Land; which, according to the map by Payer of Austria, wassituated north of Franz Josef Land, and conveniently stretched from east towest. Though nothing was known about the land, he assumed that it wouldbe possible to survive by hunting polar bear and birds.

The drawback was that Petermann Land only existed on Payer’s map. In itssupposed location, there was nothing but more of the same: steep hummocks andrugged pressure ridges. The next day, Nansen managed to leave his compassbehind and had to make a long detour to retrieve it. But then ill luck abandonedthem for a time. In the good weather, they made reasonable progress. The highpoint of the day’s journey was a rest and sharing some chocolate. As it had beencrushed to bits, it was not easy to make two equal portions. They solved theproblem in a fair and honest way: One divided it up, and the other had first choice.

Dog food was running out quickly, and Johansen had to keep using thebutcher’s knife. It would have been easier to shoot the poor beasts; but ammuni-tion was at a premium, and they chose to economise as much as they could.On April 25th they spotted the tracks of an Arctic fox. The natural conclusionwould be that they were getting close to land. Because no one knew how far eastand north ‘Petermann Land’ lay, they started to keep a lookout. On April 29th

they decided that today something would surely have to show up on the horizon.One can only wonder what they might have felt, had they known the truth. Athree-month journey lay before them, and it would take them to the limits oftheir physical and mental endurance, before they reached a bare Arctic coast.

May arrived with a headwind from the southeast; which not only slowedthem down, but also opened up big channels between the ice.

Then, such bad weather followed, that they had to lie low. There was noland in sight, anywhere. The blunder with the watches gnawed at Nansen.Nor did it improve matters, that he had never really mastered dog-sledding. OnConstitution Day, when their homesickness was probably at its height, avehement argument erupted between these two very different men. They hadno choice, but to continue to pull together. Then their tent blew to bits, andthey had to stop to mend it.

But where were they? According to the map, they should have been southof ‘Petermann Land’. Could their calculations have been so wrong? It was nowlate May, and a whole month had passed since they had been sure of spottingland. There was more animal life around, birds flew overhead and in the leads,from time to time, huge narwhales snorted. But land was nowhere to be seen.


On June 1st they were forced to ferry themselves, the last of the dogs, andtheir equipment over a lead and onto an ice floe. As soon as everything wassafely ‘landed’, the floe broke up. Despite the drudgery and the mortal dangerin which they found themselves, Hjalmar Johansen managed to see the grandeurof the majestic ice-world: ‘It was beautiful to behold the coal-black leads shiningin the sun.The ice could be unusually white, and pressure ridges and hummocksshimmered, azure-blue amongst the huge blocks of ice. The eye sought in vainto see down into the water, to the depths of the ice-walls.’ But their life couldnot continue this way. They were forced to pitch tent and repair the kayaks,which had suffered badly after all the journeys up and down the ice.

The camp of hope and longing

June was a month of crisis. The journey had started to look dangerously likethe Jeanette crew’s struggle across the ice. Summer was arriving, and conditionsdeteriorated. Food was scarce. The dogs had been slaughtered, one by one;and the two men became their own draught animals. Nansen walked ahead andreconnoitred. Having found a reasonable route, he returned to Johansen. Theyeach pulled a sled and helped each other over the obstacles that the ice posed.They sank deep into the rotten snow. They crossed the leads on ice floes, whichthey first had to manoeuvre in place with bamboo poles, in order to get on tothem. The weather was bad, and it was difficult to make observations; but therewere many indications that they were travelling due west.

Johansen had already butchered ‘Kaifas’, Nansen’s own dog, which he hadbrought with him from Norway. At the beginning of June there were fourdogs left, one of which then had to be butchered. Nansen prepared supper fromthe blood, but did not enjoy it. Down it went, however, because they had tostave off starvation.

They were forced to halt. They pitched tent near a suitable lead, to tryand get some food. In the course of two-and-a-half days, they had only shottwo gulls. The scientist Nansen had a landing net to catch small animal as scien-tific samples. Now, he tried in vain to scrape out anything edible. They spotteda seal, but it was too timid for them to get close enough to it. The remainingbread and pemmican were each doled out in daily portions of 50 grams.

They had to keep going. They reached a stretch of open water that theywould have to negotiate with the kayaks. They bound the kayaks together usingthe skis as supports and the sleds at right angles. They carried pumps with themthe whole way, and they found good use for the sail.

When they arrived on the opposite bank, Nansen jumped ashore, grabbedhis camera, and took pictures of the ‘raft’. Suddenly, they heard a huge splash


out in the channel. It was a large seal. Johansen aimed and shot it. Nansengrabbed the harpoon and ran along the edge of the ice to secure the valuablecatch. But in the meantime, the kayak drifted into the lead, with Johansenstill on board. He dared not move, for fear the vessel might sink. The kayakhe was in was full of water, and it was only being kept afloat by the other one.

For an awful moment, it looked as though they might have to choose betweenthe seal and the equipment. According to Johansen, the ‘scene was lively’;while according to Nansen, it was ‘a picture of complete dissolution’. But theymanaged somehow to rescue both, though much of the equipment was soaked.They pitched a tent and ate their first meal in 24 hours: boiled seal meat andraw blubber.

That seal probably saved their lives. This was the advantage of being two.One seal meant food for ages. The day before, they had considered getting rid


The dogs were not particularly prone to cannibalism – to begin with. Here, Johansen pulls the

sled with his remaining dog, Suggen.

of all their equipment, and making a last desperate attempt to reach unknownlands in their leaky kayaks. Now they pitched camp to finish off the seal, gainsome strength, and wait for conditions to improve. They ate two large mealsof seal per day, and splurged a few times by adding a piece of bread for dessert.Nansen nearly set the tent on fire one evening, when he tried to make ‘bloodpancakes’. It was Midsummer Night’s Eve, when Norwegians traditionally lightbonfires to celebrate, ‘so in that case, it was alright to have set the tent on fire’.

For a whole month, they remained in camp, which they called ‘the campof hope and longing’. On June 25th it was warm enough for Johansen to takea brief snooze with his naked toes sticking out of the tent. Nansen woke himwith the news that he had shot another seal; not a bearded seal this time, buta small ring seal. This diet, half-raw but fresh seal meat, saved them from scurvywhich would otherwise have been a real threat.

But snow and ice conditions were bad. Sleet and rain eroded the loose snow,and soaked everything in the tent. Slowly their mood deteriorated, and therewas not much conversation between the two men. The two remaining dogsoffered some companionship and a distraction from the eternal question: Wherewere they? And where was land? They could no longer suppress the troublingthought of camping another winter, possibly under absolutely primitive circum-stances, on Svalbard or Franz Josef Land.

On July 6th something happened that at least broke the monotony.The dogswere barking madly, and the two men grabbed their guns and ran out. A she-bear was sniffing the dogs inquisitively. Nansen wounded it, and the two menpursued it, through the deep snow, over the hummocks, and between thechannels. The she-bear had two cubs, and the men managed to kill all three.Now, they had food in abundance, for the dogs, as well. Furthermore, they nowhad three polar-bear pelts on which to sleep. The first ‘night’ after the hunt,they each slept 22 hours without a break, a sign not only of their uneven diurnalrhythm in the eternal summer daylight, but also of their having been veryuncomfortable before. Previously, they had been lying on top of their skis tosave the sleeping bag from being soaked by the melt water.

When the weather cleared, they climbed up onto a large hummock to scoutand check out the land, or ice. To the south was a cloudbank that was notmoving; so they agreed it must be land. (In reality, the ‘cloud’ was a glacier onFranz Josef Land.) At least the successful bear hunt provided a variation fromthe seal meat, ‘cub breast is a delicacy’, Nansen wrote.

They broke camp on July 22nd. Some equipment was left behind, inclu-ding the sleeping bag.The kayaks, filled with provisions, had been made as tightand impregnable as possible, by using a mixture of soot, blubber, and Nansen’spastel crayons. They were then fastened to the sleds, so that they could just drivethe kayaks straight into the channels, without time-consuming reloading. Snow


conditions were bad, and the ice was difficult; but the next day they spottedland, which they reckoned was two days away.

It would take fourteen days to reach land. The weather was impossible,the ice virtually impenetrable, and the wind forced them away from land asfast as they struggled towards it. Then, something worse happened. Nansen wasstruck by a bad attack of sciatica. Johansen had to help him on with his bootsand stockings, and more or less carry him over the hummocks. Luckily, Nansenhad regained his health by August 4th, when Johansen was attacked, withoutwarning, by a huge polar bear. It knocked him over. All he could do was tryand hold it at bay by grabbing its throat as it lowered its head, with its jaws open.Nansen’s rifle was in the kayak. When he grabbed it, he pushed the kayak so itglided out over the water.The seconds ticked by, as Johansen desperately grabbedthe bear’s throat. Then, he uttered the famous line, in a cool, heroic voice: ‘Nowyou must hurry up, or it will be too late’.

Nansen hurried as best he could; but if the dogs had not distracted thebear for a moment, it would have been too late. The bear lifted its head, andlunged at the nearest dog. Johansen let go, and rolled away. Then, Nansenaimed, and the bear fell.

Even though they basically threw away all unnecessary items, they never-theless cut the paws off the bear and kept them. Johansen had another memen-to, too, a few scars down his cheek, where he had been scratched. The mendid not partake much of the meat, but the dogs ate their fill.

A few days later, the men reached the edge of the ice. The last two dogshad to be killed, and Nansen and Johansen got into their kayaks. For severaldays they paddled and sailed southwards without going ashore, pitching theirtent on ice floes in the evening. The sea was full of life, and almost too muchfor comfort. Aggressive walruses tried to pierce the canvas on the kayaks. ‘Land’proved to be some small islands. Nansen named the two first ones after hiswife and daughter: Eva’s Island and Liv’s Island. Later it was discovered that‘these’ were actually only one island, which is now called Eva-Liv Island. OnAugust 9th they went ashore, up a glacier. It was not until the evening of August15th that they found exposed land, with moss and swaying golden white Siberianpoppies.

The big question still remained: Where were they? Was this the coast ofFranz Josef Land, with Svalbard as its closest neighbour across the sea; or wasthis just a deep, complex bay on the east side of the island? If so, would theyhave to travel north to get onto the ‘right’ side of the island? And to add tothe confusion, yet another non-existent land was shown on Payer’s map. Thiswas King Oscar Land, west of Franz Josef Land. Nansen was unable to ob-serve it, for good reasons.

On August 17th they were pretty sure of their conclusion. They were most


probably on the west coast of Franz Josef Land, although the fictitious areason the map still had them somewhat confused. The land was barren, but therewere gulls, guillemots and auk, Arctic foxes and bears. There were seals andwalruses in the sea. Nansen had been right. A ‘decent’ person could survive here.Nevertheless, they hoped to reach Svalbard before summer’s end, find a sealer,and hitch a ride home.

That hope was crushed in the weeks to come. They were halted by the ice.The wind threatened to capsize the kayaks. It started to sleet and snow. Winterwas rapidly approaching. Food was scarce once again; but an old he-bear whowas sniffing around the tent, solved that problem temporarily.

During the last days of August, Nansen and Johansen started to preparefor the inevitable: a long winter stay on the harsh coast. Mentally and physi-cally, it was a formidable challenge. The entire, mad slog southwards from 86°14’ N had been motivated by the desire to get home. And though they managedto reconcile themselves to the fact that the trip would take another year, it meantsurviving with the little equipment they had. After all, they had left most of iton the ice when they switched to the kayaks.

There was nothing to do but start building a ‘cabin’. To manage that, theyhad a sled runner, a spear, a ‘minute’ little axe, and ski poles with spikes. Usinga spade made out of a walrus’s shoulder blade, they dug a hole, a metre deepand about two by three metres in size. Luckily they found enough stones in ascree, to make walls. The roof posed a problem, but they got hold of some drift-wood, and used it as a roof girder. With skis and sticks to prop it up, theymade a roof from the heavy, unwieldy walrus skins.

While carrying out the building project, they hunted polar bears andwalruses for winter supplies. The game was skinned and cut up, and so therewas no lack of work during that autumn. In the hut they built stone bunks,one for each of them; but after an ice-cold night, they realised that they wouldhave to use the common sleeping-bag procedure, here, too. Lighting came fromhomemade fish-oil lamps using blubber from the animals they hunted; and heatcame from a ‘fireplace’ in one corner of the hut, that had a chimney construct-ed of snow, bear knuckles, and walrus meat.

The sun disappeared on October 15th. There were no more animals to beseen, other than Arctic foxes, which sniffed around the hut throughout thewinter. The polar cold set in. The two men’s clothing, which they had wornthe entire journey, were by now rather tatty; which meant they only took shortexcursions from the warmth of the sleeping bag. Life in the hut consisted ofsleep and two daily meals of meat.


Where were Nansen and Johansen?

On board the Fram, Captain Sverdrup tried to keep the crew in shape and ina state of preparedness. The third winter had clearly worn them down, andquarrels and bickering were a daily occurrence. It was especially bad duringperiods of sustained headwind, and its consequences: drifting in the wrongdirection. ‘When people are so ill-tempered that they have to be treated likerotten eggs, it is not easy to get along with them’, the seemingly ever even-tempered captain griped in his diary. His new second-in-command, ScottHansen, formulated it thus: ‘By Jove, this would be some place for a psycho-logist, if he could handle the ‘polar mood.’

However, this was normal for a winter camp. Had Sverdrup obtained accessto diaries from previous expeditions, and not just the official reports, he wouldhave realised that polar discontent was no unique phenomenon for the Fram.It was worse that the doctor and botanist was ailing. Born in 1866, Dr. Blessingwas quite young, and had received his degree just before signing on. He wassuffering from ‘stomach’ trouble, was listless, not very active, and experiencedmood swings throughout the polar night. It took time for Sverdrup to work outwhat was wrong. To endure the hardships, Dr. Blessing had started to helphimself to morphine, cocaine, and opium from the medicine cabinet. Sverdrupreacted by confiscating the key to the cabinet. Dr. Blessing got through thewinter after a fashion; possibly more so because Sverdrup ordered more nour-ishing food for the weak doctor: bear meat every day!

Still, their geographical position was what determined the mood onboardthat winter. Now, only the longitudes counted. They had to move west. Theship was still far to the north, throughout large parts of the winter as far as84° 50’ N. On February 1st they passed 31° 02’ E, the same longitude as theNorthern Norwegian town of Vardø was on. Sverdrup wrote that they ‘celebra-ted the occasion with a festive evening’.

On February 28th the first polar bears appeared. It was still reasonably darkand they halted out of range. Sverdrup asked the cook, Petterson, if he hadsomething in the galley with a strong smell. The Swede came running up ondeck with a pan full of fried onions. It was –35° C on deck, and Sverdrup startedto feel the cold, so he went to fetch his fur coat; but before he had put it on,the bears were back. Sverdrup wounded them both, and ran out on the ice,while the cook rushed ahead, eager and without a weapon. Fresh meat at last!

The two bears provided the men with their first proper fresh meal in 14months onboard the Fram, apart from some birds and a miserable seal. Allagreed that the ribs were the tastiest, and that ‘bear ribs are a meal fit for aking’.

The ice started to break up in April, and the depot and supplies were moved


aboard again. The snow on the tent roof started to melt, and the first snowsparrows were observed. Sverdrup ordered a general clean up. The time hadcome to try and break loose.

Norway’s Constitution Day on May 17th, was celebrated ‘properly’, with aprocession on the ice. However, with the experiences of the previous year’s exces-ses in mind, Sverdrup restricted the refreshments to ‘Château la Fram’. Hewatered down dried blueberries and cranberries and added a reasonable amountof spirits; and he wrote: ‘My brew got a lot of praise’. More important was thetask of cleaning the engine and starting it up, clearing the rudder and propel-ler of ice; in other words, preparing the Fram to steam out of her icy prison assoon as was possible. But they were still a frighteningly long way north, at about84° N, which is 300 km from the northern tip of Svalbard.

The crew was very eager to depart, and started to blast the Fram loosefrom the ice with dynamite, a method not without its dangers to ship andcrew. By June 1st they had managed to clear a channel in the ice, so the shipcould float freely. However, on both sides of the lead, ice extended as far asthe eye could see, interspersed by small channels that opened and closed. Theweeks passed without much change. The hunting opportunities kept spiritshigh. There were plenty of seals, bears, and birds; and exotic dishes appearedon the menu: auk breast, black guillemot steak, kittiwake stew and Arctic skuasoup.

On July 17th a larger channel opened, and the Fram started to move slowlysouthwards. But the ice was thick and difficult. Old, meter-thick ice floatedin the water, and below the surface, which made it difficult to detect. The shipendured some slams and banging, which an ordinary Arctic vessel would nothave withstood. Sometimes they had to hove to and clear the channels, by handor with dynamite. But they were on the right track; and at 3:15 a.m. on August13th, 1896, the Fram steamed out into open seas.

Otto Sverdrup and his men were northwest of Danish Island. On the wholethey had confirmed Nansen’s theory: The current had taken them across theArctic Ocean, and it had taken three years, just as Nansen had calculated. Theone discrepancy was that the current did not flow as far north as anticipated.

But where were Nansen and Johansen? When they had set out on theirjourney 18 months ago, in March of 1895, they had expected to be back inNorway that same autumn. On the morning of August 13th, the Fram cameacross a small sealer, the small ketch Søstrene which had sailed out of Tromsø.Not unexpectedly, the sealers were surprised to be saluted by this strange shipthat had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The Fram crew called across tothem: ‘Have Nansen and Johansen returned to Norway?’

The answer was no. They were told, however, that there was another polarexplorer on Danish Island, Swedish balloonist Salomon August Andrée. He had


The Frammet expectations. Here, she is being dug out

after having withstood the trip’s worst screw ice.

no news of Nansen either. To put it mildly, the atmosphere on board had beenecstatic when they had spotted land for the first time in 1041 days! Now, thenews about the two missing men cast a dark shadow over the crew. Immediately,Sverdrup started to plan how he could get home as quickly as possible, restockthe ship, and return to search for the missing men.

‘Dr. Nansen, I presume?’

The Fram crew need not have worried. That very same afternoon FridtjofNansen and Hjalmar Johansen stepped ashore in Vardø.

They had spent about nine months inside the sleeping bag in their winterhut on Franz Josef Land. The days, or rather the nights, of eternal winterdarkness were unfathomably monotonous. Their clothes were saturated withgrease and stuck to their bodies. Outside, the winter storms raged; but ‘thetemperature was not too bad inside’, Johansen writes. He had measured a cozy-7° C by the headboard. ‘But next to the wall, it was rather cold, especially whenthe wind was blowing.’

They celebrated Christmas Eve by turning their clothes inside out andswitching the layers of clothing around. Johansen ‘cut off some tufts of hair’,too. On New Year’s Eve, Dr. Nansen pronounced his now famous words tothe man with whom he had shared a sleeping bag since March. Nansen sugges-ted that maybe it was time that they address each other with the informalpronoun for ‘you’, du, rather than ‘you’ (‘Thou’), De. Reserve Lieutenant Johansenreadily accepted.

At the end of January, the outdoor temperature on Franz Josef Land roseto –20° C, and they began to plan how to continue on their journey. Nansen’sback troubled him, and he had to lie still for 14 days. He improved, but duringthe spring, their stock of blubber had diminished to dangerously low levels.They were obliged to use less for heating, and could not cook their bear meatfor breakfast. Instead, they had to gnaw on frozen bear meat.

Luckily a polar bear came for a visit on March 8th. They soon realized thattheir general physical fitness had deteriorated over the winter, as they had hardlymoved. Nonetheless, they managed to pursue the bear and shoot it, ‘in such astorm, that we were nearly bowled over in the gusts’. The bear was good and fat.

Now they started to equip themselves to move on. They were probablynot the handiest members of the Fram’s crew; but they managed to sew theblankets into clothes and made mittens, shoes, and socks from the bear skin.They ‘washed’ their underwear: ‘It was cooked over the fire. The underpantswere so soft, that we could scrape the worst layer off with a knife. What wescraped off, we used for kindling when cooking, and for lighting the oil lamps’.


The kayaks were in a bad condition after the winter, but were patched themup as well as could be expected. The oars, skis, and sticks were still in goodcondition, having been used as stays under the roof.

On May 19th they set off southwards. Bad weather forced them to pitch tentalmost at once; and they did not get going until June. They ran out of meat;but shot a walrus, and made a sort of ‘pudding’ out of the blood. It was a dishthat neither of them enjoyed. They got into the kayaks; but soon had to getonto the ice again, hoist the sail over the sleds, and steer for some islands inthe distant south, still uncertain as to exactly where they were. On June 12th

they reached a promising stretch of open water, and prepared the kayaks. Theysailed along the edge of the ice all day, but in the evening they brought the kayaksback to the ice, so they could stretch their legs, after having been cooped upso long in the narrow boats.

They secured the kayaks, but not well enough. Suddenly, Johansen sawthem drifting away. Everything they possessed was onboard those kayaks: food,weapons, and equipment. If they lost those, they would not survive more thana day or two on the bare ice.

Sverdrup had noted in his diary that Nansen was indecisive and dithering.But at this decisive moment, the doctor did not hesitate. He gave Johansenhis watch, tore off his clothes, and dived off the edge of the ice. The wind wasblowing offshore, and the kayaks were drifting away fast.The cold water quicklymade Nansen numb, but carried him onward. He had no reason to turn round,as he wrote: ’whether I stiffened and sank here, or turned back without thekayaks, would make no difference in the end’. When he got tired, he lay onhis back and ‘rested’ for a few moments.

He eventually reached the kayaks, caught one of the lashed-on sleds,hanging on. But Nansen was too weak to scramble onboard. Johansen wasstanding at the edge of the ice, and could do nothing but hope for the best.Nansen tried again, got a leg over the sled, and rolled onboard. Half uncon-scious from the cold, with the wind blowing through his thin, soaked under-clothes, he managed somehow not only to paddle back, but to shoot two auksen route.

‘He looked awful when he got back’, said Johansen. He had a ‘pale face,long hair and beard dripping wet, and (was) foaming at the mouth.’ Johansengot him into something dry, gave him his own pants, and stuffed him into thesleeping bag. Then he built an igloo, cooked some food, and noticed thatNansen had fallen asleep. The ice-bather slept until he woke on his own; andafter eating some fresh auk and warm stock, he revived surprisingly quickly.

Yet another life-threatening situation occurred two days later, whenNansen’s kayak was attacked by a walrus. He defended himself as best he couldwith the paddle, but the animal made a large gash in the canvas. Luckily they


Nansen climbs aboard, after his desperate swim

to rescue their kayaks – and their lives.

were not far from the edge of the ice, and could pull the boat onto the ice.Had they been further out, things might not have turned out as well as theydid.

But then, suddenly, their troubles, toil, and mortal danger came to an end.A final coincidence saved them. On June 17th they were moored by the ice torepair the kayak, when they heard dogs barking inland. Nansen set off towardsthe source of the barking noise, and happened upon the English polar explor-er, Frederick Jackson, who had wintered in a comfortable hut in the area, southin Franz Josef Land. The two men greeted each other with a handshake, anda polite ‘how do you do’. It took a few minutes for Jackson to grasp that thisthoroughly filthy savage with sooty, black hair and beard, was the famous blondeexplorer, Dr. Nansen.

Of course, Jackson and his men had no news of the Fram, which at thatmoment lay in the ice north of Svalbard. They had a pair of scales, though;and Nansen was able to ascertain that after spending 15 months on the ice,for the most part living off the land, he weighed 92 kilos. He had gained 10kilos since he left the Fram. Johansen, the ‘nibbler’, had put on 6 kilos duringthe trip. ‘This does not coincide with previous experience’, Nansen commentedin a self-satisfied tone that was pardonable, under the circumstances.

Someone who was not pleased with Nansen and Johansen’s achievementswas the American, Greely. Not only did the Fram’s drift show that Nansen wasright, regarding the polar current. The Norwegians had greatly surpassed (bythree degrees), Lockwood’s prior record of having reached farther north thananyone else. The Norwegians had furthermore demonstrated their superiori-ty with respect to Arctic survival. Greely had by now been promoted to general,and was able to apply his undisputed administrative talent as chief of the ArmySignals Corps. He attacked Nansen viciously in the American press for havingabandoned his men on the Fram.

Nansen never bothered to respond, which irritated Greely even more.Besides, the criticism was probably undeserved. According to the Norwegian‘system’, an expedition was not dependent on a single, almighty leader. Everyman was responsible. Besides, everyone knew that the Fram was in good handsunder the command of Captain Otto Sverdrup.

Nansen and Johansen traveled south with Jackson’s ship, and they boardedthe Fram when she arrived in Tromsø on August 21st.

A matter of honour for our nation

‘Nothing more important seems to have ever happened in Norway than thereturn home of Nansen and his comrades,’ wrote a surprised Knut Hamsun,


tongue in cheek, in Dagbladet in 1889, when the Greenland explorers returnedto Christiania. ‘Sixty thousand people welcomed them on the quay, fiftythousand accompanied them to the hotel, ten thousand shouted ‘hurrah’ ninetythousand times, and an old retired colonel from Kampen quite simply yelledhimself to death.’ And yet this was only a dress rehearsal for the Fram’s trium-phal journey down and along the coast in 1896. It surged forward like a hugewave, reaching the capital four weeks later. The first impromptu celebrationswere held in Vardø. The streets filled with people, as soon as news spread thatNansen and Johansen had returned. There was a reception in Hammerfest, too;but the uncertainty regarding the Fram put a damper on the festivities. Whenreports arrived that the Fram had reached Skjervøy, all inhibitions were castto the winds, and the city of Tromsø was given the honour of hosting the grandreunion. Every self-respecting port appointed a reception committee and sentout invitations. Only Trondheim, Bergen, Kristiansand, and Larvik were giventhe formal go-ahead. All along the coast and in the skerries, boats galore sailedout to greet the men from the Fram. The cities that had been chosen to hostvisits, organized big festivities. InTrondheim, an estimated 20 thousand personsstood on the quay; which was more than half the city population.

The homecoming heroes arrived in the capital on September 9th. Escortedby several battleships and a flotilla of small boats crammed with people, theFram glided slowly in through the Oslo Fjord. A ‘living’ welcome pavilionand a human portal had been erected on the quay. Other than the 1889 home-coming from Greenland, the city’s only previous event on such a grand scalehad been the 1890 visit of Kaiser Wilhelm II, Christiania’s first state visit. Butthe extent and intensity of this event was on an entirely different scale. Thesewere the biggest celebrations in the city’s history. Many visitors had come totown. Hotels and guest houses were filled to capacity. The crowds wereenormous and everywhere.

Nansen’s men faced a five-day endurance test. On September 9th, havingalready visited the university, they were granted an audience with the King atthe Royal Palace. The next day there was a children’s procession in the morning;the King visited the Fram in the afternoon; and a civic banquet was held inthe evening. On the third day, the 11th, the Norwegian Geographical Societyhosted a dinner. On September 12th a gala performance in their honour washeld at Christiania Theatre. After the performance, students held a torchlightprocession led by the expedition members. Even after four days, no one couldcomplain about attendance. Along the route to the Student Union, the crowdswere ten or twelve or even 30 deep, on both sides of the road. The final day,the 13th, was devoted to a national celebration in the Akershus Fortress Square.The celebrated author (and later a Nobel Prize-winner), Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson,made a speech. One journalist estimated that about 30 thousand people were


present. ‘What he said was impossible to hear’, wrote another, ‘although theman had a voice like a bassoon.’ In any event, all across Norway, the addresseswere variations on two themes. One theme was that this was a magnificentachievement. The whole world would admire it, and that would subsequent-ly make Norway’s name known. Yes, it would ensure that some people actual-ly knew there was a place called Norway. The second theme was that, finally,and after many years of uncompromising political strife, first over the introduc-tion of parliamentary government and then over the union with Sweden, thecountry could now unite around this great achievement. According to thenewspaper report, when Nansen had concluded his speech at the final celebra-tion, there was ‘an enthusiasm that appeared to be born anew, every time itwas about to die down. At last there was silence; and then, with their hats off,the enormous crowd sang the National Anthem. Thereafter, one by one, theNorth Pole explorers stepped forward to receive their tributes. In the endBjørnson, too, had stepped forward to receive enthusiastic ovations.’

Enthusiasm for polar exploration cannot readily be placed in one or theother camp, on either side of the familiar lines of demarcation in politicalconflict. The Liberal-Left Government refused to support the Greenlandexpedition, whereas the Prime Minister from the Conservative Governmentinvited Nansen to apply for a grant to build the Fram. Both in 1890 and in1893, conflicts raged regarding grants to Fram, with the heaviest oppositioncoming from the Liberal-Left in 1890, and from the Conservatives in 1893.

In both the major political parties there were strong disagreement on how thestate was to deal with polar expeditions. The majority decided expeditions weresomething in which the state should invest though. Expeditions constitutedsuch a popular source of enthusiasm that they could and should be utilized tostrengthen national unity and to enhance Norway’s international prestige.Ultimately, the Fram sailed off with the support of two-fifths of Conservativesand four-fifths of Liberal-Left party members.

A race between nations

It all started when the politicians turned down sponsorship of Nansen’s firstexpedition, crossing glacier-covered Greenland. Nansen had applied for supportfrom the university, and had stressed international competition as a factor.Denmark and Sweden were both staking a good deal on resolving Arctic ques-tions, he wrote; whereas Norway, with better qualifications, had not equip-ped even a single expedition. The university senate supported his application,but was dependent on government grants. The government refused. Nansenreferred later to a newspaper whose opinion was that there was no reason for


the people to pay five thousand crowns in order ‘that a private citizen couldmake a pleasure cruise to Greenland’. Nansen encountered opposition amongstresearch colleagues, too, who did not think it was appropriate for a serious scien-tist to set out on such a stupid and suicidal venture.

Most newspapers, whether liberal or conservative, were nevertheless initi-ally willing to view this as more than a private adventure. It was a national event.The Liberal-Left newspaper Dagbladet was the most nationalistic, in the sensethat from the very beginning it advocated excluding all foreign participation.The Dane August Gamél had pledged his support, but Danish money,Dagbladet argued, should be turned down. Greenland was an old, Norwegiancolony, and Norway should reap all the glory from the expedition; it should notbe necessary to share any glory with Denmark. Once success was a fact, all theNorwegian newspapers rushed to reject any Danish ‘claim to fame’. Whenexpenses turned out to exceed income, initiatives were taken to make sure anydeficit was covered by Norwegian money; so that Gamél, who was willing toprovide more funding, could be turned down. The Conservative newspaperAftenposten used the opportunity to attack the Liberal government. The paperwrote that on the one hand, Denmark should foot the bill because the expedi-tion was on Danish territory. But the best solution would have been for theNorwegian state to pay, because the expedition had shed so much prestige onNorway.

Nansen’s first expedition established a framework wherein polar expeditionsbecame, above all, a matter of national honour in a larger international compe-tition. National rivalry was a key theme. Norway had won a great victory onthe ‘battlefield of science’; it was a ‘race between nations as to who would beable to make such conquests’.

Polar exploration was considered an honourable science, because it was soobviously a heroic science. Scientific results were accompanied by dramatic trave-logues about battles to survive in the world’s most inhospitable terrain. Therewas great symbolic profit to be gained by these travelogues. When the firstreports of the Greenland crossing reached the newspapers, they were able toconfirm the suffering of ‘severe hardships’; and the more hardships there wereon the journey, the more honour was gleaned: ‘Exactly the hardships that we haveencountered here, will add more interest to the expedition’;‘This involuntarysojourn on Greenland, which reminds one in many ways of the Vega’s wintering,will make this expedition more illustrious.’ In the midst of his preparationsfor Greenland, Nansen was preparing to defend his Ph.D. on nerve cells. Inhis thesis, he set forth a new neurological theory. No one viewed this as a natio-nal victory on the ‘battlefield of science’. It is hardly conceivable that a docto-ral thesis on neurology could have aroused patriotic rhetoric similar to whatfollowed in the wake of Nansen’s Greenland journey. A microscope and desk


The Norwegian capital is about to receive its new

hero. A grand, living portal stands waiting for

Nansen and his men.

would never have made Nansen the figure he became, using a pair of skis, akayak, and the Fram.

Nansen himself was keen to put his achievements at the disposal of hiscountry. To advance his nation’s interests was in accordance with his deepestconvictions. Support by the state, moreover, provided greater legitimacy thansupport by private sponsors. With the state backing him, he was no longer aprivate citizen on a journey. In his book about the Greenland expedition, hespent a lot of time underscoring the Norwegian angle. His message was that thecrossing of Greenland had above all been a ski trip. In a long chapter on thehistory of skiing, he wrote that ‘skiing is the most national of all Norwegian sports’.Therefore, no other nation could have accomplished anything comparable.

When it came to national honour, advocates had the advantage of beingable to appeal to utility and duty at the same time. In one respect the polarexpeditions maximized national self-interest. The state invested economiccapital – money – to harvest symbolic profit – honour. At the same time, itwas said that this had nothing to do with self-interest. It was a matter of natio-nal honour, and a matter of honour is a matter of duty; one is obliged to makethe sacrifices that are called for. From this perspective, Nansen did not reallyask for money as such; but rather he offered a gift. Nansen ‘is a gift that is notpresented to us every day’. Gifts are something we are obliged both to receiveand return. This ambiguity is characteristic of all the discussions about finan-cing the polar expeditions. One argued both in the language of investmentand the prose of sacrifice; it was a question of competition and pursuit of self-interest, and at the same time of denial of all self-interest and benefit.

There is a similar ambiguity with respect to the expeditions. A recurring themein the literature is whether the purpose of polar exploration was essentially acompetition in the pursuit of ‘setting records’, or in advancing science. Thepoint is that they were both. Parliament would never have granted such largesums to ‘normal’ scientific expeditions. On the other hand, science legitimizedthe enterprise. The government would never have granted funds to a purelyrecord-chasing undertaking, either. The wonderful thing about Fram was thatit fulfilled both criteria.

The prospect of being first to the pole was the more important, though.This is in evidence when one sees how the crew was recruited. Significant asit was for project funding to be Norwegian, it was of the utmost importancefor the crew to be Norwegian. However, this did not necessarily include thescientific personnel. Nansen put geology professor Waldemar Christoffer Brøggerto work recruiting a geologist, and Brøgger asked several promising candidates,who included Swedes. As late as May, he was trying to recruit a Scotsman. Afterall, Nansen had never said that Norway’s scientific qualifications for polar explor-


ation were superior. What Norway possessed was geographic proximity to ‘polarregions’, traditions in skiing, and the prerequisite ‘personal qualities’. After theGreenland tour, he said that Norwegians were particularly promising candidatesto operate in this field by virtue of three traits: ‘courage, wisdom, and tough-ness’. The Fram expedition showed what ‘Norwegian seamanship and couragecould accomplish’. F.G.Jackson, who later saved Nansen and Johansen’s lives onFranz Josef Land, had applied to join the Fram expedition. However, Nansenhad said his inclusion would be out of the question, because he was notNorwegian. Nansen was not prepared to take on a British adventurer, but hewas prepared to take on a British geologist. Thus, he could employ a Swedishgeologist, but not a Swedish sailor. The Swedish second machinist was onlyincluded because he snuck in using the name Petersen, and lied about hisSwedish parents. Nansen himself never admitted this publicly. A Swedish scien-tist? Yes, if necessary. But Swedish money and sailors? No way.

National intoxication

One of the most striking things about the Fram grant debate was that no onesaid: ‘Let’s make this a joint Swedish-Norwegian effort’. At that time (anduntil 1905) Sweden and Norway were united under one king. The Norwegianconservative parties were loyal to the king and to the union, and said that ‘themost loyal Norwegians are the ones who support the union with Sweden andwhose efforts are devoted to strengthening the union on both sides of theborder’. Even so, nobody advocated that a North Pole expedition with aNorwegian crew and Swedish money might be an ideal vehicle to strengthenthe love between the two nations. On the contrary, even conservative Norwegianpoliticians and newspapers spoke of ‘foreign’ money, when in fact they meantSwedish money. They would have been just as upset as their opponents, andwanted to avoid Nansen, once again, first going abroad to greet his financialbackers before returning home to be celebrated in Norway.

On the other hand, we cannot conclude that the success of Nansen andthe Fram worked against the union. In this connection, reference is often madeto correspondence between Nansen and the author Bjørnson. When Nansenreturned from Greenland, Bjørnson wrote that ‘it is about freeing ourselvesfrom being psychologically and politically ruled by Sweden. Each of your deedsis a step in the right direction’. And then there was Nansen’s last message toBjørnson from Kabharova: ‘If only I were to find Norway a free country onmy return.’

Focusing on Nansen’s intentions is problematic, when investigating thesignificance of the Fram expedition; because that significance was no longer


Nansen’s to define, if it ever had been. Nor was Bjørnson his only interpreter.In any event, the Parliament had not launched a Realpolitik manifesto, andcertainly not a manifesto on the union with Sweden. Instead, it had launcheda ‘national’ manifesto, with a promise of deeds that would unite the entire nationacross political lines. A Liberal-Left Party man said in 1890: ‘…there comes amoment in the life of a people when, as it were, all barriers fall, when every-thing divisive is removed, when there appear to be no differences of rank; asthough there is everywhere one thought, one feeling.’ The Liberal-Leftist statedthat the Greenland triumph had been just such a moment. The conquest ofthe North Pole would also be such a moment, but to a much greater degree.In other words: To boost national self-esteem vis-à-vis Sweden was one thing,and the issue of the union was another. Where the politics of union divided,the Fram would unite.

The day the Fram left Christiania, Parliament cancelled its session. A lastgreeting from the Northern Norwegian harbour of Berlevåg arrived, the daythe Parliament dissolved. ‘As we leave Norway, we send the government, andthrough it the entire Norwegian nation, our deepest gratitude for the mostwonderful support and goodwill that has been shown the expedition at alltimes.’ When the president of the Parliament had finished reading this aloud,everyone in the assembly rose to his feet.

During his journey along the coast, Nansen reflected in his diary on a nationthat toiled for its bread ‘between the stones and the sea’, and that had dispatchedthem on a journey to the unknown. ‘They might have thought this an honour-able undertaking; but why and for what purpose? Are they being deceived?But nonetheless their eyes are drawn to the ship: and in their thoughts, perhapsa new, incomprehensible world dawns, yearning for something they do notknow. In spite of our toil for survival, in spite of our crude politics, perhapsthe nation’s thoughts are not so earthbound after all.’

None of the investors could ever have dreamt of such fantastic dividendsas they reaped when the Fram returned to Norway in 1896. The dream ofuniting the nation across all divides, of putting all prophecies by sinister andcritical experts to shame, and of basking in the light of unqualified internationaladmiration, was about to become a reality. The expedition had failed to bringhome the big prize, conquering the actual Pole. But that was a minor dis-appointment, soon overshadowed by everything else. They had been furthernorth than anyone else. They had proven their current theory to be correct;the Fram had passed the test; and the entire crew returned home safe and sound.To top it all, were the almost simultaneous two return voyages and home-comings, and the fantastic tales recounted by the newspapers of the odysseyof Nansen and Johansen.

Sir George Baden-Powell, on whose yacht Nansen had travelled from


Fridtjof Nansen performing water tests during the

Fram expedition. This was not the kind of work that

won him his countrymen’s awe, but scientific work

helped persuade politicians to provide funding.

Hammerfest to Tromsø, said that ‘it was a journey which, when the world getsto know its details, will be considered the greatest proof of physical and mentalendurance ever suffered by human beings’. Would it have been more honour-able to drift silently over the North Pole on board the Fram? It would havebeen wonderful if the Fram had reached the North Pole, wrote the newspaperDen 17de Mai, ‘but we would not have exchanged this two-man journey acrossthe icy wilds for that’. President of the Royal Geographical Society Sir ClemensMarkham described Nansen’s and Johansen’s hardships as ‘absolutely withoutparallel in the long and honourable chronicles of polar exploration’.

Nansen had said that their task had been to achieve glory on behalf of theNorwegian people. Upon his return, he shared the ‘glory dividend’ generous-ly: with Vardø, the town where they had last set foot on Norwegian soil beforetheir journey; with Tromsø, whose sealers and whalers were the country’s trueVikings; with Trondheim, with its great Nidaros cathedral; with Bergen, wherethe plan had been born; with Kristiansand, where he praised the Norwegianwomen; with Larvik, where Colin Archer had built the Fram; and withChristiania, where Nansen reached out to scientists, the university, Norwegianyouth, and the Norwegian people in general.

There were several factors underlying general national enthusiasm. Firstof all, there is support for reports that ‘the whole world’ admired the explor-ers’ feat. The Greenland expedition had made Nansen a European celebrity; theFram made him an international star. The English and American press usual-ly ignored foreign polar explorers, but they bowed to Nansen. The Pall MallGazette called him the greatest explorer of all times, and The Washington Postrecounted his entire life story. German newspapers were full of ‘the return ofNansen’; and congratulations from Norway’s Nordic neighbours were over-whelming.

The second reason for the country’s intoxication was the combined effectof telegraph and mass media. The first thing Nansen did, upon setting foot inVardø was to rush to the telegraph station and spread the word (of his return)‘everywhere’. In the course of a mere two decades, the telegraph had establis-hed ‘a common present’ which reached all the way to Vardø. Distance in termsof space was no longer proportional to distance in time. A world sensationhad suddenly appeared in Vardø, but proximity to the protagonist no longermeant enjoying privileged information. On the contrary, Nansen sat in thetelegraph station, sending one telegram after another; and when the bureaustelegraphed back for more details, ‘the people of Vardø became rather irrita-ted to think that people in London and America must know more now thanwe do here in Vardø, with Dr. Nansen right in our midst’.

The telegraph and mass media made it possible to indirectly participatein distant events as they were unfolding. Newspapers sent correspondents to


The name Nansen could sell anything, even sardines.

cover the festivities along the coast, and transformed triumphal processions intoevents in which the ‘entire nation’ could participate, simultaneously. This couldrank as Norway’s very first national media spectacle; and, as such, it ‘unitedthe nation’. The newspapers also played an important role in mobilizing events,constantly publicising them and encouraging people to participate. This mightexplain the reason for the large turnouts. In any event, the papers and theirjournalists were interested in the Fram. It was good copy. Besides, they hadargued in favour of government grants to the expedition.

Were the polar expeditions important historic events in a larger perspective?In answer to that question, one must say that the expeditions were not as impor-tant as some would have them be. Nansen’s deeds have been directly linked tothe politics surrounding the union of Norway and Sweden in the 1890s; andfurthermore viewed as the decisive explanation for independence in 1905.Drawing such a direct link is problematic, since the ability of the polar explo-rations to unite the nation presupposed that they were non-political in natureand content. They became controversial as soon as they were linked to social,political or cultural conflicts, like monarchy vs republic, union or indepen-dence, liberal vs. conservative. If the people were to be united, national politicswould have to play second fiddle. What united the people was the recogni-tion of courage, strength and the ability to survive, and the deep pride in thefact that Norwegians had been shining examples of such virtues. An authorlike Knut Hamsun could trivialise as much as he wanted. However, whoeverdenied that Nansen and Johansen had made a journey that outshone all others,would have a hard time arguing the case.

Celebrations of the polar journeys can be compared to a royal wedding.There is much ado while it lasts, but is it politically important? If celebrationsof the Fram triumph may be viewed as the first ‘national’ media happening,students of political science or social history will nevertheless view the celebra-tions more as a symptom than a cause. An indication that this as a legitimatepoint of view, is the fact that the Fram expedition was used and exploited bypoliticians to promote national unity. It was in no way an isolated happeningwhich established a completely new agenda.

At the same time, polar expeditions were a problem in a democratic cultu-re. They were what the sociologist Thorstein Veblen called ‘conspicuousconsumption’: the wasteful use of resources with a view to increasing socialprestige. The American sociologist and son of Norwegian farmers, did not likeit, and nor did the ‘farmers’ at home. For Nansen, rising above the mere ‘utility’was a goal of culture. However, for rationalistic politicians committed to anefficient use of resources and to egalitarian values, utilization of public fundsfor status-oriented purposes was not a simple question. They might be highly


devoted to the national interest; but they maintained that there were more usefuland important national projects requiring spending, than sending people to theNorth Pole. In this regard, Amundsen would be easier to handle. If he weregiven money, one could be pretty certain that he would break some record orother. On his return, he would also make less of it. And besides, God was alwayson his side.

Therewas a dispute overwhich flag theNorth Pole expedition should use: the ‘pure’Norwegian

flag or the one featuring the emblem of Norway’s union with Sweden. This postcard was pro-

bably printed after the Greenland expedition, and shows Nansen and Sverdrup with the ‘purely

Norwegian’ flag.

A POLAR SUPERPOWER

After the union with Sweden was dissolved in 1905, Norway

pursued its own foreign policy. The ownerless Arctic islands

appealed to scientists and entrepreneurs, to seek financial

profit and to make political claims. Coal-mining formed the

foundation of settlements on Spitsbergen; hunters pursued

adventure in the wilderness; and Arctic sea captains sought

out ever new hunting grounds. The South, too, held the

promise of new riches.

The competition continued: to be first to reach these far-

flung outposts at the ends of the earth. With respect to polar

exploration, Norway had become a country to be reckoned

with and to be acknowledged.

The Arctic Ocean experienced a change of protagonists around the turn ofthe century. Southeastern Norwegian ship-owners stopped sealing in the north,and turned their attention to Antarctic whaling. Starting at the turn of thecentury, there was also an increase in the number of hunters who wintered onthe Arctic islands. However, the largest and most extensive expansion withinthe Norwegian ‘polar regions’, had nothing to do with fishing or hunting. Itinvolved coal-mining on Spitsbergen.

Entrepreneurs shared the possibility of extraordinary profits, but also thepotential for fiasco, bankruptcy, and (for many) certain death. The road waswide open for anyone who had money, initiative, or a spirit of adventure.

Seal hunting

The decimation of seal stocks meant that it now was necessary for seal huntersto go further away from open water and further into the ice than large boatscould maneuver. Furthermore, prices of seal oil and seal skin had declined, sothat the income no longer justified the expense of operating large vessels. Tocontinue sealing, Eastern Norwegians would have to invest in smaller, motoriz-ed ships. Instead, they chose to invest in whaling on the other side of the globe.The very last sealer bound for the Western Ice Fields left Eastern Norway in1913. Later, Eastern Norwegian sealers participated for short periods of time,only when the market seemed to offer promising returns.

At approximately the same time, fishermen from Sunnmøre on the westcoast of Norway began hunting in the Arctic Ocean. They had been pioneersin the development of deep-sea fishing, but that activity was now insufficientto sustain them, throughout the year. After a while, there was not enough fish

t h e e n t r e p r e n e u r s 121

THE ENTREPRENEURS

in the sea to support year-round fishing on Storegga or on other banks nearthe coast; and they were forced to find new fishing grounds. The relatively largeboats needed for fishing on the banks were expensive to operate, so bank fishingand Arctic Ocean fishing made for a good combination, as far as type of vesseland time of year were concerned.

But how come fishermen from Sunnmøre could make Arctic Oceanhunting pay, when the fishermen from Vestfold, further south, had been forcedto give up? One reason was that the boats from Western and Northern Norwaywere much smaller than the ones from Eastern Norway; there were smaller crewsto pay and to divide the spoils. Smaller ships were easier to sail into the icewhere the seals dropped their pups. Furthermore, running costs were lower. Inaddition, hunters from Western and Northern Norway were closer to the huntinggrounds.

Within a few years, the fleet from Northwestern Norway grew; and inaddition to Tromsø and Hammerfest, Ålesund quickly established itself as anArctic Ocean town. After about 1905, the fleet increased considerably alongthe northern and western coast, in part because motorized engines were begin-ning to be more widely used.

With an engine, a ship could manage two trips per year, and be more profi-table. The size of the ship also determined the choice of hunting ground. Mostof the ships from Northern Norway sailed to the Northern and Eastern IceFields, where smaller, readily maneuverable ships were used; whilst the largervessels from Sunnmøre in Western Norway, dominated the fishing and huntinggrounds in the Western Ice Fields and the Greenland Strait. The passage wasshorter, and the seal stock more concentrated in the east. After the end of WorldWar I, the Western Ice Fields became overcrowded with hunters; and in 1919two ships from Ålesund began hunting for seal pups near the mouth of theWhite Sea. Maneuvering with modern ships was much easier than it had beenwhen the old North Norwegian sailing ships had tried hunting here in the19th century. Modern White Sea hunting was successful, and in 1925, 80 %of sealing took place in this area.

These were good times for the hunting industry, owing to rising prices andlarge catches. Recruitment was good; never had there been so many Norwegianships in the Arctic ice as there were in 1918–19. After a good trip, there werehunters who could build themselves a home from the profits. The World War Iincreased demand for all types of oil, and consequently the price of blubber rose.Hence, hunters tended to kill animals that produced more blubber, such as ringedseal and walrus. There was also a demand for walrus skin, which was usedindustrially to make conveyor belts and transmission belts. In about 1919, newtechnology made it possible to separate the seal’s thick inner layer of hide fromthe pelt. Furs became softer and lighter, and sales and profits increased.

122 a p o l a r s u p e r p o w e r

The alliance between France and Russia just prior to World War I had in-spired a new women’s fashion in Paris. Inspired by Russian winter apparel,furs became a necessary part of a lady’s wardrobe. For the first time in fashionhistory, long fur coats were made for women; hitherto only men had worn them.Previously, fur collars and cuffs had sufficed for women. This boom periodresulted in an increased use of luxury items by the well-heeled upper classes,including the use of furs. As a result, the market for seal-skins was very good.

Norway took no part in World War I, but Arctic Ocean hunters sufferedwar tragedies. A total of nine Arctic ships, all from Northern Norway, were sunk,torpedoed, or mined; and eight of them were sunk in 1918. Five crewmen fromthe Sjøløven, out of Tromsø, died; the rest were rescued. When the Tennes wassunk by a German submarine on May 12th, the crew managed to scrambleonboard the Stairs; but two days later, grenades rained down on this ship, too.One man was sleeping, and suffered permanent shellshock. Two crewmenreached shore at Vaidaguba in Russia, where they were well taken care of.

Norwegian hunting ships were also subject to British seizure. A few of themmanaged to deceive British boarding parties, and so sailed to Ålesund ratherthan to the British port to which they had been ordered. The Jopeter wasimpounded, and remained in a British port for 18 months. The owner, PeterS. Brandal, was obliged to take the British Government to court to have theship released and sent home.

Acts of war, such as blockades and mining, obstructed fishing on many ofthe traditional fishing grounds; and as a result, some vessels opted to hunt sealinstead. In the last phase of the war, oil and coal shortages and rationing, causedthe fishing industry additional problems. Peter S. Brandal attempted to use coalfrom open mines in Kongsfjord on Svalbard, in his engines. That coal workedjust fine; and when he was offered the rights to mine the coal, he formed amining company, commencing operations in 1917. The place was initiallycalled Brandal City, but later changed its name to Ny-Ålesund.

In the interwar years, sealing was also affected by supply and demand and thegeneral economic situation. During the record year of 1925, the total valuewas three times that of the total for 1939. There were several reasons for thedrop in profits. The general state of the market led to lower fur and blubberprices, while operating costs, such as the price of oil, increased. Fur was no longerin great demand. Seal fur was no longer fashionable, and fewer could affordto buy it. In the Brandal warehouses, sealskins were stacked up to the rafters.Hunting grounds and quotas shrunk as a result of Soviet Arctic policies.Furthermore, a rise in temperature caused the ice in the Eastern Ice Fields tobe forced eastward towards the Russian mainland; consequently the huntinggrounds were now within Russian territorial waters, and beyond the licensed


Seal hunting in the Western Ice Fields.

Norwegian hunting fields. Seals followed the ice, and Norwegian yields grewmeager. The interwar years saw many shipwrecks, especially in the White Sea.This, of course, was hardly good for business. Also, Northern Norwegianhunting in the Northern Ice Fields suffered during this period. Protection ofwild reindeer on Svalbard, together with decimation of walrus stocks, made thathunting less profitable. Walrus hunting was now left to hunters who stayedthe winter. Changes to the hunting grounds in the north and east forced shipsfrom Northern Norway to sail westwards, as the Sunnmøre hunters of WesternNorway had done before them.

Low margins left little money to reinvest in ships and equipment. Fewerships participated in the hunt; dividends amongst the crew were smaller; recru-itment fell; and there was a great decline in overall profits. Between 1924 and1939, numbers of crew members dropped from 1742 to 1016, while the numberof ships was more than halved, from 154 to 64. But, hunters continued to sailinto the ice. Probably due to the general economy, there were simply no otheralternatives. Unemployment was high amongst the salaried classes; times werebad within agriculture and fishing, work traditionally combined with hunting.It was necessary to find employment where one could; and to a larger extentthan fishing, hunting always had the allure of larger profits. Out on the huntthere was at least enough food and something to do. One skipper, whose sonswere on board with him, wrote to his brother in April 1934: ‘I sailed out onaccount of my sons, so that they would not hang around with nothing to do soearly on in the season.’

But from the mid 1930s prices began rising again. For those who had re-mained in the industry, things were looking up. With fewer profits from theWhite Sea and the Greenland Strait, it became time to search for new huntinggrounds. From 1910 to 1915, Norwegian attempts at hunting in the Gulf ofSt. Lawrence had been unsuccessful. In 1938 the government underwrote a trialtrip to the grounds around Newfoundland. This time yields were so good thatthe two ships, the Polaris and the Polarbjørn, did not have to make use of theguarantee.Thus Newfoundland was established as a Norwegian hunting ground,something which would be of significance after the war.

Shipwreck

Sealing was an industry that suffered a high rate of shipwrecks. Few seal-huntingvessels ended their days rotting on the beaches. There were many reasons forshipwrecks: pack ice, collision with ice floes, becoming icebound, or, quitesimply, disappearing in a storm.

The first major, tragic shipwreck of the new century took place in 1917.


On Easter Eve of that year, seven sealers were lost in the Western Ice Fields,and 84 crewmen lost their lives. The few ships that made it back home, broughtwith them tales of hurricanes followed by extreme cold. These were the dayswithout means of communicating with folks at home; so it was late summer,before relatives at home were told they would never see their loved ones again.

Thoughts were the only form of communication between ship and home.Letters could be conveyed only by other ships that had finished for the seasonor were forced to seek harbour owing to disease or accident. In 1910, theTromsøSkippers’ Association entered into a cooperative agreement with the postalservice, whereby the mail boat to Spitsbergen would deliver letters to ships itencountered en route. This service was inevitably limited, but it was better thannothing.

Sometimes women prevented their men from sailing. One man said he gaveup after one trip where the weather was particularly bad because his wife askedhim to. Tales were told of mothers who refused to send all their sons hunting,on to the Arctic seas. Some men were not entirely forthcoming regarding thedangerous and dramatic events they had experienced during shipwrecks andbad weather.

Between 1924 and 1939, 116 Norwegian Arctic Ocean ships were totallywrecked. This amounted to approximately 7.5 % of all the vessels, each year.The 1920s were especially bad, owing to increased activity in the White Sea.There, the dangers of pack ice were ever present on account of the great differ-ences between high and low tides, and strong currents at the entrance to thesea. Storms and currents caused ships to run aground on shallows. One sailorsaid that after the pack ice had pushed the ship down, tides drove her up again,and onto shallows, where she lay so high and dry that it was possible to walkaround her on clogs without getting wet .

Nevertheless, it was easier to survive during a White Sea shipwreck, thanduring a shipwreck in the Western Ice Fields. This was because the huntinggrounds were reasonably small; and the ships were packed closer together. Itwas also a shorter distance to land. Some crewmen came ashore in Russia andexperienced Russian tea and hospitality; but also saw Russian poverty anddrunkenness. In most cases, shipwrecked crews managed to be rescued by nearbyNorwegian ships. When an Arctic ship hoisted its stern flag, it was a sign thatthe vessel needed assistance. In the log of the Havørn I out of Trondheim, theentry for May 2nd, 1925, reads as follows:

a floe blocks the stern and we move forward but only a few metres; we turnthe engine off; the pack ice presses incredibly, and at 10:30 this morning thedeck bursts. Port side starts to cave in, midships, and the watch below isroused and comes immediately on deck, about 10 minutes later a hole


develops on the port side and water rushes in. The deck boats are loweredonto the ice and pushed off a bit. Skipper and harpooner go below to seewhat is happening; and they see that a large block of ice has come throughthe side of the ship and breaks several timbers. Warned the crew to makeready to leave the ship; and everything goes quickly and smoothly.

When the boat had sunk, they pulled the deck boats over the ice and rowedaround the channels for nine days and eight hours, until they reached theHortensia, from Hammerfest, which took them aboard.

Another reason for the shipwrecks was that the vessels were not all main-tained that well. In 1928 new guidelines regarding the reinforcement andcontrol of Arctic Ocean ships were introduced, and thereafter, the number ofshipwrecks was reduced. The establishment of supervisory and emergency shipsalso helped secure the fleet.

Severe March storms might occur in the Western Ice Fields, but as the shipsthat hunted there tended to be larger, shipwrecks were less frequent than inthe White Sea. However, once there was an accident, the risk of loss of life in-creased. In the west, one of the most tragic years was in 1939. Three boatswere lost in a storm en route to Newfoundland. One of them, the Nyken, disap-peared with all hands, and the crews of the two others were saved under especi-ally dramatic circumstances, in which crews from other ships risked their livesto help.

By then, radio communications were in use. The wife and children of oneNyken crewman, Mikal Nilsen, sat at home helplessly following his plight, hourby hour on the radio. They even heard his last greetings. After hearing theword ‘breaker,’ his children received a clear, distinct message from their father:‘Hello Aslaug, Gunvor, Ruth, and Jermund! You must promise to look aftermummy.’ Radio communications made it possible to locate the two other ships,the Isfjell and Saltdalingen; and so their crews were able to be saved. In theWestern Ice Fields, too, the huge storm raged and two ships from Tromsø, theVikfjeld and the Polar, were lost with all hands.

In many cases the shipwrecks remained mysteries. When large-scale rescuemissions where initiated to save polar researchers and explorers, the authoritieswere severely criticised for not making equally vigorous attempts at savinghunters. It was not uncommon for hunters to risk their lives and catches, tosave comrades on other boats; yet they received no compensation for losses.

Relatives had to deal not only with bereavement, but with financial diffi-culties, too. Therefore, the industry established several initiatives. The TromsøSkipper Association’s Women’s Society was founded in 1882 to help familieswho had lost their breadwinner on hunting expeditions. The women’s societyheld raffles and bazaars to raise money, helped many bereaved families, and were


quick to provide much-needed sympathy and emotional support. The follow-ing year, the Tromsø Skipper Association’s Sailors’ Support Fund was founded‘to help needy, shipwrecked sailors and their needy widows, according to theability of the fund and the contributions of the person concerned’.

The Skippers’ Association in Ålesund established a widows’ fund in 1907;the same year, a Women’s Association was formed to raise funds. After the bigshipwreck in 1917, the Ålesund Skippers’ Association, Ålesund Fishermen’sAssociation, and Ålesund Shipowners’ Association set up a fund for the surviv-ing relatives of fishermen and hunters from the county of Møre and Romsdal.Collection drives initiated by newspapers were not uncommon, and couldcontribute some immediate assistance.

Although loss of life was of course the worst tragedy of all, losing vesselsand catches caused serious financial difficulties. It was not easy to collectinsurance claims, either.Tromsø’s first insurance company was founded in 1904.It offered hull and equipment insurance, but no insurance to compensate forloss of a catch. The firm only made payments in the event of total shipwreck.The company went bankrupt in 1927 owing to limited support. Followingthe fatal year of 1917, the Tromsø ship-owners cooperated to found the TromsøPolar Sea Insurance Company, but it was too small and never really got going.In those days it was rare to take out full hull insurance; it was usual to insurepartial value of the vessel, usually an amount equivalent to its remaining debt.That company did not survive the payouts following the many shipwrecksduring the 1920s, and it was dissolved in 1928. There were other insurancecompanies around; a 1923 advertisement for the Viking Insurance Companyin the newspaper Tromsø read: ‘Arctic Ocean ship-owners – use only the best(insurance) companies’.

Sunnmøre was more successful with its insurance companies, at least inthe beginning. In 1915, the Sunnmøre Mutual Assurance Association for PolarSea Ships was established, and insured virtually the entire district’s fleet. Themembers paid 25 % for hull insurance. In 1926, the association expandedinsurance to cover equipment, catch, and crew paraphernalia and effects. Butit was bad business. Because of the numerous shipwrecks of 1920–28, moremoney had to be paid out than had come in. Hence, in 1928, insurance cover-age for the risky Arctic Ocean hunt was precarious in both Northern andSouthern Norway. Parliament granted funds, and the Ministry of Trade andIndustry established a committee to try and resolve the problem by establishingstate-subsidised companies in theTroms and Sunnmøre regions. But the compa-ny in the north never got off the ground; and in 1934, an insurance companyfor the entire country was established. It was called ‘Ishavet’, or the Polar Sea.


Many ships were lost in the ice and shipwrecks were

part of life for many people in the Arctic. Here, the

Drivis is pressed down by the ice in the White Sea in

1928. Arnt Jensen and Aasmund Pedersen try to save

what clothing and equipment they can.

Life on board

Saturday, February 22nd. We are lying by the quay in Vardø. We arrived atnoon, two days and two hours from Tromsø. We are provisioning, seeingto all our affairs, and getting organised for the trip. It is very cold here,–15 degrees C, with a gale blowing from the SW. The whole crew is writinghome, some are onboard, others at the seamen’s hostel. This is our lastgreeting for what could be a long time.

These diary entries were made by Alf Andreassen of Senja, on his last day inport at the start of the 1936 season. After the ships had been fitted with engines,they managed two and sometimes three trips per year; and every trip wouldlast about three months. The old sailing ships had had to take on provisionsfor twice that amount of time. The time of departure depended on where theship was sailing from, where it was going to hunt, and on the prevailing conser-vation regulations governing the catches. Early in the century, it was normalto leave for both the Western and Eastern Ice Fields in April, as it was illegalto catch seal before April 1st. Conservation regulations lapsed during World WarI. In about 1920, it was common for the ships to leave for the White Sea somew-hat earlier, sometimes as early as the end of February. This was the way tocatch the finest and most valuable pelts. The pelts were called ‘whitecoat’, andcame from one-week-old seal pups; pelts from yearlings, and older seals wereoften mottled. In the Western Ice Fields, the Greenland seal gave birth to itspup about a month later, so if things went quickly, hunters had a chance toreach both grounds.

Later in the year, the ships might hunt ‘old seal’ in the Western Ice Fieldsand/or hooded seal in the Greenland Strait, sometimes combined with catchingGreenland shark. The skin of the young hooded seal, the so-called ‘blueback’,fetched a good price abroad. Here, it was also important to get to the huntinggrounds early, because the hooded seal lost fat when they shed their hair. Inbad years, the hunters would supplement their catch with musk ox, eider duck,walrus, and polar bear from Greenland. The Northern Norwegian ships thathunted in the White Sea, would often route their second journey in the watersaround Svalbard. There they caught bearded seal, walrus, and ringed seal, andalso polar bear, supplemented with down and seabird eggs.

Before the ship could leave land, it refuelled and stocked up on provisions.Dried cod, salted herring, hardtack, bread, and margarine were the main staples,at least during the first decades of the trade. Seal meat and polar bear meatwere consumed, when the crew could get that. A talented cook could concoctdelicious dishes, such as seal blood black pudding with raisins, seal-meatmeatballs, and seal beef, as well as seal flippers. Menus differed from ship to


ship, and in good years the diet was varied and balanced. There was rationingon some ships when stocks were low, and if the vessel was trapped unexpect-edly in the ice for any length of time, rationing would be necessary. The cook’sinventiveness was a key factor, too. One ship’s diary reads: ‘all is well apartfrom the fact that our cook is lousy both with the food and its preparation,and he keeps us ‘in the heads’ far more than is necessary. He can not keep thingsin order, and everything is a mess.’ On other ships, skilled cooks made pancakesand (a starchy) sago soup with raisins, which made Sunday really festive. Longand hard working hours meant that good food was important to morale.Seventy-two years later, hunter Ruben Brandal still recalls how good meatballswith creamed peas and an apricot dessert tasted, when a long and tiring dayof hunting was over.

Guttom Jacobsen of Tromsø remembers how, in the years between the twoWorld Wars, water was kept in a tank which had been full of blubber the previ-ous year. That water did not taste good. Sweet dry baked biscuits called ‘rusks’could be so full of mites, that it was a good idea to thump them on the tablebefore taking a bite. Someone else said they used to dip the rusks into cold waterand re-warm them on the stove, which made them taste freshly made. Withsyrup or cheese, they were considered quite tasty. When times were good, foodstocks could be supplemented with fresh fish and meat, tinned food, jam, andcanned milk. The sheep carcasses that had been brought along, could be hungup to freeze, as soon as they reached the ice.

Every crew member had to have his own sack of clothes. It was important tobe well equipped; and well shod in wooden-soled boots or preferably reindeer-skin boots. The men needed denim trousers, sweaters, oilskins, heavy jackets,and a cap. Oilskins were used during the passage, but they were not much useon the ice; and were furthermore slippery and dangerous to use on snow andice. Back home, the women carded and spun wool, then knit thick sea mittensand thick woollen socks, which reached up to the knee. Underwear was madeof wool, too; in some cases, it was knit by the local knitting-machine owner,and assembled by mothers, wives, and sisters. Some women in Tromsø and itsenvirons knit mittens which they sold to Arctic hunters who came to town.Crewmen had to supply their own bed linen, coffee mug, and cutlery; as wellas something to spread on their bread, like cheese, meat, or cold cuts.

The hunt had its own folklore and shared many tales, myths, and super-stitions with the fishing smacks. A ship should not leave port sailing in a counterclockwise direction, on a Friday, or on the thirteenth day of the month. It wasa good omen if anyone had dreamt good dreams before departure, such asdreams of an abundant catch. Just like on fishing smacks, any conversationabout pigs or horses was banned. It was important to concentrate on the taskat hand, and not think too much about what was happening on land. Stories


circulated about doors aboard that opened by themselves, and about trolls andgoblins. If a man who drank the blood of the first animal he shot, he wouldmake a good haul. Unfortunate neighbouring vessels that had not had a goodjourney could ‘contaminate’ a ship with its failure; so it was best to keep away.

The crew was often young; one man recounts said that during his first Arctictrip, the average age of the crew was between 16 and 21. Work was so physi-cally demanding that many emphasized how only young, strong men couldhandle the job. Boys on their first Arctic trip might be no more than 14 or 15years old; and sometimes boys as young as 12 were allowed to accompany theirfathers on the summer hunt around Svalbard.

The crew usually consisted of ten to 25 men. There could be more or fewer,depending on the size of the ship. There were a skipper, two harpooners, amachinist, a stoker, a steward, and the hunters.

Salaries were calculated based on one’s function on board, the size of theship, whether it was a sailing ship, whether it was steam driven or had an engine,who was the ship-owner, where the ship originated; but, above all, it depend-ed on the size of the catch. The skipper, engineer, and harpooner usually hada fixed salary, and a specific percentage of the catch. Ordinary hunters shareda proportion of the income from the catch, after fixed salary expenses, provi-sions, insurance, letters of safe conduct, and other costs were deducted.

In the ice

Having drunk ‘one for the road’, they set off. The crew were divided into two,port and starboard watch. The watch lasted six hours. Passage could be a toughcrossing, especially when they sailed west. A layer of ice might cover the entireship; and the sea could be so rough that the crew had to fasten themselveswith ropes, to the vessel, when carrying out their duties, in order not to bewashed overboard. Then, writes a sailor, ‘we wished ourselves elsewhere, andthe romantic aspects of Arctic Ocean life were pretty reduced’. The ship’s roundbows, designed to make her more resistant to pack ice, made the ship pitchand roll. Many began their Arctic Ocean careers with a severe bout of seasick-ness. It was a relief to catch sight of the shimmering light from the old packice, far in the distance.

After reaching the hunting grounds, the next task was to find the seals,which was not always that easy. The ship might criss-cross huge areas duringa season. Steamships tried to prevent too much steam from drifting in overthe ice, because that would chase the seals into the water. Up in the crow’snest, the lookout, often the skipper, did not have an enviable job. Standing


quietly, for hours on end, in the open crow’s nest, could freeze any man, de-spite being wrapped in a fur coat. Furthermore, a lot depended on him doinghis job well. His actions affected the catch, the crew, and the safety of the ship.He had to spot the seals between the ice hummocks, and give orders to theengineer, the helmsman, and the hunters. Manoeuvring a ship amongst thoseice floes was no easy task. The vessel would be butting to and fro; and all thewhile, the skipper would be trying to second-guess the ice. It was no wonderthat the skipper, hanging in the masthead, frozen until he was blue in the face,often resorted to cursing and swearing at the crew, if they did not follow hisorders. One skipper, in a fit of temper, is said to have stomped a hole, rightthrough the floor of the crow’s nest.

The skipper had to prevent the ship from becoming icebound. If that didhappen, he had to manoeuvre her out again. In a worst-case scenario, dynamitewas used. Otherwise, the men resorted to sheer muscle power, using their handsor pushing the floes away from the ship with stakes, or even spending dayssawing through ice floes that hindered their passage. The pressure of the iceexposed the ship to huge amounts of stress, and one had to be prepared toimprovise and make emergency repairs. A ship would normally carry a forge,timber, a spare propeller, and a shaft.

Initially the ships conducted spot-hunting. That is, they shot an animalor two which could be seen from the crow’s nest. The ship approached thedrift ice slowly; the men jumped down onto the ice; and killed the seal pup withone blow to the head using a pike or pulling hook. They then fastened thepulling hook to the seal’s jaw, and ran back to the ship, before the ship movedfurther along through the opening in the ice. If close enough, large seals, andsometimes pups, were shot from the ship and retrieved in the same way. It wasalso possible to haul them in with hooked bamboo poles, a technique usedmostly when smaller ships hunted along the edge of the ice. If the seal wasfurther off, a winch or ‘seal-hoist’ was used, or even the tender hoist was usedto get the pups on board. Curses and sarcastic comments might be heard fromthe crow’s nest, if the skipper thought the operation was not proceeding at fullspeed. ‘The men had not come to the ice to experience nature, but to makemoney.’ If the ice was rotten and not strong enough to carry one’s weight, thenthe men used the green or white tenders or hunting boats, with oars and sail.

The hunt would proceed differently and more efficiently if the men happenupon a large herd of seals with pups, and if the ice was good. Then, nearly theentire crew would walk out onto the ice. The hunters had to be accurate; thebullet had to hit the head so as not to otherwise spoil the pelt. In the wake ofthe hunters came the flayers, with pike, drag hooks, and sharp knives. First, theymade an incision in the seal, from head to tail. Then, they separated the furfrom the meat with the broad flaying knife, cut round the flippers. In the course


The seal is in sight, and the gunner is ready.

It was very important to shoot the seal in the

head in order not to damage the skin.

of five minutes, either a soft but bloodstained, grey-speckled or a golden whitepelt lay on the ice. It was important not to spoil the fur. The men’s hands hadto be bare when flaying; work like that could not be done wearing mittens,despite the cold. Hunters could warm their hands by cutting a hole in the anima-l’s chest, and by thrusting their hands into the warm blood until their finger-tips started to thaw, painfully. This was the way that hunters covered large areas.Piles of pelts lay on the ice, marked by a pole and a flag, until the ship managedto winch them onboard. If there were several ships in the area, the top fur mightbe branded with a mark carved into the blubber. The hunters ran nimbly overthe ice, which was full of leads and channels which moved continuously.Sometimes they fell in; but in the annals of seal-hunting, there are few examplesof death by drowning, in the ice. Hunters learnt how to avoid falling into thechannels, and how to save themselves once an accident had occurred. Forexample, one could lay a ‘footbridge’ over ice cracks using the pile of pelts,because blubber kept the pelt afloat; and then leap, quick as lightning, acrossthe pelts. It was possible to negotiate larger channels by floating across on asmall ice floe, paddling carefully with a pelt in tow. The method used for arrang-ing the bundle of pelts when dragging the large piles over the ice could makeit easier to move around on the ice. The pile of pelts was drawn together in sucha way, that the blunt ‘snout’ slid easily over the rough ice, and the ‘stern’ partof the load slid effortlessly behind. If one were still unlucky enough to fall intoa channel, it was possible to use small ice floes like life preservers, and scram-ble up onto the ice on one’s own, or with the help of others.

The days were long, often beginning at four or five in the morning andlasting for twelve hours straight. However, sleep was not always easy to comeby at the end of a day like that. Muscles were stiff and tender, and hands werefull of chilblains. Sounds of whimpering and whining seal pups echoed in themen’s ears. The poop where the hunters slept was nicknamed the ‘cow barn’;the air was thick with the smell of dried blood, old blubber, engine oil, and bodyodour. Young boys on their virgin tour might dream about a seal pup’s big, darkeyes, looking up at them just before it was clubbed to death.

Sometimes, owing to the ice, drifting snow, or the dark, the crew mightget separated from the ship; but unbelievable as it may seem, this seldom ledto tragedy. To keep warm, the men would jump up and down, and dancearound, and wrap the pelts around their bodies for insulation.

Catching a cold was rare in the ice. Bacteria did not flourish there. Butthe crew suffered from minor frostbite injuries; and small cuts and bruiseswere par for the course. The real enemy was called erysipeloid, or ‘blubber-finger’; which was an infection from the bacteria Erysipelothrix rhusopathiae,which was found in raw meat, among other things. The infection would startwhen a hunter got a small nick in his finger. That grew very painful, followed


by a swelling of the hand and forearm. If the swelling did not subside, it mightspread to the next joint which could stiffen. Before the advent of antibiotics,after the World War I, the condition could result in amputation.

Sometimes long periods of time would elapse without a catch. In springand mild weather, the time could be used to prepare the seal pups. Some crewmembers would separate the meat from the pelts, while others prepared thepelts at the tilted blubber benches. Some of the meat was consumed on board,some was taken home to families in Norway, and some was sold from the quayin Tromsø. However, the majority was thrown overboard. The blubber wasstored in tanks. After being washed, the skins were stored flat in the hold, peltsdown and covered with a litre of salt, spread in a thin layer. If there was notime to prepare the pelts on board, that task had to be performed when theship docked at the quay. Only after that job had been completed, could the crewbe paid. The work might take a week; before the war, all pelt preparation wasdone by hand. Next, the pelts had to be appraised by an inspector from thewholesalers, overseen by one of the hunters, representing the ship-owningcompany. If any of the pelts had suffered ‘ice-burn’ (that is, if the seal hadbeen exposed to the sun for too long before being cut open), a finger could bepoked right through the pelt, which meant the pelt was worthless. The huntersthemselves were responsible for their work, and for producing a high-qualityproduct.

When there was no work to be done on board, for instance during thepassage, the men could spend time playing cards, reading, or whittling smallitems such as knife sheaths. Sometimes somebody had a gramophone, an accor-dion or a fiddle, and the men would sing sea shanties. It has been said that afavourite was the ‘Arctic Shanty’, including the stanza: ‘We sail for prosperityand success, and the flag which waves on board’; but ‘in the end, one tires ofboth prosperity and good fortune’ one of the hunters said. The prophesies inthese songs were not always fulfilled.

Financial implications

Reading about the hunters’ daily hardships and dangers, we might ask ourselveswhat drove them to such work. Financially, life on the Arctic Ocean was notvery lucrative. An Arctic Ocean trip might be a complete financial catastrophe.It could be break even, a so-called stop-gap tour; or it might be a profitablehunt. At the end of a non-profit-making tour, the hunters would owe the ship-owners for their supplies, provisions, advances, and other expenses. A harpo-oner from Sunnmøre wrote: ‘When I left for the Arctic Ocean in 1921, I boughta new pair of boots; but even after I had completed a three-month tour, the


settlement following the trip was so wretched that I could not afford to payfor the boots.’ The hunter’s life, then, was something of a gamble. But duringa good year, life was glorious. One hunter earned 1800 kroner from two tripsin 1928, while his friend, an apprentice, made 15 kroner per week or less.

After a hard tour in the ice, some of the men no doubt spent too muchmoney in the Tromsø beer halls. Many of the young Artic Ocean sailors musthave relished being the centre of attention, able to buy a round, and boast aboutlife in the ice fields. Others would look forward to a new roof on their house,and not least of all, just being at home and working with their nearest anddearest for a few weeks or months. A barrel or two containing salted seal meatwas also a valuable addition to the domestic food supplies.

It was not possible to live off sealing, alone. Often a sealer’s home was asmall farm where women, children, and old people worked while the menwere away. Herring fishing was one of many Arctic Ocean industries that couldbe combined with hunting. The ships used in the ice were too large for tradi-tional coastal fishing, but were ideal for herring fishing and fishing in Icelandic


The seals have been shot, and are hauled on board.

waters. Many hunters, especially in Northern Norway, alternated between seal-hunting and signing on with smaller boats for the annual cod fishing in theLofoten Islands or off Finnmark.

Seal hunting had major financial implications for the economy of coastaldistricts and for the Arctic Ocean towns of Hammerfest, Tromsø and Ålesund;although it never had a very large impact on employment.

Processing and export were also important sources of income for localcommunities, and many firms were active participants in the sealing industry.The largest such company was G.C. Rieber & Co. in Bergen, which establisheda branch in Ålesund in 1915, and in Tromsø in 1919. The founding of theseenterprises created a ripple effect that spread profits to existing firms. However,statistics from districts with the greatest number of seal hunters indicate thatthe industry never could exert a great impact on the gross national product,despite its importance to many and its contribution to the country’s exportand foreign currency income.

Most of the exports went to the U.S.A. and England; but other Europeancountries also bought leather, furs, and seal oil. In periods when demand waslow, seal-hunting was not an important source of national income. In 1928,former Minister of Trade Charles Robertson, himself a ship-owner fromHammerfest, claimed that viewed in an overall, national economic context, sealhunting ran at a loss, because of concession payments to Russia and numerousshipwrecks.

Hunting and wintering

In recent times, the first Norwegians to stay the winter were Sivert Brækmo andJohan Christiansen of Tromsø. Their winter stay in 1893–94 was involuntary,and their equipment particularly inadequate for their camp, in Isfjord onSpitsbergen. The men had set off in an open boat from Vardø to Svalbard torepair and fetch a seine boat. On their return, they had nearly reached theNorwegian coast when they were turned back by storms. They lost their rudder,and the boat sprang a large leak. They returned to Grønfjorden. After restingand repairing the boat, they once again set out on the journey to the mainland;but drift ice forced them back to Grønfjorden, again. It was a strenuous experi-ence, but they returned with six bears, 14 foxes, 27 reindeer, and five tons ofblubber, with a combined value of eight thousand crowns, which was a fortu-ne for poor people in Northern Norway. Brækmo and Christiansen were lucky.Not everyone was so lucky. Hunting and staying through the winter was arisky business. Another hunting expedition that camped the winter was strand-ed on Bear Island that same year. One of the four crewmen died of scurvy,


A small shed on Van Mijenfjord on Spitsbergen, ca.

1910. The hunters had a network of sheds like these,

located near the main station. The sheds were usually

a day’s journey apart.

two others were bed-ridden and unable to work, and only the fourth remai-ned in good health. The catch was negligible.

Two years later, in 1895–96, four hunters tarried so long before their returnto the mainland that they were frozen in. They were only equipped for summerhunting. Later it was discovered that the skipper, Andreas Holm, had plannedto stay the winter, but had only informed one of the crew. The hunting partystayed part of the time at Hotellneset in the Advent Fjord and the rest atSvenskehuset on Cape Thordsen. Holm was the first to die, from scurvy. Oneof the crew, Anton Nilsen, suffered from frostbite, and was left behind by theothers on Cape Thordsen early in the winter. No human remains or any othersign of him was ever found. Only two men returned: Klaus N. Thue and NilsE. Olsen.

These three wintering expeditions introduced a new epoch of land-basedhunts on Spitsbergen. They tell a tale of sickness and death, and hunters return-ing home empty-handed, but also of major hauls.

The winter hunts flourished from the 1890s to the mid 20th century. Nearly400 men were employed in these hunts on Svalbard up until 1941, with atotal of over 1000 Artic winterings. On Greenland there were 180 between1908 and World War II. On Jan Mayen the winter hunting started in 1906 andsaw about 60 wintering hunts, until the fox was declared a protected species,and activity ceased in 1930. Profits depended on knowledge and effort, butprices were the most critical factor. A blue-fox pelt sold for 40 kroner in 1890and for 800 kroner in 1924, and only a tiny part of this increase was due toinflation. In the period from 1893 to 1918, the entire value of blue-fox huntingcame to 597,600 kroner. That value divided by 324 all-winter hunts, amountsto 1844 kroner per man. But profits varied dramatically. In 1917–18, twohunters were left with a catch of 60 foxes, four polar bear skins, and 100 kilosof down; totalling a relatively high profit of 18,000 kroner. In Jan Mayen thatsame year, the value of the catch per hunter was 27,500 kroner. These werethe exceptions. But tales like these painted a fairy-tale image of the hunt, especi-ally in regard to profits. From 1924 and until the war, the value of those winter-long hunts reached 1.6 million kroner, while the value of sealing during thesame period was at least 41 million kroner. Although some individuals wereable to fill their bank accounts after only one winter-long hunt, the activity initself has never contributed that much for the economy of Northern Norway,either regarding value or employment. In a national context, this hunting activi-ty was a mere trifle.

Why did so many hunters travel to the icy wastelands, year in and yearout? Were there attractions other than the hope of economic gain? Somehunters, like Odd Ivar Ruud, explained why:


I know why I am here and not in a town full of people, at parties, andsurrounded by neon lights. I do not always like myself when I am in thecompany of other people.There is something unnatural in the way in whichI have to control my actions, weigh and observe my reactions. Certain thingsare expected of me. I must be a son, a friend, a lover, an enemy, a brother,a citizen, a soldier. That means nothing here.

Out here, I am not God. I cannot make the wind blow or the snowfall. Sometimes I cannot even make my sled dogs obey. But I am secondin line, after God. I am a human being, and alive; thanks only to myself.

Hunting life was inextricably linked to nature. The Arctic changes attire fourtimes a year. Summer is short, hectic, and has an abundant animal life. Inautumn everything freezes, and the landscape is transformed into white fjordsand plateaus; and eventually into utter darkness of winter. Then spring gradu-ally emerges, and that soon heralds the short hectic summer.

The hunters that chose to stay the winter, usually travelled to their huntinggrounds in late summer. It took time just to get organised. Hunter GeorgBjørnnes, who arrived on the Austfjordneset on Svalbard on July 29th, 1934,says it took him ‘eight days just to carry in and arrange provisions and otherequipment, tidy up the hut, and fill up the boat’. The list of provisions washuge. Equipping the trip needed to be planned down to the last detail. Ifanything was missing, it would be missing throughout the season.

The next task would be to shoot seals, which would be used both as baitand as food for the men and dogs. This was especially important on Greenland,where everyone used draught dogs. On Svalbard, few hunters used dogs. HilmarNøis was one of the few who swore by sled dogs. It was also important to shootseals in order to ‘feed the terrain’, as the hunters said. Sealskin and blubberwere put out to attract fox to the area, not just as bait for a catch, but for thefox to stay.

During the 1934–35 season, Anders Sæterdal, Wanny Woldstad, and hertwo sons stayed the whole season in a hut in Hornsund, in the south ofSpitsbergen. That hunting season lasted 327 days; and already on the secondday, they began with eider duck, and continued with whatever other speciesturned up. For 112 of the 327 days, the party remained either quietly in thehut or in one of the nearby subsidiary hunting stations. Owing to bad weatherand the need to make preparations for winter, September was the month whenthey stayed home the most.

Before the frost arrived, with the build up of ice ‘ramparts’ along the beach,it was important to gather enough driftwood for fuel, for the entire winter. Thehuts were repaired, and the small satellite huts checked, repaired, and filled withfuel and provisions. During the second half of September, they hunted goose and


The dream of a life of freedom in the wilderness.

Ragnhild Amundsenhuntswhile staying thewinter on

Svalbard in 2002–03.

grouse until the geese migrated south. Up until 1925, when Svalbard reindeerbecame a protected species, the autumn hunt for reindeer was an important one.

The hunters were left to their own devices, and the isolation was often total.Wanny Woldstad speaks from experience: ‘No one other than the man himselfknows what stirs in the heart of the hunter; when the ship weighs anchor, andthe last real link to the outside world glides into the mist, and disappears. Silentas the night, he stands and peers into the haze. We are alone, and no longerhear the humming of the engine.’ George Bjørnnes writes in his diary that hefelt it was ‘numbingly boring to be all alone’. The trick was to find ways of livingwith loneliness. Henry Rudi organised his diary according to a fixed plan, ashe did everything else in life:

Up at eight in the morning and make breakfast. Out to inspect traps andspring guns as quickly as possible, assuming the weather is not too bad.Quickly, it is cold in the morning; a quick ski sprint warms my body. Lunchat one, wash up at once; after all, there might be visits. One hour on myback, that’s needed, and then back to work again. If the weather is good,more trap inspections. Dinner at eight.

It was important to keep to a healthy rhythm, to control the day, and conse-quently the year. Hunter Georg Bjørnnes did it his own way:

I always had with me one whole year’s worth of editions of a major newspa-per. I then made myself a mailbox which I hung outside the hut. Everymorning when I went out to tend the traps, I stuffed a newspaper into thebox. I made sure the date was correct.

Hunting tracks were constructed between all the huts. In Hornsund, the mainhut in Hyttevika (which means ‘hut bay’) was about 12 kilometres from thesubsidiary station, Isbjørnhamn, and the distance from there on to Fuglefjellwas 8.5 kilometres. The terrain was rough, and the glaciers cut down to thesea; the mountainside was steep and stony, with rock-strewn slopes. There wasa glacier between Isbjørnhamn and Fuglefjell, which one had to cross, andthen negotiate a steep slope down to the Fuglefjell hut. In 1933–34, the boys,Alf and Bjørvik, made 25 trips together to Isbjørnhamn. They made other tripsseparately or in the company of grown-ups. They made only four overnighttrips to Fuglefjell; otherwise they checked the terrain on day trips fromIsbjørnhamn. The area had a radius of about 25 to 30 kilometres; but duringautumn, spring, and summer, it expanded dramatically when the sea becamenavigable so that both islands and sea became part of the hunting grounds. Itwas a very plentiful area in which to hunt.


Yet another bear is felled by the spring gun

trap. Hunter Odd Lønø is busy skinning the

valuable catch.

Between the main station and the subsidiary stations, Fuglefjell and Isbjørn-hamn, spring guns were mounted and traps were set to catch fox. The springguns were mounted on headlands and mounds about 50 metres from the sea.A spring gun usually consisted of a sawed-off Remington rifle in a box, its triggerfastened with a cord to a piece of bait. Of all the equipment and hunting toolsin use in the ‘polar regions’, only the spring gun was invented on and for Svalbard.Gustav Lindqvist was the man who devised it. Previously, hunters had triedunsuccessfully to catch polar bears in pens built of wood or stone. The springgun proved highly efficient, and was soon put to use all over polar-bear country.

Fox traps were primarily placed in the lowlands, along with one or two alongthe mountainside. Readying traps took time; and each man had 30 to 40 todeal with. New traps had to be built and old ones repaired; and traps were placedout in late October. Often hunters had to gather 30 to 40 kilos of stones foreach trap. If they were lucky, the stones from the previous season were still inthe vicinity of the trap, but often polar bears had played with the equipment,thus necessitating repairs. The traps were one metre square, and they weremounted on the ground. On one side, they lay resting on top of a woodenlock made of two vertical sticks and one horizontal stick. Blubber or a grousehead was attached as bait, innermost on the horizontal stick. A stone was placedon top of the trap; so when the fox grabbed the bait, the trap closed, collaps-ing on the animal. With any luck, the outcome was fatal. The traps could notfill up with snow, so it was important to consider wind direction and the layof the land when positioning them.

From October to April, fox pelts were at their best, and prices were at theirannual peak.Traps were used from October 26th until the end of April.The polar-bear hunt went on year round, but was at its height in the winter. Hornsundwas visited by bears regularly in wintertime, but in the winter of 1933–34 AndersSæterdal complained about the catch. ‘I have never experienced such unstableweather in all the years I have been here,’ he wrote on December 15th. It is ‘impos-sible to maintain the equipment, and thus the bad results.’

Polar bears were fleeced, the blubber was scraped away, and the pelts saltedin barrels. This work had to be done carefully, in order to get a good price. Thefox was skin-fleeced.That is, it was cut open at the rectum, so that the skin couldbe twisted off the entire carcass. The skin was stretched and dried, afterwards.

During quiet periods when there was no active hunting, the hunters sworeby their routine work. They chopped wood and read books. Their diaries werekept up to date, with short reports on the weather, the day’s chores, and thingsin general. Then there was kauring, which was a way stay busy. To kaure wasto whittle a piece of wood into a fan shape by chipping off bits on one side. Apile of these chips, kauers, was always ready by the wood box; because they wouldget a fire going in a jiffy.


Hunters celebrated weekends, for example, by playing their gramophones;because it gave them a sense of time, marching forward. They also celebratedholidays: Christmas, Easter, and Whitsun. On Christmas Eve in 1926, AlfredSvendsen wrote in his diary from ‘Werlegenhook’:

Christmas Eve has arrived here, even at 80 degrees north, and probablyno one in the whole world is celebrating Christmas further north than weare. The Christmas weather is not good; the northerly wind is howling out-side, making the hut shiver. It is so cold that we do not dare to poke ournoses out the door. However, it is nevertheless quite cosy inside our fourwalls. We have enough fresh food and fuel, so nothing is missing exceptmaybe the company of a lady. But then we have a wee dram to consoleourselves with, instead. All is well.

The hunters were waiting for the birds. They were a sign of approaching spring,and they were a form of income. The Down Islands (Dunøyane) and the IceIslands (Isøyane) off the main station in Northern Hornsund, were the largestnesting places for eider duck on Svalbard. The hunting party of Sæterdal andWoldstad collected eggs and down regularly during the period between June 4th

and July 1st. They ate the eggs themselves, and sold the down for good money.They spent the late spring maintaining and repairing huts and equipment.

More and more frequently, they made the trip up the mountain behind thehut to keep a lookout for the boat that was coming to fetch them. They wouldstudy the ice, and wonder whether the sea was navigable. Then there wasnothing to do but wait. They longed to meet people, and get news from home.In Hornsund, they began to scout for the boat, starting July 2nd and onwards.They spent 15 days packing up and waiting. ‘We look far out to sea, wonder-ing whether the Lyngen will turn up soon.’ At last, on July 22nd, the S/S Lyngenslowly slid into the fjord.

Mining

Around 1900 there were no permanent settlements on Spitsbergen, which wasthen the archipelago’s name. During the winter of 1896, when the Fram layicebound north of Spitsbergen, there were only a handful of Norwegian hunterswintering on the islands. During the years leading up to World War II,Norwegian polar regions were expanded more than ever before; not becauseof research or hunting, but as a result of mining major coal deposits.

Early on, areas along the west coast proved themselves to be the mostpromising for coal mining. These areas were ice-free in the summer, and the


coal deposits were easily visible. First and foremost, these deposits were the onesthat would lead to the development of a mining industry on Spitsbergen. Asearly as 1869, the British, aided by Norwegians, were quarrying for coal, anactivity described in James Lamont’s book Yachting in the Arctic Seas. Huntershad been aware of these coal deposits, in the past; and some of the coal depositshad been mined. Among Norwegians, polar sea skipper Søren Zachariassen isconsidered the first to have realised the financial value of coal mining. Thepurpose of his expedition to Spitsbergen in 1899 was to mine coal from thequarries and sell it on the mainland. In all, ten men excavated about 600 hecto-litres of coal that summer. Half of it was sold to Prince Albert of Monaco, whowas sailing his yacht in the Adventfjord; the other half was shipped to Tromsøand sold privately or to the town’s electricity works. The initiative was profi-table, but more capital was needed to expand the operation. Zachariassen sentoff coal samples for analysis. With the test results on the table, the partner-ship Isfjord Coal Company Spitsbergen was established in 1900, with investorsfrom Tønsberg and Christiania. That year, the same promising coal samplesalso led to the establishment of the Trondheim-Spitsbergen Coal Company.These events marked the prelude to today’s Longyearbyen.

In April 1901, polar sea skipper Bernhard Pedersen from Tromsø askedBergen ship-owner I.M.Hamre to support an expedition, to occupy and layclaim to the known coal-bearing areas of Svalbard. Hamre was interested rightaway, and the Bergen-Spitsbergen Coal Company Ltd was founded. The terri-tory around Adventfjord and Kongsfjord was occupied. These were the coal-fields that formed the basis of the Ny-Ålesund mining operations.

The coal deposits that were gradually uncovered were numerous; and, insome cases, very rich. Other types of deposits saw the light of day. On Bear Island,two operations were established: one to mine coal and other to extract the leadore called galena. Spitsbergen also had deposits of gypsum and a rich sink ore.

There is no complete survey of the territorial claims made on this northernarchipelago; but over one hundred claims were definitely made in the periodbetween 1898 and 1920. The combined land area of these claims totalled morethan the entire land area of Svalbard. It was like a veritable colonisation: Svalbardwas divided up by, and shared among private interests. The companies werepartly public, and partly private. Some of the speculators were adventurers; andsome totally lacked any knowledge of mining or mineralogy. Sometimes theclaiming party would maintain that an area or deposit was coal-bearing, whenin fact there was no coal there at all. One man annexed a large gypsum deposit,thinking it was marble. It came as a great surprise to him when the gypsumstarted to thaw.

Most of the annexations were made by Norwegian interests, both publicand private. There was, however, major international participation in the claims


rush; perhaps not in number of claims, but in regard to the size of the territo-ry in question. Two British companies, the Northern Exploration Companyand the Scottish Spitsbergen Syndicates, took possession of huge areas, includ-ing most of the ice-free west coast. Moreover, several of these foreign holdingsproved to include the land with the richest coal deposits and longest lifespans.For example, Americans took over in Longyearbyen, Swedes in Svea andPyraminden, Dutchmen in Barentsburg, and Russians in Grumant.

Because the archipelago had the status under international law, of so-called terranullius (that is, no-man’s-land or empty land), there were no definitive rulesfor how to proceed with this ‘subjugation’. Thus, it came as no surprise thatconflicts arose. Already in 1900, the Isfjord Coal Company and Trondhjem-Spitsbergen were quarrelling about rights on Bohemanneset. In his diary fromthe expedition, the head of the Trondheim delegation wrote that, after they hadfenced in their area, a group from one of the Tromsø ships fenced in a sectioninside theirs.TheTromsø group paid no attention whatsoever to theTrondheimprotests. Such matters were usually resolved quickly and amicably among thecompanies, but this case ended up in a Tromsø court. Sometimes, it was practi-cally a miracle that violence was averted. On one occasion, seven or eight menfaced each other across a coal mound, with their Krag-Jørgensen rifles pointedat each other. One ship was fired on.

The so-called occupations were not binding in perpetuity. Some of the initi-al owners gave up after having done nothing. They sold their claims on tocompanies that were prepared to begin operations. The Trondhjem-SpitsbergenCompany occupied several areas, including in Grønfjord, Coles Bay, andAdventfjord. After several efforts, the fields were sold in 1906 to a newly establis-hed American firm, the Arctic Coal Company, or ACC. The principal share-holder and strongman in ACC was John Munro Longyear. He gave his nameto the most stable of the mining towns on the archipelago, Longyearbyen(Longyear City).

The Kongsfjord-based Bergen-Spitsbergen Coal Company did not main-tain its possessions. In the years after 1908, the Green Harbour Coal Companyconducted exploration in the area. Green Harbour gave the Ålesund board ofdirectors the option of taking over its Kongsfjord concessions. This led to the1916 formation of the Kings Bay Coal Company Ltd. Large-scale operationswere initiated, and the place was named Ny-Ålesund (New Ålesund). TheNorthern Exploration Company, which owned sizable concessions, wascontinually engaged in conflicts with other companies about claim borders;as in the case of the Swedes in Svea near Braganzavågen, and the NorwegianCompany in Kongsfjord. Kings Bay and Northern Exploration did not cometo an agreement until 1925. However, the other disagreements regarding various


concessions lasted until the Norwegian government assumed the administra-tion of the Northern Exploration Company’s concessions in 1928.

Hands-on Svalbard politics

In 1907 the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was asked by the Arctic Coal Company(ACC) in Longyearbyen, whether it could hire a missionary for the workers.The ministry turned down the request, as it did again in 1909, when the Bishopof Tromsø made the same proposal. The ministry emphasized that the miningcompanies were free to employ a clergyman for their employees, but that theministry could not get involved. ‘It might be interpreted as an attempt to intro-duce Norwegian sovereignty there, and thus cause international misunder-standing.’

At that time, the authorities were keen to be seen to be keeping a low pro-file in ‘no man’s land’. One of the reasons for the above statement regarding rejec-tion of support for a Norwegian clergyman was the forthcoming conference in1910 in Christiania among Norway, Sweden, and Russia regarding Spitsbergen.It was important that controversial issues not arise just before the conferencebegan. The year after the summit, the Norwegian authorities chose to take astronger stand. The Arctic Coal Company had applied to be granted the rightto establish wireless communications between Spitsbergen and Norway. Theresponse from the Norwegian Telegraph Director was that he would not evenconsider the idea; the company would not be allowed to establish its own radiostation in Norway. Instead, a government-sponsored station would be built onSpitsbergen, the argument being that Norway had considerable financial inter-ests on the archipelago. Consequently, in 1911 radio stations were built inHammerfest in Northern Norway, and in Grønfjord on Spitsbergen. The latterwas erected on the site of an old whaling station. It was an area that the govern-ment could claim without a doubt was Norwegian territory, and it might havebeen the only one at that time. Such Norwegian government initiatives, likeestablishing post offices, postal services, and (not least) the work done tosafeguard travel in dangerous waters, were of enormous significance; not justfor Norwegians, but for all the residents who set up operations on Svalbard.

Then things started to happen.In 1914 the Americans in Longyearbyen signalled that they were about to

sell out and withdraw. Several Norwegian parties indicated their interest.However, when no concrete offers materialised, Longyear made contact withSwedish speculators. Norwegian national interests were now considered threa-tened, and the government pushed for a Norwegian solution. In January 1916,the Norwegian Spitsbergen Syndicate (DNS) was established. Major Norwegian


business interests were represented, and Prime Minister Gunnar Knudsen wasa personal shareholder. DNS bought not only the American possessions, butcoal fields in Grønfjord, as well. In fact, DNS acquired a total of 1,200 squarekilometres.

The role of the government as an active partner in the coal companies grew,as did its financial involvement. The Norwegian company Kings Bay startedconstruction work in Ny-Ålesund in 1917, and started coal production in 1918;but by 1919 the company was having financial difficulties.The authorities cameto their rescue. With Norwegian government blessing, Kings Bay receivedseveral large advances on their coal deliveries, in the years 1920–23. A type ofoperating credit emerged, which in reality was a form of subsidy. Governmentsupport of Norwegian coal companies was politically motivated. From 1919onward, the company Bjørnøen was also assisted in the form of loans, so thatits operations could be extended.

In the midst of all this, an event occurred in which the government played anactive part in mining operations, making it clear that mining on Spitsbergen wasviewed as on a par with mainland industry. Miners’ working and living condi-tions were not ideal. Mainland newspapers regularly wrote about the poor condi-tions in Longyearbyen In the spring of 1917, supported by the mainland tradeunions, the workers struck for higher pay and improved living conditions. Theauthorities viewed this as a having been motivated by the ‘enemy’ (which wasthe syndicated unions), and as a potentially revolutionary movement. In July1917, the government sent naval forces to Spitsbergen to keep the peace.

The naval cannon boat, Farm, reached Longyearbyen on July 14th. Thatyear the ice had not melted during the summer season, so that the ship had toset anchor farther out in the fjord. The Tromsø justice of the peace came to serveas mediator. He was the first to set out for the town. The next day, CaptainBeutlich and 20 hand-picked soldiers made for Longyearbyen. The soldiers hadbeen informed that orders might issued to shoot ‘at people who used violenceagainst Norwegian life or property’. The force was welcomed by and lodgedwith Director Bay and functionaries of Store Norske. The striking workers,however, behaved with ‘aggression and defiance’. A rope was pulled across townto separate the workers from management, and the soldiers stood guard. Duringmediation, the force remained passive; but after negotiations broke down onJuly 26th, the strikers were taken to two waiting ship, and thence to Norway.The Farm accompanied the boats. Norwegian police took the Swedish andFinnish workers to the border at Narvik, in Northern Norway. There theworkers were deported.

This was not the first time a request had been made to send soldiers north.Advent City had been the scene of a major strike in 1906–07. The British


Longyearbyen in 1911.Workers go off duty after

a long day in the mines.

managers appealed to their government to stop the rebellion. But the Britishgovernment would not help; replying that Spitsbergen lay outside its sphereof authority. The British managers then requested assistance from Norwegianauthorities. The Norwegian government issued the same response: it could donothing.

However, in 1917 Norwegian authorities were willing to intervene. True,the Christiania conferences of 1910, 1912, and 1914 had not clarified thesovereignty issue; but Norway was nevertheless in a stronger political positionnow than it had been a decade before. Norwegian activity on Spitsbergen hadincreased, especially after the outbreak of war in 1914.

What about economic motives? World War I had altered some of the finan-cial framework for Norwegian Spitsbergen policy. Coal was at a premium asimports from abroad, especially England, partly dried up, owing to the December1917 English blockade of the North Sea. While coal from Spitsbergen hadrepresented only 1 % of Norway’s total coal consumption in 1913, by 1918the figure had risen to 4 %. Yet, that was not a large percentage of the country-’s consumption. Economic motives were weak. During the 1920s, it also becameclear, that even if more companies began operations, the Svalbard coal supplycould barely cover a quarter of Norwegian demand. On average, 11 % of allNorwegian coal imports came from Svalbard in the 1920s. Claims were madethat coal mining meant no more to Norwegian fuel supplies, than optimisticdreams about future supplies and potential self-sufficiency. Thus, governmenteconomic motives on Spitsbergen were not decisive. Political interests weredecidedly more important, although this did not surface in public discussions.

The government paid large sums of money, during a political era charac-terised by sparse public spending. The main motive of the Norwegian govern-ment was to secure its sovereignty over Svalbard. In comparison, we see howBritish interests occupied large parts of the archipelago, at that time. Whilethe mining companies involved may have wanted British sovereignty, their ownauthorities did not want to get involved.

Svalbard becomes Norwegian

When the negotiations about Svalbard’s political status were endorsed in Parisin 1920, about 120 claims to land areas had been lodged, by both private personsand companies. When the Treaty of Svalbard went into effect, a commissionwas appointed to clarify various ownership problems on the archipelago.Northern Exploration possessed large areas, which were not viewed as advan-tageous to hold, when Norway was to claim sovereignty.

Even before the Svalbard Commission had started its work, the Norwegian


government initiated talks with the company with a view to reducing its claims.The agreement provided for the company to receive a payment of £37,000 inreturn for relinquishing two thirds of its claim, so that the company did retainits claim.

When the deadline for referring claims to the Svalbard Commission ranout in 1925; many withdrew, some for financial reasons, because there was afee levied on all registered land areas. A total of 98 claims were received from28 occupants. Of these, 19 of the claims overlapped, so that arbitration wasrequired. There were Norwegian interests involved in fourteen of these 19claims. Through its lawyer, the Norwegian government objected to severalclaims. In 1928, when the Svalbard Commission had straightened up its claimsinitiative, eleven Norwegian firms remained, along with six companies fromGreat Britain, Sweden, the Soviet Union, and the Netherlands, which each heldownership interests on Svalbard. These companies ranged from large to small,based on their overall assets.

In 1925, the asset value of the Store Norske claim was worth nearly twice thatof the property claimed by the second company on the list, the DutchSpitsbergen Coal Company; and slightly greater than the combined value ofall the remaining Svalbard companies listed above. Norwegian companiesoccupied the largest land areas. Claims had been registered for deposits of coal,marble, gypsum, asbestos, zinc sulphide, copper pyrite, and more.


Table 1 The eight largest companies, based on total assets in 1925(in 1925 Norwegian kroner)

Source: Svalbard Tax Commission

Store Norske Spitsbergen KullkompaniNederlandske Spitsbergen Kul CompaniSvensk StenkulKings Bay KulkompaniBjørnøenNorthern ExplorationNorske KulfelterScottish Spitsbergen

4.5 million2.5 million1.6 million1.3 million0.6 million0.5 million0.25 million0.105 million

Spitsbergen had become Svalbard, and Norwegian interests dominated.However, this interest diminished somewhat. But, can we say with certaintythat Norwegian authorities receded into the backround after 1925, retainingonly a passive role in the area?

Coal mining on Svalbard had been a financial disappointment. By the late1920s, government loans to Norwegian mining companies had reached a totalof 17 million kroner. Falling coal prices, the non-availability of liquid assets,and the overestimation of coal reserves in the 1920s led to a period of crisisfor Norwegian coal companies. The financial role of the state had been casualand without a plan. The government incurred losses, and ‘to a certain degreeeven wasted money’, according to the delegation Parliament sent to Svalbardin 1928. The state had generously appropriated money to several companies,so that, in reality, private companies mined coal with the support of publicfunding. Something had to be done.

The situation initially resulted in the establishment of ‘The SvalbardCommission of 1929 Concerning State Involvement on Svalbard’. Commissionpronouncements formed the basis of a government proposition, and, in 1932,a debate regarding state interests on Svalbard. The result was a dramatic reorga-nisation and consolidation of Norwegian mining operations on Svalbard. Theactivities in Ny-Ålesund were shut down between 1929 and1941, and in 1933the government assumed ownership of all the shares. Bjørnøen became a state-owned company in 1932. That same year, the Norwegian government declinedan offer to take over the Dutch operation in Barentsburg, which was sold to aRussian firm. The Russians also bought the former Swedish facilities atPyramiden. The government was not keen on getting involved in too manyunprofitable mining ventures. At the same time, the authorities helped StoreNorske secure the large coal fields in Svea in Van Mijenfjord. Although StoreNorske continued operating as a private company throughout the entire inter-war period, it was completely dependent financially on public funds right upuntil 1933, when public refinancing ensured the potential for public influenceand control. Reorganisation and consolidation of state support coincided withincreased production and demand. In 1934, for the first time more than300,000 tonnes of coal were excavated from Svalbard’s frozen mountains. Coalextraction maintained this level of production until the war, marking a hugeincrease over 1920s production levels. (See the diagram, below.) Every littlebit helps, and Store Norske was able to get by with very little state supportfrom the mid 1930s until the start of the war.

Norwegian government interference in Svalbard, from its formal assump-tion of state power in 1925 and until the 1950s, can be characterised as minimal.However, it was not a period without plan or direction, as some researchershave asserted.The administrative apparatus consisted of a District Governor and


a Mining Superintendent. The cost of this administration was a mere 100,000kroner in 1934 and about 250,000 kroner in 1940. Private business on the archi-pelago declined significantly during this period. However, as long as only someof the treaty signatories showed any interest in Svalbard, there was reason enoughnot to use limited public funds for administration or to emphasize the Norwegianpresence. Furthermore, the government had in practice acquired full controlof the Norwegian mining companies, through its subsidy and loan policies.

For financial and political reasons, the authorities recognised that somepublic funding was necessary to ensure that the coal fields were in Norwegianhands. State support was to be minimal, but was certainly not without planor direction. Svalbard must remain Norwegian.


Source: Bjørg Evjen: Longyearbyen 1916–1975Dissertation for the Dr.art. degree, Tromsø, 1995, page 310.

0

300

600

900

1200

1500

1936–19401931–351926–301921–251916–20

Num

bero

fton

nes

Figure 1: Store Norske Coal Company: coal production from 1916 to 1941, infive-year periods and in number of tonnes.

SVALBARD TREATY

The 1920SvalbardTreaty is a short document containing amere ten articles. It takes as its point

of departure that the parties ‘acknowledge according to the conditions laid down in this Treaty,

Norway’s complete and absolute sovereignty over the Svalbard Archipelago’ (Article 1). The

Svalbard Archipelago is defined as including Bjørnøya, known as Bear Island, together with

all islands that lie within the area between 10 and 35° E. and 74 and 81° N.

The treaty further establishes that the inhabitants and vessels of all treaty signatories shall

have ‘equal rights to fish and hunt’ within these areas, and in ‘their territorial waters’. (Article

2) Norway shall administer this activity: ‘It is the duty of Norway to enforce, determine or

establish suitable measures to secure the preservation […] of fauna and flora.’ This authority

must beexercised in order that ‘these standards shall be enforced in equalmeasure andwithout

exception, regarding the rights and privileges, directly or indirectly, of all of the subjects of

all of the signatories’.

The treaty requirement that there be equal treatment of all citizens and companies of all

the signatories is further elaborated inArticle 3.That article stipulates that all signatory subjects

must have ‘equal right to entry and residence, without consideration of reason or purpose,

[…] provided they comply with local laws and regulations’.

Norwayundertook to establish a ‘MiningRegime’(Article8). Here, too, theprinciple of equal

rights was confirmed, for the citizens and companies of all parties signing the treaty. Taxation

of activities and persons must ‘exclusively benefit the named areas, and can only be levied to

the extent this purpose dictates’. In addition to equal rights, taxation is limited in order that

tax from Svalbard should specifically benefit the archipelago and for specified purposes.

Norway further bound itself not to ‘establish or allow a naval fleet to be established’ in

the area or ‘construct any fortification’. Svalbardwas ‘never [to be] used for thepurposes ofwar’

(Article 9).

The main principles of the Svalbard Treaty thereby placed Svalbard under Norwegian

sovereign rule. In exercising this sovereignty, in which Norway is directed to protect nature

and the environment, Norwegian authorities are required to treat all the citizens andoperations

of the signatories equally. The ability to levy taxes and to utilize income from taxes is limited.

The archipelago must not maintain permanent military installations or be used in wartime.

Seams of coal in frozen mountains

Many aspects of the working conditions in the mines were unusual. Coal andstone lay in layers in the mountains. The idea was to excavate just the coal inthe seams, or the so-called fløts. The presence of stone in the seams of coaldeposits increased the workload and decreased profits. The width of the seamsof coal, its richness, determined the height of the chamber within which theminers worked. This meant that the space in which the men had to work tomine the coal, was low; work on the seam in this space was a challenge. Ideally,you had to be thin as a worm, as one worker said.

Miners learned their trade through experience. New, inexperienced workerswere taught by older, more experienced ones. Rumour spread quickly as towhether a newcomer was capable or not. If a newcomer was slow and difficultto train, the unit income for that gang fell. If there were many sluggards, thenproduction levels dropped, so that those workers were transferred to other work.Mining for coal on Svalbard was not done the same way as mining for mineralson the mainland, although there were certain similarities in mine constructionand initial phases of exploitation. One characteristic of Norwegian industriali-sation and mining, which expanded towards the end of the 19th century, was theimportation of new technology and know-how from abroad, mainly England.This was also true of Spitsbergen and Bear Island, where the government employ-ed ten English miners and an English mining engineer as instructors.This arrange-ment was not without its problems, however, as noted by miner Ole Eriksen:

A majority of Norwegians did not want to work with the English, as theywere experienced miners from Norway.They do not like the way the miningforeman puts a mark where the piston should be. The mining foremanalso marks off where to place the borehole and decides the amount of explo-sives to put in each hole; the Norwegians do not agree with all this. […]What the English mining foremen disapprove of most is the Norwegians’carelessness. The Norwegian workers go at it, full steam and with theirhammer and tongs, as there is money to be earned. […] There was a lotto be learned in spite of my having worked in mines in Norway. Coal isnot a kind of rock […] with which one must start all over again, whenlearning to work in a coal mine.

In 1922 in Barentsburg, only the boss was Dutch.The workforce included about100 Germans, the rest being Norwegians, mostly from Northern Norway. TheGermans taught the Norwegians. ‘If anyone does not want to learn, he has toreturn to Norway’, Eriksen wrote. ‘The Norwegians excavate more coal thanthe Germans and earn more […]; they are the world’s best workers.’


Since the coal deposits on Svalbard lay in the permafrost belt, there was alwaysfrost in the mines, with mine temperatures between two and four degrees belowzero. That solved some of the problems that existed in traditional mines furthersouth, such as running water and heat. In Svalbard the water remained frozenso that mining and rock conditions were more stable. The permafrost extended300 metres below ground, where the frost zone ended, and where operationsrequired that water be pumped out. In the period between the two World Wars,however, mining had not yet reached those depths.

The permafrost belt provided a comfortable temperature for the kind ofhard physical labour that mining was. On the other hand, workers with lessstrenuous jobs, such as engine drivers, needed to dress warmly. ‘It was a pleasanttemperature in which to work; but if you had to stand around, it could get cold,and you needed to find something to do. I tried wearing cotton underwear,but had to switch to wool. Wool against the body was the best.’ The Arcticclimate made itself most keenly felt by the workers who had jobs outdoors,and who had to brave cold and wind.

Most of the men employed by the mining companies had to work underground.Inside the mine, there was a main tunnel which was horizontal, the main galle-ry, which housed the ventilation system, the electrical installations, and the coaland crew transport vehicles. Crosswise from the gallery at regular intervals weresmaller tunnels, or crosscuts. Stone was excavated in these, to ensure suffici-ent height for transportation. Between two crosscuts areas, chambers or tunnels,were opened up to allow units of men to work the face of the actual coal deposit.Despite the working conditions, the working in a unit on these faces was popularamong the men. That is where everyone wanted to be: deep inside the frozenmountain. That is where earnings were high and the work was prestigiousamong the crew. On the other hand, the risks to life and health, run by thoseactually mining the ‘black gold’, were also greater than on the other jobs.

Working the face of the coal in small ‘rooms’ with pillars, was divided intothree stages. First came cutting, in which the bottom layer of coal was removedto make a space. Previously, that kind of work was performed by hand, but sooncutting machines were employed. The cutting machine can be compared to alarge power saw that sliced away the bottom layer of the coal seam. A cutteroperated the machine and an assistant cutter shovelled away the stone and orethat had fallen. This was done in order to make room for coal that would bedynamited out. Then a hole was made in the coal seam: ‘… most of the boringwas done by hand (in a supine position). A borer needed to bore about 75 holes,each measuring 1.5 metres, in the course of an eight-hour shift, but he wasnot required to prop up, reinforce, or charge. About 85 wagon-loads were takenout during a shift.’


It was important to obtain Arctic riches in order

to build up Norwegian capital.

The electric boring machines had arrived and were in use on the mainlandaround the turn of the century. They were large, heavy, and difficult to handle,which is probably why they were not introduced to Svalbard when theAmericans opened their mines. The boring machines were first used in the1920s. A special non-sparking material was used to do the blasting. An explo-sion in a mine could have catastrophic consequences.

The next part of the process was to transport the coal from the confinedspace or ledge worked at the face to the crosscut, where the wagons, or cars,were waiting. This operation was one of the heaviest jobs. During the first yearsof operation, conveyor belts were used. Workers had to manually load the coalonto the belts. The low tunnel-like working areas at the faces required the mento shovel the coal onto the belt while they were lying down. Special scrapingtools were tried, but were unsuccessful; too much coal was left behind. In 1938,Store Norske engineers Strømme and Rydning designed a scraper that couldadjust to use over the uneven ground. The tool was a success, and hand loadingcame to an end. The coal remnants which had not been taken out during theinitial stages of mining were now hacked out by the hackers.

Where the coal had been excavated, the mountain needed to be shoredup to prevent a collapse. That was the timberer’s job.

The next step in the process was entrusted to the timber packers. Wherethe timber was removed, it was the timberman’s job to erect a wall of oak logs,constructed to prevent the mountain wall from sinking together under pres-sure. This was very dangerous work; and once again, it was an advantage for aworker to have the attributes of a worm. The work took place between andpartly behind the timbers, where it was strongly suspected that the wall mightsubside. If that happened, the solid oak logs would be shattered to bits by theenormous weight of the mountain above. Anyone who had not escaped the areabefore the rock fell through, did not stand a chance. Nothing could stop themountain, once that sinking process started. A miner needed courage, strength,and agility.

Another trait that a miner was required to have was the ability to maintaina rigorous work tempo. Ole Eriksen says that if the floor of the work spacewas smooth and the seam high, a man could remove between 10 and 20 tonnesor more in an eight-hour shift. Overalls did not last long. After an eight-hourshift, a miner’s clothes were coal-black and just as wet as when they emergedfrom the wash tub. When clothes like that dried, they stood up on their own.The back of the overalls suffered most, and caps never lasted long. Shoes gotworn down on the sides and the toes; but not underneath, because miners mostlycrawled on their knees. Knee pads were made and used to protect the knees.

Horses were used for transportation out of the mine; but these were re-placed by electric locomotives in the 1920s. As mining operations expanded


and the depths and distances to the coal being worked increased, wagons werealso used to transport workers. In 1928, the mining inspector in Mine No. 2in Longyearbyen ascertained that the 1,600-meter-long journey from the galle-ry to the crosscuts where excavation took place, was made in cars with a 14-man capacity.

The train was operated by an engine driver and a conductor. Initially, therewas only train transportation in the main gallery; safety precautions did notallow a car run on electricity to enter the crosscuts. It took about one minuteto load a one-tonne car using shovels, and it took a bit longer to push the carout into the gallery. Anyone working in the transportation section needed towork fast. Driver and conductor had to work in close cooperation and quickly,otherwise they could cause a bottleneck in the system. Inside the mine, thelabourers working the faces awaited the empty cars; and their earnings depen-ded on how much coal was extracted. Usually young boys acted as conduc-tors. ‘These young boys were put under a lot of psychological strain […] Asthough chased by baying hounds, they ran pursued by a furious engine driver.If they were within earshot, they were at best exposed to verbal abuse. At onetime or another, all the engine drivers themselves had been conductors.’

There was no place to sit on the cars, and the conductors and engine driverswere obliged to hang on for dear life. Members of the engine gang were oftenthe victims of accidents.

The coal was transported to the top of the pit, weighed, and then storedon the tipple, the stones were placed in the stone tip, immediately outside themine. This was done manually. The tipple workers operated in a very dustywork environment, not least when they were filling the empty coal contain-ers. A miner who had worked there in the 1930s said that as late as the 1990s,he would cough up black coal dust when he had a cold. The aerial cablewayon Longyearbyen transported the coal to storage depots by the harbour or direct-ly to the ships. In 1917, a railway was built between the collieries and the portat Ny-Ålesund.

Owing to climate and bad weather, the mines needed to operate indepen-dently, without relying on help from the settlements. Located near the exit ofthe main gallery was a well equipped day shelter, housing repair workshopsand a smithy. Major repairs, however, were made at the main workshop.

Total production levels and profits were dependent on smooth excavationand transportation operations. Arctic collieries were far removed from themarkets. For them to be profitable, production levels needed to be above theEuropean average. In 1920, Great Britain and Ireland produced 193 tonnesof coal per worker per year. In the U.S.A., where most mining was open-pitmining, production levels were much higher: 816 tonnes per worker per annum.In the summer of 1921, after the completion of the key installations, Store


Norske was able to start up full operations in Longyearbyen.The annual produc-tion target was 200,000 tonnes. Store Norske reached an annual productionlevel of 750 tonnes per worker.

Coal mining took place mainly during winter. In the summer, the coalwas shipped out. The men were put to work transporting the coal from thetipples to the quays, and loading it onto ships. In the collieries the summermonths were devoted to maintenance and repairs.

‘Tremendous psychological pressure’

It is easy to see how work inside the mines could be stressful:

Working in a mine was special. […] My first day in the Spitsbergen coalmines was an experience filled with excitement and nervousness. Fromthe very first day, working in the low tunnels and having to kneel or lieon my side was exhausting.

Even though one got used to the continuous stooping, the work was still hard,physically and mentally. It certainly was not work for someone suffering fromclaustrophobia. To the fishermen from Northern Norway, who had workedon the open seas, the switch to the confines of coal mines in Longyearbyen musthave been a hard one. There are stories of some miners who refused to returnto the mines. They were offered jobs outside or they returned to the mainland.But most of them remained; coalminers had to be really tough men.

The health and safety concerns and equipment of today were unknownthen. ‘The mine was exciting. Initially, I was frightened on my first shift; therewas not a helmet or any protective footwear in sight. Got hold of some galoshesand a Holmenkollen ski cap with an attachment for the lamp. We could hearthe mountain; it sounded like paper creaking. It was not good not to be nervous!’

As in other mines, most accidents were caused by falling blocks of stone,coming from the roofs of the mine shafts or crosscuts. The fellow with the skicap was lucky and managed all right. But every year there were one or two fatali-ties, on average. On April 30th, 1938, a miner named Peder Wiesener was killedby a slide on a face in area N5 in Longyearbyen. The N5 area had been inspect-ed and cleared by the foreman that morning. Even so, an additional row oftimber was put up. Wiesener arrived to chisel at that part of the seam, andwas killed instantaneously when several blocks of rock fell on him.

Two other dangers lurked in the mines, in addition to the roofs that couldcave in; they were coal dust and methane gas. Sparks can ignite coal dust andcause an explosion and fire. So it was important to keep the dust from whirling


around in the air, and to try and get it to adhere to the surface of the crosscutfloors. Snow was used to bind the dust, and later chalk dust was also utilised.Despite such precautions, the mining community at Svalbard was struck byseveral disasters. On January 3rd, 1920, Mine No. 1 in Longyearbyen was turnedinto an inferno, probably as a result of a coal-dust explosion. The tragedy costthe lives of 26 miners. The rescue team was met by an appalling sight:

The dead were lying all over, in a terrible state. In one place six or sevenmen were lying close to one of the pit ponies.The pony’s coat was complete-ly scorched. […] As we had no gas masks, it was not possible to penetratefar enough in to get them out. There are still seven bodies lying in the mine.

That was an unusual winter, with their dead colleagues left in the mine andthe hut deep in the valley. The Swedish mining town of Svea held a memorialservice for the deceased, and 6,000 kroner was collected and distributed tothe four families who were worst-off. Mine No. 1 was still burning at the startof the World War II, 20 years later.

In Barentsburg most of the foremen were Germans. They had experiencewith health and safety issues. Miner and migrant worker Ole Eriksen reportedin 1922: ‘All is well in the mines. Three men are employed just to guaranteesufficient air supplies, and to make sure debris is quickly cleared away […]Thereare no possibilities of explosions here, as the ventilation is good, and the Germanforemen are very vigilant.’

Ole Eriksen worked in the mines in Ny-Ålesund in 1929. The tunnels wereimposing, with huge amounts of coal and equally huge amounts of coal-dust;which was the flip side of the coin. Eriksen also describes poor ventilation; andthe surface was 200 to 300 metres above. The tunnels sloped ten to 15 degrees.‘Inside the mine, coal dust lies 20 to 30 cm deep; and it is like walking onshifting sand. It whirls up into the air when we walk, making it difficult tosee, even with the mining lamps. Someone here measures the amount ofmethane gas, and always finds some; and we have to stop working until thegas moves on.’

Methane gas is odourless and colourless, and does not produce nausea orother unpleasant effects. But it is highly explosive, and can ignite coal dust,which always accumulates, in large or small quantities. It is therefore importantthat a mine be cleared and declared gas-free before a shift starts. The coaldeposits in Ny-Ålesund contained more gas pockets than the other mines inthe archipelago. Accidents could happen, as they did, on a day in 1929 whenOle Eriksen was on the job:


The churchyard below Sverdruphamaren in

Longyearbyenwas in use until 1932. The last

person to be buried there was the hunter

Erling Nordby, in September 1948.

On September 28th at about 9:30 in the evening, the mine explodes abouthalf an hour before I am due to start my shift. We knew it was bound tohappen, and it did. Two men were left behind in the mine, and they wereboth dead. Two men donned gas masks to go in and fetch out the dead, andon the way, one of them collapsed and died. The other one retreated(leaving), and a few meters from the opening of the pit, he fell over, too.We pulled him out, but he had been seriously poisoned by the gas. All therescue equipment is defective, and obviously has been so for some time.The workers are really bitter; no one from the management is in sight;and maybe that was a good thing for their own sakes. Because of the explo-sion, the mine has to be shut down, and everyone has to return home.Threecoffins were loaded onboard the boat before departure.

It is difficult to determine the total number of fatalities in the Svalbard mines.It was not common to bury the dead on the spot; and before 1925, there wereno authorities to whom deaths were reported. Many nations were involved, andcompany officials reported to their superiors. Church records were only availablefrom 1920 and onwards, and they were primarily for Longyearbyen. At theStore Norske mines during the years 1917 to 1941, there were 47 deaths inall, as a result of mining accidents.

How did the Svalbard experience affect the workers?

A stay on Svalbard was different and special. For most of the men, it was a lifelived together with other men in barracks. Their families were ‘down south’on the mainland. However, functionaries were allowed to have their familieswith them.

Summer and winter communities were two completely different socialphenomena. Ny-Ålesund has been called the ‘place of the twofold year’. Thefirst boat from the mainland arrived some time in May, depending on ice condi-tions. On board was mail, and a postal service representative, who would staffthe post office until the autumn; channels of communications were now open.Coal boats came and went, and they were loaded and unloaded. Some left andothers arrived. The summer season was hectic. Svalbard mining communitieswore two masks. One of them was bustling, open, and hospitable in summer,while the other quiet, introverted, and secretive in winter.

When the time approached for the departure of the last boat in the autumn,unease settled over the community. Should they leave? Some made up theirminds at the last moment and left. But the majority stayed.

Isolation throughout the winter made stringent physical and mental


demands on everyone. Mining management checked the workers’ police andhealth records, before they signed any winter work contracts. Theft andgambling might be grounds for a journey home, just as much as a bad back orweak knees. When the last boat had gone, tranquillity descended over the miningcommunities. Now, they were able to concentrate on the task at hand: work.

Not everyone handled the polar nights equally well, noted someone in theHiorthamn settlement in 1918. ‘We did not escape acquaintance with “theArctic mood”. The oldest amongst us was melancholy, cried a great deal, andworried about his wife and children at home.’

This type of mood was also called the ‘Munro disease’. It is named afterthe first boat to arrive in the spring. The ‘first boat’ was important, and wasconstantly the subject of discussions in the late winter. No one could tame thewind and weather, or predict when the ice would release its iron grip, and slipthe first ship from the mainland through. On Bear Island, the Munro diseasecould develop and then be cured thus:

Up until February 1922 a worker had made a total of 8,786 kroner. Hestopped working, and said he had earned enough. He did not want tobecome a capitalist. The doctor here is a Russian called Kosmer; and hecures the man simply with a bit of whiskey, soda water and with just plainwater; playes a Boccherini minuet on a balalaika, dances around a bit, andsings some jolly ballads.The man regains his interest in working, and makesanother four thousand kroner before he returns home.

Other conditions could be more serious. According to the works doctor at themine, mental illness was more common there than on the mainland. Anyonewho suffered from a serious mental disease during the winter could not re-ceive outside help. These men usually had to stop working, but they continu-ed to live in the barracks. In this closed society where everybody worked, theunemployed stuck out like a sore thumb.

And their colleagues in the barracks had to put up with them, as best theycould. As one of the miners reported:

Two of our group were no longer able to keep up. They lived in the barrackswith us, but of course we had to look after them. Then we said to one ofthem that the other fellow was not quite ‘all there’, so you must look afterhim. We said the same thing to the other chap. That way, they spent theirtime looking after each other.

Anyone not able to keep up was obliged to stay until the boat arrived in thespring. This became an added strain on the others. Peace and quiet were essen-


Taking a break in the mess hall at one of

Longyearbyen’s many mines.

tial in that isolated winter community. Peacefulness was dependent on a certainamount of contact with family and friends on the mainland. Throughout thewinter, this contact was maintained by telegraph. In any case, at Christmas,families would send a message to say that all was well. Some miners had ar-ranged with their wives to send one telegram per month. Even if all was notwell; the wife might send an ‘all’s well’ message, anyway. What could a minerdo, after all, if one or two of his children were ill? When a telegram failed toappear, that was even worse. A miner could become afraid that his wife hadfound another man. He would take to his bed, play truant, and give in to depres-sion. His colleagues would then take the matter into their own hands. Theywould compose a telegram in his wife’s name, in which she clearly apologisedand asked for forgiveness. The miner would then rally, and resume work.

The first boat brought post and parcels from Norway, plus fresh provisions.But the boat also brought unwanted guests, with its new arrivals: the ‘flu’ andcolds. Viruses and bacteria were killed off in the dry, cold winter climate, butthey were in evidence just a few days after the first boat landed. In the twomonths of June and July in 1929, there were 355 sick days amongst the KingsBay employees, a quarter of them owing to ‘flu’ and colds. Forty-six of themwere so ill, that they had to be seen by the doctor.’

Striking camp and departure

When Germany attacked Norway on April 9th, 1940, all mining stoppedimmediately and it ceased for a full four days. Everyone listened to the radio,day and night. Store Norske’s managing director, Einar Sverdrup, wrote in hisdiary:

Attendance was appalling, and production less than half the usual rate. Thereasons were plentiful. Partly, the miners wanted to go south and fight;partly they wanted to go home, or were disheartened because they did notknow what had happened to family and relatives in war-torn Norway […]On June 10th, 1940, when the capitulation of Northern Norway wasannounced, virtual panic broke out. All work just halted, in both mines,and the majority of the miners wanted to go home.

The company did not want to halt all production, and send the workers home.The trade union on the mainland appealed to them, emphasizing that the mostimportant contribution they could make for the good of the country, was tokeep working and produce coal.

A few days later, about 100 miners threatened the captain of the S/S


Salonica, which was taking in coal.They demanded that he take them to America,but that did not work. But during the summer, those who wanted to leavetravelled south to the mainland. The company complained that too manyexperienced workers never returned; they would not take any chances, and leavetheir families for a whole winter season. But new workers arrived, and miningcontinued.

During the spring of 1941, four men perished when a ventilation fan caughtfire in Mine 2 in Longyearbyen. The cause of their death was smoke and carbonmonoxide inhalation; safety precautions did not function properly. Both Mine1 and Mine 2 were closed for a month while the damage was repaired. Theatmosphere was not good:

The workers were very depressed owing to the fire and the accident. Workhad barely started when the first British naval fleet visited Svalbard on July31st, and the islands were occupied. Following that incident, the atmospherewas so highly charged that all work in Mine 2 stopped. However, Mine 1was kept going until evacuation took place.

Then the evacuation started. An Allied naval force arrived at Isfjord on August25th, 1941: two cruisers, three destroyers, a tanker, four trawlers, and the trooptransport ship Empress of Canada. Everyone on Svalbard was to be evacuated.The cruiser Aurora and a plane were sent to Ny-Ålesund to pick up the peopleliving there. Hunters in the area were included, as well as the two couplesguarding Svea. On the morning of August 29th, the evacuation of Ny-Ålesundbegan; and by the next morning, everyone was in Longyearbyen. All publicofficials were ordered to be relocated, too, along with all archives.

At that time the church was celebrating its 20th anniversary, and theimminent departure was commemorated with a service on August 31st. Thechurch was full to the rafters; many had to stand outside. The service was avery special one, conducted in both Norwegian and English. Both Norwegianand English hymns were sung, and the two flags were flown. The vicar, Just P.C.Kruse, married six couples. The time had come to celebrate common bonds,not only between man and woman, but also between the two nations thatwere united in war against Germany.

Managing Director Sverdrup describes the mood from day to day:

On September 1st we slaughtered all the animals, except the horses. […]Departure was supposed to have commenced at 8 a.m. on September 3rd,but was postponed until 10 a.m. We finally got underway at 9 p.m. It wasa dismal day, and a dismal experience, to watch all those people waitingon the quay, hour after hour, with their meager luggage.


A group of women and children also sat on the Longyearbyen quay inSeptember of 1941. There were 38 wives of office staff, with a total of 63children, plus three unmarried women, all living in the settlements atLongyearbyen and Svea. The workers sat apart. There were women amongstthem too; three married women with four children.The largest group of femaleswas the group of workers, numbering 77 in all. None of them had children.

When they sailed past Nesset in the evening, they saw the entire coal tipon fire; it had been sprayed with petrol and set alight that same afternoon.The Russians had left too, having evacuated the week before.The Russian mineshad also been laid waste and burnt. The same was the case in Ny-Ålesund. Littledid they know that two years hence, German warships and troops would sailinto Longyearbyen and raze the town to the ground.

Svalbard had been abandoned. The coal depots were burnt down. Mostof the production equipment was destroyed. But many, men and women, re-turned after the war, to the massive clearance work which awaited them.

Whaling – Norway’s first oil age

South Georgia is located at 54° S in the South Atlantic Ocean.The island wouldquickly become an important base for Norwegian whale hunters. Approximate-ly half the island is icebound, but in the summer high, rough tussock grass growson its east coast. Otherwise, there is very little vegetation on the island. Thewaters around abound in fish. There are seals and penguins on land.

The first Norwegian whaling station in the South Atlantic Ocean wasestablished at Grytvika on the island of South Georgia by the firm, Pesca, whichwas managed by C. A. Larsen. Secretary Arild Mack, who first saw that sta-tion at Grytvika in 1922, described the experience as follows:

The entire coast, from the shore to the highest mountains tops, is coveredwith ice and snow, and making the island magnificent in the sunlight.[…] Birdlife is also no disappointment. Flocks of millions of birds are justteeming everywhere: gulls, albatross, avocet and ducks. I do not know thenames of them all. The sea is still, and like a mirror, its surface brokenonly when a huge whale rolls on its back, in the water. […] The mountainsrise straight up from the sea. They are tall, dark, moss-covered mountains,looking extraordinary, deserted and sad. They must have been standing likethat for thousands of years.

The tiny settlement at Grytvika expanded rapidly, as did the activity there. By1908 there were already 17 buildings and 160 workers there. The workdays


were long, from six in the morning to six in the evening. In wintertime, daylightdetermined the working hours. When there was no whaling, the men workedon the buildings, did maintenance and repair work, and neatened up. Mostof the workers were Scandinavians; but during the first years at the station, therewere people from all over the world. Turnover was high. From 1907 onwards,there was a doctor at Grytvika; and he reported that all the men were healthy.Their spiritual health, meanwhile, was to be attended to by a clergyman. Thefounder of the whaling station, C.A. Larsen, built a church there.

The days were busy. Harpooners would shoot a whale with grenade har-poons, and air would be pumped through a hollow spear, and into the whaleto keep the animal afloat. It was then marked with a flag, and later towed tothe whale factory ship. There it was flensed; and the blubber was peeled off, andboiled until it became oil. The remainder of the carcass was simply disposedof in the water. During the 1907–08 whaling season, whalers discarded carcas-ses that could have produced 70,000 barrels of oil.

Most of the oil was inferior, and used in soap production in Argentina.Some was used for lamp oil or in industry. When the men caught a rare rightwhale, they could sell the whalebone, which was used in the corset industry.During the first few years, four out of five whales killed were humpback whales,but those stocks diminished quickly. In 1916 the value of the stock had sunkto almost nothing. The abundance of fin whales, however, made it worthwhileto continue whale hunting.

When the whaling station was established, Larsen and the Pesca Companythought they had arrived at a no-man’s-land. The British Colonial Minister wasalso unsure whether the island was British and, if so, whether it was worthkeeping. However, when whaling was established, all doubt was removed. TheBritish found good reasons for maintaining sovereignty: South Georgia hadbeen discovered by the British, and James Cook had formally annexed it in 1775in the name of George III.

The breakthrough

As early as 1905, Chr. Christensen dispatched the first all-Norwegian whalingexpedition to the south. He was the first to make use of floating whale facto-ry ships in the Antarctic. The Admiral had been used for the hunt nearSpitsbergen for a year before it set sail for South Shetland. Several other vessels,from both Norway and Great Britain, followed in its wake.

Whaling was based around the coast. Whalers went out, shot the whales,and dragged the carcasses back to the factory vessel for processing. The facto-ry ships had to remain in calm waters, because the whales were flensed along


A view of Grytvika in South Georgia in 1925–26.

the ship’s side. The evaporator, which transformed salt water to fresh water,could not produce enough of fresh water to extract all the whale oil; so the facto-ry ship depended on water supplies from land. Moored in port, the ship didnot need to use coal for fuel; so the coal could be stored on shore. A floatingfactory ship had the advantage of being able to move from hunting ground tohunting ground, as the whales were exploited in each area. In order to regu-late whaling, Great Britain required that any factory ship operating in Britishterritorial waters be licensed. In the years before World War I, 24 such licen-ces were granted. They were renewed annually; but once a company had beengranted a licence, renewal was just a formality. As the total number of licen-ces was limited, they were worth a good deal; and once obtained, they couldbe and were sold to other ships for large sums of money.

Norwegian licence and concession applications were instrumental in clari-fying the borders of the British Empire in the South Atlantic. On the adviceof Norwegian authorities, Norwegian companies applied to the British forhunting concessions and licences, even in areas where British sovereignty wasin question. As a consequence, the British began claiming sovereignty in thoseareas. Financial interests were paramount for Norway. When Britain put fortha claim in 1908 for what they called the ‘Falklands Sector’, being the entirearea between 20° and 80° longitude, south of 50° S, Norway issued no protest.

The Tønsberg and Sandefjord Whaling Companies were the first to makeuse of factory ships. They built shore stations in 1909–10 and in 1912, afterhaving earned enough to finance these undertakings. It all happened veryquickly. The Tønsberg station was established in Husvik Harbour, while theSandefjord Company began operations in Stromnes Harbour, about ten ortwenty kilometers away.The firm of Ocean Ltd. was established in New FortunaBay in 1909. Licences were granted on the condition that the entire whalewas utilised, and so the firms were obliged to build factories that could handlemeat, bone, and guano processing. Space was required for skinning and carvingup the whale, and for sawing the bones. The New Fortuna Bay station was inoperation until 1920. Also, Bryde and Dahl had a factory ship in Godthul.By 1912, seven companies were operating on South Georgia. Apart from Pescaand the four Norwegian companies, there were two British firms: one in LeithHarbour and the other in Prince Olav Harbour. Norwegians were working atall of them. In addition, Hektor Ltd. of Tønsberg, established a land stationon Deception Island, one of the South Shetland Islands, where six Norwegianfactory ships were also stationed. Attempts at hunting near the South OrkneyIslands proved unprofitable.

Income from Framnæs Engineering Workshops, owned by Chr. Christensen,was one of the preconditions for operations in the Antarctic Ocean. Whalingwas largely financed by local shareholders, primarily by the financial elite in the


county of Vestfold. They were joined financially and through family ties, andthey supported each other’s projects. Nonetheless, it was always necessary totake out bank loans or borrow against share purchases.

The major breakthrough for Norwegian whaling in the Antarctic Oceancame around 1910. In 1914 Norwegian stations and factory ships producedten times more whale oil than in 1906. Pioneer C.A. Larsen returned to Norway,a wealthy man, after ten years in Grytvika. Norwegian companies also huntedalong the west coast of Africa. Within a short period of time, they fully exploi-ted the whale stocks there. There were periods when Norwegian companieshunted off the South American coast, around New Zealand and Tasmania,and even off the coast of North America.

The reason for the leap in production, and the subsequent increase indemand, was the newly developed processing method for hardening whaleblubber. It was a leap forward; as a result, most of blubber’s distinctively horribletaste and smell disappeared. However, not until 1929 did the technology developsufficiently to allow virtually 100 % utilization of whale oil in margarine. Whaleoil was mostly used for soap and cooking fat, for which there was an increasingdemand. Europe’s growing urban population did not churn butter or boil soap,and whale oil was cheap. At first, the use of whale oil in margarine was a well-kept secret, owing to strong antipathy to the substance. William Lever, themanaging director of Lever Brothers, refused to use whale oil in his highlysuccessful Sunlight Soap. However, he and others would soon change theirminds, when they realised that there was money to be made out of whale oil.

When the war broke out in 1914, two-thirds of whale hunting was takingplace on Allied territory; while the Central Powers were amongst the largestpurchasers of whale oil. During World War I, the Norwegian whaling industrywas more or less controlled by the British. Lack of animal fat was a major problemfor Germany. Therefore, it was extremely important for Great Britain to controlthe supply and demand as much as possible. Britain cancelled the whaling licen-ces and concessions for the duration of the war, and did not permit factoryships to stock up on coal. They prohibited the export of oil to all countriesother than Great Britain, despite Norway’s neutrality. As a result, someNorwegian owners of whaling ships preferred to use their vessels to transportoil between the U.S. and Britain, a highly lucrative business. Britain’s ‘compul-sory sale’ rule meant that the whaling industry did not share in the prosperityof wartime commerce in the same way that the fishing and sealing industries did.

Nevertheless, the companies profited. Oil prices increased, especially duringthe last phases of the war, and did not peak until 1919. Excellent profits werealso a result of the rate of exchange and profits from haulage. On average,however, whalers caught fewer than half as many whales as before, and thusextracted less than half as much oil. This decline was not sudden; even before


the war production levels had begun to drop. Many companies which had en-joyed the pre-war boom, withdrew from the market.

The value of ships rose during the war, and as a result, many whaling shipswere sold at a handsome profit. A considerable part of the fleet was shipwrecked.Between 1914 and 1918, the number of factory ships declined from 36 tofive, and the number of whaling vessels fell from 149 to 44, a reduction ofover two-thirds. The remaining whalers were large and more seaworthy, sincemuch of the old equipment had been discarded. After the war, most of thewhaling was concentrated around Antarctica.

Without a licence but with a slip at the stern

The British cancellation of licences and concessions during World War I hadseriously shaken the Norwegians. It was therefore not surprising that many ofthem entertained the thought of hunting without a licence, in the open, andon the high seas, beyond British control. This would enable hunters to testout new hunting grounds in the Antarctic Ocean. The first firm to try pelagichunting in the south was Rosshavet Ltd, The hunting manager, C. A. Larsen,tried to hunt and extract oil in the Ross Sea. Because the Norwegian ministerin London considered this British territory, the expedition applied for a licence,and was granted one for the season 1923–24. Captain Gjertsen from the facto-ry ship S/S Sir James Clark Ross described the journey to the ice in these words:

At 10 in the morning on Christmas Eve we sighted the mighty ice barri-er, that place to which our thoughts had wandered so many times in thelast year, filled with so much excitement and expectation. The barrier madea massive impression. In both directions, and as far as the eye can see,there is an unsurpassable, blindingly white wall. Explorers of the past haveleft chronicles, describing for us this natural ‘Chinese wall’ that stretchesfor thousands of kilometres to both sides of the huge Antarctic continent.It is so immense that it is larger than Europe and Australia combined.Only in very few places is this wall broken, in such a manner as to permitlanding. Anyone who has ever seen this greatest of Nature’s masterpieces,will always long to return, to see it again.

That first season was not unequivocally successful. Manoeuvring through thepack ice and into the Ross Sea was difficult; the crew had to use ice saws, andflensing along the ship’s side in the bitter cold was tough. Many times an axewould make no impact on the frozen whale carcasses; much of the meat wasthrown away, and they had to discard the majority of the blubber and bones.


Nevertheless, Larsen wrote to his friend Oluf Hansen, that he was convincedthere was a future down there:

You can imagine that this trip has been no Sunday outing, but I have lostneither my courage nor my good humour. On the contrary, my spirits arehigher here on the Ross Sea, now that I see the enormous wealth that isto be made from the colossal blue whale. Blue whales like these can notbe found, either near South Shetland or South Georgia. They are thumpinghuge, and difficult to roll onto deck; but really do help to fill the coffers!

Larsen never experienced the next season’s much larger haul; he died on thefield, before the season had got under way.

Larsen’s enthusiasm and hunting success must have inspired others, especi-ally if it were possible to hunt without a licence. The first boat to try its luckwas the Lancing in 1925. This was also the first factory ship equipped with astern that had a slip on which to haul up the whale. It was designed in accor-dance with Petter Sørlie’s patent, and the system revolutionised whale huntingin open waters. The whale was hauled up through a hatch in the stern of theship, and could be flensed and cut up onboard. The work was quicker and safer.The newly developed winch was strong enough to haul the whale onboard.

Until now, land stations or land-based factory ships had been preferred overfloating factory ships, as procedures had demanded a good deal of space. Freshwater had been required to operate the steam engines, and the settling tankshad worked better when there was no lurching or rolling on deck. However,in the 1920s, several inventions, in addition to the stern slip, made it lucra-tive to produce whale oil out at sea. New rotary cookers replaced the old pres-sure cookers. Steam reached the blubber or the meat much better when thepot rotated. It was also possible to top up with more raw materials, and emptyout the oil and offal, without interrupting the cooking process. Cooking, underhigh pressure and high temperature, took much less time. The result was higherquality oil and a less labour-intensive operation. The new process also reducedwater, coal, and coal storage space requirements. Because this also freed up spaceon the vessel, it was now possible to process more oil, meat, and bones in situ,and better utilize the raw materials.

The new oil separators separated waste materials, such as gluey water, fromthe oil in such a way that it obviated the need for settling tanks. The use ofcentrifugal force in specially designed separator vats meant that the whalers wereno longer dependent on a calm sea to clean the oil. Also, the separators weresmaller than the tanks used before. Beginning in 1921, the manually opera-ted saw was replaced by a steam-driven bone saw which made it much easierto dismember a whale skeleton, and to utilise more of it. Direction finders


and wireless telephones made it easier for the whaling ships to stay in contactwith the mother vessel.

The first factory ships were especially refitted passenger or cargo ships.But at this stage, larger, specially designed factory ships were constructed. Thefact that the vessels were very large was an important condition for the develop-ment of pelagic hunting. The size of the vessels allowed for flensing of an entirewhale carcass on the flensing deck, and then hauling the whale to the cuttingdeck. This made the process far more efficient than it had been. The first ofthese specially constructed factory ships was the Kosmos, which was built in1929. It was considered very impressive, with a flensing deck measuring overhalf an acre, making it possible to flense five whales simultaneously. It had an echosounder and even had a small seaplane onboard, for reconnaissance purposes.

Hunting on the high seas placed more stringent requirements on thewhaling boats, too. The hunting technique switched from sneaking up on thewhale, to hunting it until it was so exhausted that it allowed itself to be shot;the so-called Prussian hunt. The first boat run on oil rather than coal wentinto service in 1923. The boats built at the end of the 1920s were also muchmore powerful than their predecessors. They had cruiser sterns and indepen-dent rudders. Another improvement was the gunner’s bridge. In cold weatherand during storms, it was impossible for the gunner to stand in the bow bythe harpoon cannon and wait until he saw the spout. The gunner could nowfollow the hunt from the bridge, and quickly run over the gunner’s bridge andto the cannons when a whale was spotted. Breech loading rather than muzzleloading was quicker and more accurate.

The development of new hunting methods led the whaling industry toconstantly seeking new areas where it could hunt freely. In the wake of the ASRosshavet’s licence application, Britain claimed the so-called Ross Sector, thearea between 160° E and 150° W and south of 60° S. It was to be administe-red from New Zealand. This claim spurred Norway to join the competitionfor sovereignty over Antarctic territory. Lars Christensen’s whaling companyused the sealer Norvegia for four expeditions to the Antarctic in the years1927–31. The main purpose of the expeditions was to seek out new whale-hunting grounds; but they also sought to discover and rediscover land areas,and occupy them on behalf of Norway. On the first expedition in 1927, theNorwegian flag was planted on Bouvet Island, and Peter I Island was annexedin 1929. The pilot Hjalmar Riiser-Larsen led the two last expeditions, in1929–30 and 1930–31; and two light aircraft accompanied these expeditions.On the first trip, the Norwegian flag was planted on a landing strip on theAntarctic continent which Riiser-Larsen called Dronning Mauds Land (QueenMaud Land). In 1939 Norway claimed Queen Maud Land, then defined asquite an extensive area, as Norwegian territory. These annexations were meant


The catch, gathered on the side of a whaling

ship in the Antarctic Ocean, is ready to be

hauled on board the factory ship.

to support Norwegian activities in the Antarctic Ocean. Plenty of whales hadbeen observed in the area around Bouvet Island.

Market fluctuations

Following a short post-war dip, the markets began to climb again, and contin-ued to do so until 1931. The new pelagic hunting methods proved highly effici-ent, and output rose annually. Between the 1926–27 season and the peak yearof 1930–31, international whale-oil production tripled. The Larvik compan-ies, Globus and Polaris, had been operating successfully without concessionssince 1925. Between 1928 and 1930 these two firms were even joined on thehunting grounds by no fewer than ten new companies, all from Vestfold.Despite the industry’s deep local roots, it was increasingly operating with thehelp of foreign capital.

The most important reason for the enormous expansion was the state ofthe market, which was excellent – until, of course, the Great Crash of 1929.More whale oil was used in the production of margarine, a product which wasused in an increasing number of households. In 1934, about 84 % of all whaleoil was used in margarine. Whale oil was very popular, as it was cheaper thanother cooking oils and fats, was less expensive to use in the hardening process,and could be stored for longer periods of time.

This success, however, caused the industry to dig its own grave in more waysthan one. During the 1930–31 season, 238 whaling ships caught 40,201 whalesand produced 3.6 million barrels of oil. The market was saturated, and theWhalers Association encouraged companies to lay their ships up for a year.Thus,29 Norwegian factory ships and more than 160 whaling boats did not participatein the hunt, during the 1931–32 season. In the municipalities of Sandefjord andSandar, where most of the whalers lived, approximately one out of every five menwas unemployed in March 1932. In 1930–31, 10,549 Norwegians were employ-ed in whaling; but by the next season the number had dropped to only 1,884.These whalers were employed by two British companies.

Many of the whalers were also farmers. They held things together when noton the hunt, by working their farms and, in some cases, fishing as well.Unemployment would have been higher, but for the fact that many compan-ies spent the year they were not hunting, maintaining and refitting their boats.Thus, in what would have been a time of crisis, there was some constructionwork. Still, the communities suffered when there was unemployment, becausethe companies were not bound to employ the whalers or support them finan-cially. The ‘black year’, when the whaling ships were laid up, was an eye-openerfor people in Vestfold; clearly, they could not rely solely on whaling. As a result,


there was an increasing emphasis on the merchant fleet and the establishmentof new industry. Furthermore, the number of whalers declined during the yearsthat followed. Yet, in the 1937–38 season, the figures rose to the same levelsas they had been before ships had been laid up.

After the pause in whale hunting, the strongest market participants emergedeven stronger. Much of the old equipment was discarded, and replaced with thenewest and most modern equipment. The firms now concentrated on thehunting grounds with the highest yields. In 1938–39, only 2 % of theNorwegian whale hunt took place outside Antarctica. After that ‘black year’of laying up whaling vessels, every factory ship had a slip at the stern. Thefloating factories were more efficient, with greater capacity. There were alsomore whaling boats per factory vessel, and the boats hunted whales at such apace that the factories had difficulty coping with the pace of the hauls. Earningswere good up until the 1937–38 season, primarily as a result of rationaliza-tion and increased efficiency.

The Norwegian share of whale hunting in Antarctica declined from 70 %in 1928–29 to 30 % ten years later. The reason for the decline was that Britainincreased her share, and Japan and Germany entered the market. No longer didNorwegian whalers dominate the industry, either. In 1932–33, 94 % of allwhalers were Norwegian; but represented only 59 % in 1938–39. Several of theship-owners predicted difficult times ahead, and chose to invest in other formsof shipping, especially in tankers.

Regulating resources

The history of whaling is the history of the demise of one species of whaleafter the other. Although whaling in the north had clearly shown that resour-ces were far from inexhaustible, none of the whaling companies seemed tohave learned from this.

When Arild Mack first went to Grytvika in January 1922, to serve as secre-tary at the shore station, one of the first things he remarked on was the abun-dance of whales to be seen. ‘Sometimes there are whole herds of them, and theirspouts are so close that they are like trees in a forest along the water’s surface.’Perhaps it appeared as if there were enough whales for everyone; but alreadyin 1910, Great Britain limited the number of concessions. More British rulesfollowed, regarding the use of raw materials and the protection of calves andof cows with young. Not everyone was equally pleased when there was huntingwithout licensing. The British lost important income. Norwegian companiesthat were still paying licence fees did not think much of those that were notdoing so. Moreover, an increasing number of whales were being shot, without


regard to any rules. Companies with valid licences dominated the NorwegianWhaling Association which, together with local whaling associations, requestedthat the Norwegian government establish guidelines. Because land-based andpelagic hunting interests were on opposite sides of the fence, the governmentwas reluctant to implement such an initiative. Britain was also pushing hard,and was prepared to accept the Norwegian annexation of Bouvet Island, onlyif Norway began to regulate and reduce whale hunting. In addition, Norwaywas feeling increasing pressure as a result of growing international oppositionto whaling.

In 1929 Norway passed a new whale-hunting law. It protected the threat-ened species, the right whale, as well as cows with young. It called for maximi-zation of raw material utilization. It obliged whalers to report the results ofhunts, and established a controlling body. Inspectors would accompany thefactory ships, and rule-breakers would be fined. The Whaling Commission,with representatives drawn from government and industry, was established toensure compliance. The disagreements between those who hunted with andwithout licences contributed to the dissolution of the Norwegian WhalingAssociation. It was replaced by a new international association, the Associationof Whaling Companies.

Meanwhile the League of Nations had commissioned a report on whaleresources and whale hunting. The findings of this report, along with the princi-ples of Norwegian whaling law, helped shape an agreement on whaling, signedin Geneva in 1931. In order for the agreement to take effect, it had to besigned by both Norway and Britain; but the British dallied for so long that itdid not come into force until 1935. Since Japan, Russia, and Germany didnot sign, the agreement was of limited value.

There was no organised opposition to whale hunting in the years betweenthe two World Wars; but the slaughter disturbed many, even within the indus-try. Morten Ingebrigtsen, born in 1848, had worked as a whale gunner on theFinnmark coast, in the Arctic, and off the coast of Africa. He believed that whalestocks had been reduced by as much as two-thirds by World War I; and thatit would take ‘50 to 100 years for whale stocks to recover to the levels theywere at during the best years’.

This unease was also voiced in newspaper columns when the new law wasintroduced in 1934. Gunnar Isachsen, who had been on several sorties toAntarctica to map whale resources, was not in doubt.

With regard to the future of whaling, I did not think that anyone, fromwhat we now know, was in doubt that the hunt had devastated stocks tothe extent that the whales were in danger of extinction. Nor can I under-stand that anyone can be optimistic, now, from a financial point of view.


After the ‘black year’ of whaling ship lay-ups in 1931–32, the WhalingAssociation realised that regulations were necessary in order to prevent furtheroverproduction. During the two next seasons, they entered into voluntary agree-ments.The notion of ‘a blue whale unit’ came into use, meaning one blue whale,two fin whales, two and a half humpbacked whales, or six sei whales. A quotasystem was established, dictating how many whale units one could shoot, andhow much oil one could extract. The system rewarded those who extractedthe most oil from each carcass. The start of the season was postponed. In 1933,the Sandefjord ship-owner Lars Christensen chose to opt out of the agree-ment. Norwegian authorities intervened, and a new Norwegian whaling lawwent into effect in 1934. Greater government control was in line withNorwegian industrial policies of the 1930s; as well as in the years to come, whenthe authorities established the quotas.

The hunting season was shortened even further. The law was augmentedwith a paragraph which forbade the sale of maritime vessels abroad. Rules werealso created for the use of the whale carcass; and for the first time, a limit wasplaced on the amount of time that could elapse between the shooting of thewhale and the flensing and cutting. A whale that has been sitting around forso long that it ferments and rots from within, and that swells is called a ‘burnt’whale. A whale like that naturally produces bad oil that might well be unusable.

During the 1935–36 season, most of the companies again cooperated andentered into production agreements. Altogether, they controlled about three-quarters of the Antarctic hunt. When Japan joined the race in 1934 andGermany in 1936, a new battle for resources began. The Germans were pre-paring for a war economy, and wanted to prevent a recurrence of the fat short-age they had experienced during World War I. They wanted to build up stocksof fat, without having to use foreign currency. Japan was hunting primarily toobtain foreign currency for rearmament. These two countries were not signa-tories of the bilateral agreement between Norway and Britain for the 1936–37season, and they shortened the season and reduced the number of whaling boats.

The Germans were mostly interested in obtaining whale oil, which they wantedto produce themselves. They therefore wanted to buy whale-hunting equipmentfrom Norwegian companies that were restructuring their fleet. This violatedNorwegian law, but Norwegian companies circumvented the law by hiring outfactory ships and whaling boats to Germany; and Germany managed to pressu-re the Norwegian government into granting certain dispensations from the law.

Germany was one of the signatories of the next agreement, which was signedin London in 1937. Japan was not. Nine countries agreed to complete conser-vation measures for the right whale and gray whale, and placed quotas on thenumber of whales of several species that could be killed. It prohibited thehunting of cows with young, and limited the season to three months. In addi-


tion, large areas of the Northern Hemisphere were closed to hunting. Theseagreements were also incorporated into Norwegian whaling laws.

But the regulations were of little use. In 1938, 26 % more oil was pro-duced than during the previous season. That year, a discussion of quotas wastherefore initiated, but no agreement was reached. The only conclusion thatwas reached was to extend the 1937 agreement to 1940 and to stop pelagichunting of the humpback whale in Antarctica. The freedom this allowed regar-ding pelagic hunting led to a lack of responsibility and an attitude of ‘every manfor himself ’. The signs of excessive hunting were visible. It appeared that manythought: ‘après moi, la deluge’.

Working onboard

A whaler’s work was not unlike a fisherman’s. Work on the factory ships,however, was more like work on a factory assembly line. The whale was movedfrom one work gang to the next, where everyone had his appointed job; andit was important that every link in the chain functioned. The winch hand wasan important link in the chain, and usually he was no immature stripling.

Hour after hour the winch hand stays in his position, as though nailed tothe deck, without any chance to warm up. The infernal wind in the darkof the night never ceases; and it freezes a person to the bone. Blue finger-tips grab the handle and the steam crane. Tears trickle down his cheeksand turn into tiny beads of ice, as he stands and peers through steam andmist, to make sure he hoists and lowers at the correct time. […] He standslike an icy statue, making sure he does not damage anything on deck ashe tosses around the heaps of bone and meat.

The transition to pelagic hunting led to many changes onboard. The mostimportant was the switchover from one to two shifts, in order to best utilizecapacity. At night, the men worked under floodlights, when necessary. Often,the crew would work on the night shift for half the season, and on the dayshift the other half. In a sense, the two halves of the crew lived separate lives,but they met in a competition to see which shift could catch and handle themost whales.

On the whole, technological advances improved working conditions. It wasless risky for a flenser to cut up the whale on board, rather than outboard,when outside the ship on the tiny ‘flensing ferry’; or even on top of on the slippe-ry carcass itself, where one was exposed to wind and waves. The men had tocut the blubber into strips, and then fasten the strips to wires in order to pull


Production is well under way on the deck of the Thorshøvdi in 1949. The ship was launched in

April 1948. Crew and factory workers numbered about 260.

them off the carcass with the aid of a winch. The huge whale carcass neededto be capsized, turned over, in order to remove the blubber from the entireanimal. Under the circumstances, it was easy for a man to fall into the sea, orfor large pieces of blubber to fall on someone and injure him. One flenser fellonto a row of teeth from a sperm whale, and his back was scarred for life. Thework was exhausting and freezing cold. Sometimes, the men had to warm theirhands by thrusting them into the whale’s intestines. When flensing took placeoutside the ship, raw materials were underutilised, because the men often onlygot at the blubber, and half the whale oil sank with the carcass when they weredone.

In that respect, the stern slip was a godsend. At first, to be sure, the taskof fastening the strap round the whale’s tail, before pulling it on board, wasdangerous work. But in 1932–33 the whale claw came into use, which madethe work easier and less risky.

The transition to ships fuelled with oil meant there was no longer a needfor laborious coal-firing, a miserable combination of fire, heat and dust. Butcleaning the oil fuel tanks before filling them with whale oil was no easy job.The tanks were steamed off, boiled in caustic soda, and scrubbed by hand. Eventhen, they were not always clean enough; the work was tiring, tough, and notwithout an element of danger.

After rotary boilers had been introduced, the blubber hoe and the eleva-tor that transported the blubber to the boiler became redundant.The new boilercould be ‘fed’ by hand. Emptying and filling up the new boiler was so mucheasier than the old pressure boilers. When the oil separators were brought in,the work of the ‘skimming lad’ became redundant. Skimming lads used tohave to skim the oil in the clearing tanks, and long hours spent over the oilysteam could cause damage to the eyes. On the modern factory ships, much ofthe production was moved below deck, so that the boiling gang no longer hadto work outside, exposed to wind and weather.

Despite all the improvements, however, it was still hard work. The workingweek on the factory ship was 70 hours. The men worked on Sundays, and oftenhad to work overtime. They waded in blubber and blood, and worked out-side in the snow, wind, and cold. In the worst cases, they were so tired thatthey staggered around and fell on top of the piles of blubber. The noise levelmade it necessary to shout. This is how Krarup Nielsen, an expedition doctor,described the noise onboard the factory ship Solstreif in 1920:

The rattling and whining of chains and cranes were mixed in with thedeafening hammering and whirring of the steam cylinders, and with thehiss and roar from the pressure boilers when the steam is released. Andshouts and whistled signals sliced through the din, together with curses and


screams of ‘look out!’ And all of this was necessary, in order to keep upthe furious pace of this sort of work.

That would have been a good time to straighten up and look out over the sea-scape. One whaler, recalling a 1938 voyage, remembers the deep blue sea, theblindingly white icebergs, with their violet shadows in the sunset, all under agreen sky. When the nights were clear, the heavens were filled with stars, whilethe southern lights shimmered, with green and blue flashes dancing over palewhite ice formations; reminiscent of cathedrals, minarets or castles reachingup into the deep blue air.

On the whaling boats, the days were even longer than on the factory ships.A work week lasted 84 hours, and the sailors also had to turn out if the gunnerhit a bull’s eye. The method of counting was adjusted; it changed from hoursand days into whales and barrels. The passage to and from the hunting groundswas quiet. On the way south, the factory workers were divided into gangs, toprepare the equipment. Wire and ropes were spliced, knives ground, and soforth. Each gang usually worked with the equipment it would be using itself,which was a kind of quality control. On the passage down, they also built anextra deck to go on top of the normal deck, and this was made to enable thecrewmen to get a foothold with their spiked boots when the deck surface gotslippery from blubber, blood, and intestines.

Similarly, the passage home was occupied with removing the soiled andsplintered extra deck; and with washing, hosing, scraping, and painting the dirtyship. A whaling boat crew was not large enough to allow a complete overhaul;all they could do was to clean up. Factory ship crews got their returning shipsreally clean: white and shining; and it was definitely necessary. Artist and painterHenrik Finne had seen what the ‘cook house’ looked like out at sea:

It is not a pretty sight, such a factory ship, as it lies and drifts in the ab-sinthe-green water, which is stained yellow and red from the offal and blood.Blood runs down the side of the ship, and dirt covers and grows on thebridge, the boom, and even up the smokestacks.

The passage to and from the hunting grounds could provide time for thoughtand a bit of reading, plus the ritual equator-crossing ceremony. On some facto-ry ships, King Neptune and Mrs. Orcana Neptune ‘christened’ the sailors whowere crossing the line for the first time. Sometimes a mess boy might be orderedto take a knife and ‘cut the line’, until he suddenly realised that he was beingtaken for a ride. Otherwise, seasickness might rear its ugly head on the tripsouth. Some latitudes, such as the ‘roaring forties’ and the ‘screaming fifties’,were not to be taken lightly.


Living conditions onboard

The condition that most affected whale hunters was their isolation from theoutside world. They were away from home half the year; and at the shore sta-tions, some of the crewmen who stayed the winter could be away from homefor a couple of years at a time. Life revolved around work and whales, whalesand work; only interrupted by food and sleep; and although a factory ship mightlook large in port at home, it was a very limited world within which to live.Snowstorms, wind, and cold did not help, either. There were limited possibi-lities of contacting relatives at home: letters might arrive 2 or 3 times per season.Loneliness and uneasiness reigned. Working on the Leith Harbour in theAntarctic Ocean, Bernhard Eilertsen was among the men who felt he wasmissing a great deal: ‘I am not able to take part in my children’s celebrations.Edit and Martha were confirmed while I was away. Elsie will probably get marri-ed this year, and in the meantime I have volunteered to go into exile for twoyears.’ Eilertsen’s daughter Åse was born while he was away, but died beforehe got home. Most whale hunters returned home after the end of the season,and so family celebrations were usually postponed if possible. The vicar ofSandar performed 28 christenings in Sandar church on Easter Sunday in 1937.

During the first years, it was difficult to lead any sort of social life onboard. There were few places to congregate and no social events for the crew.The shore stations were better off. The stations had libraries, sporting compe-titions, and cinemas that showed slapstick comedies. It was also possible toget away from work by taking a walk or going skiing.

The only day when there was any sort of lull in the work routine wasChristmas Eve, when the table was set for a feast, perhaps including some aquavitor brandy and roast pork. Alas, some men, seeking to allay their homesicknessand heavy thoughts, drank too much. Onshore and at sea, Christmas Eve celebra-tions could well wind up in a brawl.

Living conditions on board varied according to one’s position. In the firstyears of whale hunting, 20 or 30 men might share a dormitory, which wasknown as a ‘penguin camp’. Linen and mattresses were brought from home.They ate in the forecastle and either fetched their food from the galley or hadit brought to them by a galley boy.

In the late 1920s, five or six men might share a small cabin, but the venti-lation was never very good. The cabins were said to be so tiny, that if one manwas pulling on his boots, the other would have to lie down on his bunk. Ofcourse, there were no showers. The men could wash up either by going outon deck or into the boiler room area, and pouring water over themselves witha bucket or a dipper. Little by little, however, sanitary conditions improved. Onthe Sir James Clark Ross every crew cabin had a lavatory, by the 1930s. Crewmen


were also responsible for cleaning their own cabins. One can imagine that afterthe long, hard days at work, the men could cut corners. In addition, the mencould be bothered by cockroaches, bedbugs, and rats on board.

The officers’ accommodations were of a notably higher standard. A photofrom the 1920s shows the cosy ‘doctor’s cabin’ with a leather sofa, an easychair, a fringed lampshade, and family portraits on the panelled walls. Each of thevarious working groups had their own mess. For example, on the Kosmos II therewas a lounge for the manager, the doctor, and all those whose titles startedwith ‘first’. Then there was an officers’ mess, a flensers’ mess, a boilers’ mess, thecraftsmen’s mess, the sailors’ mess, the stokers’ mess, and the workers’ mess,all with their own mess boys. There were distinct boundaries among the variousgroups, especially on the shore stations and factory ships. In Grytvika, thehighest ranking officials ate and lived in the administration building, whilethe others were in barracks. Nonetheless, they had common concerns, whichconsumed them the most. How many whales had been killed? How manybarrels of oil had been produced? When could they expect the next mail delive-ry? On board the whaling boats, there were also separate messes: one for theofficers and one for the others; but the social differences were less importantonboard. Crew members were few in number, and usually the men already kneweach other; if they were not from the same family or neighbourhood, they hadprobably worked together on the same boat in the past.

At first many of the warm woollen clothes the whale hunters needed werehandmade by their mothers, wives, and sisters at home. Some of these womenmight add a bit of their own hair when knitting mittens; this strengthened thewool and helped the mittens last longer. Otherwise, the men bought clothes,boots, cigarettes, tobacco, soap, shaving articles, and the like; either from the ‘slop-chest’ (the ‘general store’) on the factory ship or at the shore station. The menusually wore canvas overalls, but later, these were made of denim. Underneath,they wore sweaters and woollen underwear. On top of it all, they often woreoilskins. The smiths on board made sure their shoes were spiked. The boots hadan extension attached to them; a kind of legging that was basically a canvas thighprotector. It was homemade and fastened at the belt. On their arms they woresimilar garments which were arm protectors. Anyone who used knives in his workhad a whetstone pouch attached to his belt, plus a sawdust pouch. The sawdustwas used to dry the knife handle, when it became slippery with blood and fat.

Food was important, not only because the men worked hard, but becausemealtimes provided the only opportunity for a break and some leisure. Mostof the men were young; they were manual labourers working in the fresh seaair. A study from the 1930s estimated that a whaling factory ship workerrequired a 5,070-calorie-per-day intake. In comparison, an iron or steel workerneeded about 3,500 calories per day.The calorie requirements cannot have been


lower on the old factory ships; which were furthermore often accused of notfeeding the men properly and of providing monotonous fare. During the1912–13 labour disputes, the crew representative from the Phytia said: ‘Theflour was burnt into hard, plaster-like lumps that the baker had to break upwith a club, and it smelt awful.’ Also, the salted meat in the barrels was over-pickled, and the smell was so bad that the men had to eat their meat out ofdoors. As for the fish, it was yellow and green ‘and long maggots jumped outof it’ when the men cut into it.’

In the early years of whaling, the food on board the factory ships wasmonotonous. The crewmen sometimes brought their own meat and cheese;and they were given a ration of butter, sugar, syrup, and tinned milk. Sometimes,there was a warm breakfast of oatmeal gruel, fried fish balls, corned beef, orcod roe. Four meals were served daily. The cooks used local foodstuffs, suchas cod (which they fished from the ship’s rail), penguin eggs, and naturally whalemeat. The factory ships often carried live pigs and chicken in their storerooms.However, towards the close of the season, when there was no access to freshfood, meals could get rather boring. One crew member said of a 1938 expedi-tion that in March, which was the end of the season, castor sugar, known as‘drifting snow’, was all they had to spread on bread. Only rarely did they get


The quality of life varied on board, depending on one’s position, and also at Christmas celebra-

tions. The officers enjoyed a holiday meal on the Antarctic in 1929.

syrup, jam, anchovies, sausage, or cheese made from cow’s whey, better knownas ‘polishing stone’.

In the 1920s some of the whale hunters suffered from beriberi as a resultof Vitamin B deficiency. This vitamin can be found in whole wheat and brownbread. The trip to and from the hunting grounds passed through the tropics,where white bread kept longer. The companies took this problem seriously, andin 1930, their trade organisation, the Whale Hunters’ Association, appointeda committee to address the issue.

During the years 1904–23, over 200 whale hunters died in the Antarctic.As the men were basically strong and healthy, one must assume that many ofthese deaths were accidental. The work exposed the men to many dangers.Hunting in the ice did not just improve the men’s working conditions; it alsoled to more shipwrecks and deaths, certainly in the years between 1926 and1931. Insufficient experience with ice was one reason; and the other was theuse of old vessels that were ill equipped to sail in these waters. Collisions withicebergs and ice floes were a main cause of the shipwrecks; there was not toomuch pack ice in the Antarctic so fewer ships sank because they were pusheddown in pack ice. The extreme competition and frantic work pace were alsopartly to blame.


The others had to be content with celebrating in their cabins.

Between 1924 and 1950, 58 Norwegian whale hunters died in accidentsother than shipwrecks, snowslides, or suicide. One of these hunters was ErlingLarsen, who was 27 years old and a newlywed in 1930. He fell between twocargo ships that lay side by side in Leith Harbour; and ‘he was squashed to piecesbetween the sides of the ships’, according to a co-worker. Another whalingchronicler notes the following serious accidents during the 1937–38 season:A sailor suffered frostbite in both hands; a boy’s thigh was torn open by a flensingknife; a boiler worker had three fingers squeezed flat; a man was struck in thehead by a taut wire, was thrown onto deck, and lost consciousness; a boy washit hard, in the head, by a bone saw; someone was thrown onto deck by a bluewhale crank handle; two grenades exploded, killing three and seriouslywounding one; a cutter fell under half a breast carcass of a whale and was badlyinjured; and a flenser fell on his flensing knife and died of a serious thigh wound.

For county and country

Whale hunting was important to Vestfold County. In 1920, five percent ofthe county’s male working population was employed in the industry; and in1929, as much as 18 %.The economic importance of the industry to the countyreached a particularly high level in the late 1920s. While many other businesssectors struggled, whale hunting was expanding and employment was on therise. Profits were high; and investments, while substantial, paid off quickly. Notonly was the Kosmos debt-free after only two seasons of operation; large re-serve funds were set aside, and the shareholders received a 40 % dividend.Income tax from whale hunters accounted for a major percentage of directincome tax payments; and the companies also paid taxes to the county. Whalehunting was the foundation of financial empires, like those of the Jahre andChristensen families. Jahre established two factories in Sandefjord, whichrefined whale and sperm whale oil. The Sandar factory was built in 1935, andJahre Chemical Factory Ltd. in 1940.

Despite the Great Depression in the 1930s, which affected Vestfold alongwith the rest of the world, incomes were 25 % higher in Sandefjord than inother Norwegian towns. Although the Norwegian whaling industry declinedin the 1930s, the town’s income was still 37 % above the national average in1939. Only the counties of Akershus, Oslo, and Bergen had higher estimated,average personal incomes than Vestfold. Some groups, like the gunners, pulledthis average up. Prosperity, however, was not evenly distributed. Income fromwhale hunting resulted in a broader division between the ‘haves’ and ‘have-nots’,and capital was concentrated in the hands of relatively few.

Whaling also created significant secondary, economic effects. Even before


the establishment of Jahre’s factories, there were whale-oil refineries in thecounty of Østfold: Vera Fat Refinery and De-No-Fa. Whale oil was used inthe paint production processing, by firms like Jotun Factories in Sandefjord.The Framnæs Mechanical Workshops made good money from maintenanceand reconstruction of vessels, as well as from building new ships, like the elevenwhalers they constructed in 1932–37. The whaling industry represented animportant market for the manufacturers and distributors of harpoons, paint,fuel, provisions, and other commodities. Purchases of these supplies represent-ed millions of kroner for the Vestfold economy. Most of the supplies requiredfor whaling voyages were purchased in ship-owners’ home counties. In fact,some enterprises were entirely dependent on the income they received from thewhaling companies. Business in Vestfold County was also generally vulnerableto market fluctuations.

A new Norwegian industry had been created, producing considerableemployment and profits. At its height, the industry employed about 10,000men. The nation earned important revenue, and also benefited from thedevelopment of valuable expertise, as a result of the accumulated experienceof the whale hunters, and from major technological innovations that grew fromnatural industrial developments. Whale hunting gave Norway status; Norwayhad led the way. Whale hunting transpired in tough, inhospitable, and ‘heroic’territory, where the polar explorers had left their marks, too. Not only weremany whale hunters buried in Grytvika; but the British polar explorer ErnestShackleton also lays in rest there.

It was thanks to whale hunting that Norway was granted sovereignty overseveral regions of Antarctica. Few refer to the negative consequences. Severalwhale species were overtaxed, huge amounts of food resources were thrownoverboard, and hardly a strategy existed for how best to slow these develop-ments.

Fridtjof Nansen was a scientist. He was not an amateur who turned to scienceas recreation, nor did he use science as a pretext or a polite excuse to engagein sport. He was a committed scientist all his life; but of course he had otherinterests.

The return of Nansen and of the Fram in 1896 caused a wave of commer-cial festivities in Norway. Nansen Beer was brewed; people could buy NansenAquavit and Nansen Sardines; there were Fram songs and Fram cabarets. Allin all, Nansen’s Norwegian reception recalled the Swedish response to the 1880return of the geologist Adolf Erik Nordenskiöld, after his journey on the Vegathrough the Northeast Passage. Commercial exploitation of this type of specta-cular public event was perhaps dictated by the invisible hand of the market; butthe public reaction was naturally influenced by newspapers, magazines, andother publications. If the unmistakable message was to be made, that scienti-fic research by polar explorers played a crucial role in the attainment of nation-al honour, that message had to be conveyed clearly to the Norwegian people.

After the Fram’s festive departure in 1893, and in the face of a long and indeter-minate period before its return, geology professor W.C. Brøgger and authorNordahl Rolfsen began work on a definitive popular portrait of Nansen aimed atthe Norwegian public.Their book, which included contributions by other authors,formed the basis of the Nansen legend. The authors were vocal proponents ofnational unity through the celebration of Nansen’s exploits.

The beginning of the book includes a portrait of Nansen, in which his bodyvirtually disappears into a huge fur coat that makes him look like a Viking chief-tain. His moustache is the kind that was most fashionable in Europe; his hair andclean-shaven face make him look young; while his sharp nose, frowning fore-head, and intense expression lend him a certain Nordic-Germanic intensity, deter-mination, and purposefulness. Is this the new Norwegian identity personified?

t h e e x p l o r e r s 195

THE E XPLORERS

But was this a man of science? Absolutely. Brøgger and his co-authorswanted readers to understand that science was a key factor in Nansen’s heroism,and that scientific activity itself was heroic. One of them wrote of Nansen’szoological research: ‘The journeys of discovery in the quiet office, in the labora-tory, in the world of the microscope, in nature’s hidden workshop, are of greatvalue in the edification of mankind and the progress of culture.’ The hope wasexpressed that when Nansen returned, he would be able to ‘continue his journeyof discovery within biology’s broad but still uncharted territory; beyond whichlie still greater, unknown regions that can barely be perceived, now’.

Writing about the Greenland expedition, Brøgger observed that the publicnow recognised Nansen as more than just a great athlete. The chapters thatfollowed, outlined the connection between science and Nansen’s activities.Repeatedly, Brøgger hammered the message home: Nansen was fully aware ofthe scientific significance of his expedition. Time and again, this importancewas linked to Nansen’s genius for hatching ambitious plans, plans he felt he hadsufficient strength and wherewithal to bring to fruition. Having combined‘Nansen the daring athlete’ with ‘Nansen the brilliant scientist’ into a singleheroic polar scientist, Brøgger then described the extraordinary welcome accord-ed Nansen on his return. It was an explosion of sentiment and excitement thatmust still have been very fresh in the minds of his readers. First, Brøgger equatedNansen with the Norwegian people at a time when they were despondent,and then when they united upon his return: ‘He has been like a messenger ofour people, serving the world. That courage which has gone unrecognised orfaltered on dark nights at sea; that courage has been his happy destiny to carryforth, for the whole world to see, basked in the sunshine of victory.’ Then,Brøgger’s language really swells:

Of all the thousands who cheered him from the ramparts at Akershus Castle,who broke the police cordons and dashed up to his carriage, how many atthat very moment remembered Science? For them, it was the deed; for them,he stood forth as a chieftain who joined the most recent story of a cap-sized boat. […] He was the personification of a Norwegian. […] But we,who are trying to paint the whole picture, cannot put science aside; as itis science, for the whole world to see, that is the defining moment, andthat gives the welcoming festivities their proper historic perspective.


Sweden’s great polar hero Adolf Erik Nordenskiöld assumes a heroic stance, here in Georg von

Rosen’s 1886 portrait. Nordenskiöld’s ship, the Vega, is depicted in the background.

Brøgger’s campaign also contributed to strengthening the notion of science asa daring deed. As in Sweden, polar researchers were presented as peacefulVikings, who conquered unknown realms of knowledge in the name of sci-ence and civilisation. Nordenskiöld’s deeds were a clear indication that scien-ce could win a nation prestige and persuade its people that a scientist can be anational hero. Events in Sweden showed that polar research could lend direc-tion, pride, and vitality to the local scientific community, which in turn prompt-ed international interest and respect. In the 1880s and 1890s, a number ofyoung Swedish scientists travelled to the far north, to obtain honour and famefor themselves and their nation. The 1896 return of Nansen and the Fram setin motion a similar phenomenon. When the University of Oslo immediatelyafterwards secured Nansen’s services by appointing him to a professorship, itwas a foregone conclusion that the nation’s new hero and his polar feats wouldplay a key role in Norway’s scientific community. One of the first side effectsof Nansen’s academic appointment was the rapidity with which the Fram II ’sscientific expedition secured financing.

Another consequence was the establishment of the Fridtjof Nansen Fundfor the Promotion of Science. This Fund, which was in reality the first researchcouncil in Norway, marked a turning point in the history of Norwegian sci-ence. In 1896, Brøgger saw an opportunity to combat the deep crisis of legiti-macy that hung over Norwegian scientific institutions. Polar research had aunique ability to mobilize the enthusiasm of the masses. Polar research provi-ded a refreshing opportunity to make a difference, at a turning point inNorwegian science. The fact that polar research was above all a natural sci-ence, thereby placed it on the side of progress, too. In the second half of the19th century, natural science had been promoted as a primary source of renewaland social change, whether it was in the fields of public health, resource manage-ment, or industrialisation. Linking Nansen’s name to Norway’s largest researchcouncil ensured polar research a solid and integral role in Norwegian science.

What made it possible to create the fund important, of course, were FridtjofNansen’s achievements and the huge popularity he had gained with the peopleof Norway. In this connection, the energy and entrepreneurial skills that Brøggerbrought to the promotion of the fund, can not be underestimated. In manyways, the Nansen Fund was really the Waldemar Christopher Brøgger Fund forthe Promotion of Norwegian Science. It was established with private capital,including many small contributions from around the country, and with verylarge donations made by brewery owner Axel Heiberg, and by two Swedes:Alfred Nobel and Oscar Dickson. Using money from the Fund, Brøgger initi-ated an ambitious publication program for Norwegian science, including publi-cation of the results of the Fram expedition.


Polar oceanography

Nansen lived a very active life during the decade following the Fram expedi-tion. He became a statesman and a diplomat, and delivered what seemed tobe countless speeches abroad. He became a geophysicist, or more precisely anoceanographer. He analysed observations made during the Fram expedition,and collected these analyses in several volumes, becoming increasingly absorbedin the unresolved questions of the polar areas, the ‘polar mysteries’. Althoughhe was still fascinated by his previous biological studies, and though he con-tinued to discuss problems of Arctic geology; Nansen was more interested indeveloping a precise scientific approach to the study of the physical and dynamicproperties of the ocean.

The surprisingly deep Arctic Ocean provided not only new knowledgeabout the continental shelf, Nansen and other scientists realised that the studyof this information would yield new and important insights into the oceancurrents; not only in the Arctic, but throughout the Northern Hemisphere.He also recognized that exploration of the unusually broad northern conti-nental shelf, which at its northernmost point falls off abruptly into the deeppolar basin, might uncover important information about the history of thecontinents.

Nansen breathed new life into oceanography, when he proved the existenceof a current flowed across the Arctic Ocean. The Fram’s route, and other indica-tions, showed that polar drift ice is in constant motion. It moves from oneside of the polar basin north of the East Siberian Coast and the Bering Strait,directly across the central Arctic Ocean around the North Pole, and then flowsout into the Norwegian Sea between Greenland and Spitsbergen. In otherwords, the Arctic Ocean was not a shallow, frozen barrier, possibly containinglarge land masses. Rather, it was part of a broader system of ocean currents inthe northern hemisphere that contributed decisively to physical conditions inthe Norwegian Sea and the North Atlantic.

Although Nansen had not expected that the shallow water so far north ofthe Norwegian coast, Russia, and Siberia, would suddenly plummet to a depthof over 3,000 meters; he nonetheless managed to take samples from the verydeepest layers of the ocean. While the techniques for the study of seawaterneeded improvement, they were sufficient to open up new horizons for Nansen.Water samples had been taken along the entire Fram journey, and the samplesdemonstrated the existence of a vertical profile containing several different typesof water. Analysis hinted at how the Arctic Ocean and Atlantic are connected.

Nansen discovered that a branch of the warm Gulf Stream, which beginsoff the Florida coast and transports warm water north, and across to the NorthAtlantic, moves past Spitsbergen in the form of a deep underwater current, that


continues all the way to Siberia. The rapidly flowing East Greenland Currentdraws cold water out of the polar basin and southward, into the NorwegianSea and the North Atlantic. This network of currents, consisting of hugevolumes of moving water, was a new discovery. The cold water from the Arcticthat flows into the Atlantic Ocean provided a clue toward understanding thepower of this immense system of currents. The atmosphere and the oceans onboth sides of the world can be likened to a huge heat engine, that warms airand water around the equator, and cools air and water around the polar regions.How this continuous circulation of water and air, between north and south,was interconnected; and how the equator and poles acted as pumps driving thiscirculation; required further study, if one were to understand weather patterns,ocean currents, and the climate.


Fridtjof Nansen was a gifted draftsman and illustrator. This is one of his many works of art, fea-

turing the Northern Lights.

Nansen used both imagination and logic to gain as much insight as possiblefrom the relatively meagre observations made on the Fram. He discovered thatthe upper layers of the Arctic Ocean were cold and the saline content low, owingto the huge volumes of fresh water that flowed from the large Siberian riversinto the Arctic. Below this layer was a warm layer originating from the GulfStream. Lastly, at the very bottom near the seabed, he discovered a massive,homogenous layer of cold and markedly saline water, with a salinity level above3.5 %. When he compared this to the lower layer of water in the NorwegianSea, he soon realised that the water in the Arctic Ocean was slightly warmer anddenser. That finding indicated that the two water layers did not originate fromthe same source. He postulated that somewhere between Spitsbergen andGreenland, there had to be an underwater ridge approximately 1000 metresbelow the sea surface, separating the two ocean basins. Many decades laterthis ridge was discovered, and today it bears Nansen’s name. Although he wassure the ridge existed, he did not clearly understand the processes that producedthe water on the Arctic seabed.

Was this originally warm water from the Atlantic Ocean, and had the waterbeen cooled by contact with colder water above it? In that case, the polar basinhad to be enormous, and no larger land masses could exist in the unexploredareas further north. Having thought more carefully about it, and having re-examined the observations from the Fram and from Amundsen’s Gjøa expedi-tion, Nansen rejected his own original theory. There might not be any land inthe Arctic Ocean, but Atlantic Ocean water could not have been cooled suffi-ciently by mere contact with the cold water layers above it. Nansen considereda number of other options, all of which highlighted the same fundamentalproblem: One cannot obtain new knowledge without more precise instrumentsand more rigorous methodology.

Seawater is most readily classified by temperature and saline content. Waterfrom certain areas has specific properties. It can be identified by its physicalattributes, and thus be distinguished from water arising from a different source,even if it has been carried by currents far from its place of origin. However,the differences are small. Only slight variations in salinity and temperature diffe-rentiate water from different sources. Fresh water has a specific weight of onegram pr cm3, that is, one cubic centimetre weighs one gram. Sea water is alittle bit heavier, usually between 1.027 and 1.03 grams per cm3. Yet, thesetiny differences are important, as they decide how water becomes stratifiedand is set in motion by currents. Lighter water rises above denser water; andthe saltier it is, the heavier the water. The warmer the water, the lighter itbecomes, at least when its temperature exceeds 4° C.

Nansen realised that an understanding of the physical and dynamic condi-tions in the oceans still lay beyond the possibilities of science so long as it was


impossible to obtain sufficiently precise measurements. Since the 1870s, British,German, and Swedish scientists had developed instruments and techniques forstudying the ocean as a three-dimensional chemical, biological, and physicalsystem. Prior to the Fram expedition, many advanced methods had been devel-oped to protect thermometers and other instruments from extreme pressure atgreat depths, and to take water samples from specific depths. But what was anacceptable degree of precision? He foresaw the need to measure temperaturesthat were correct to the nearest one hundredth of a degree, and salinity thatwas correct to the nearest one hundredth of a gram of salt per kilo of water.

Nansen’s attempts to achieve greater precision in his measurements, result-ed in the development of instruments that proved crucial for modern ocean-ography. He was behind a number of successful instruments. The so-calledNansen bottle would soon become a standard instrument for physical ocean-ography all over the world, and would continue to do so for the next 75 years.Similarly, Nansen’s submerged aerometer was used for over 50 years to takeaccurate measurements of salinity. In the early 20th century, when he was busyanalysing the scientific results from the Fram expedition, Nansen constructedinstruments alone or in collaboration with other Nordic oceanographers, inorder to measure the velocity of ocean currents.

Nansen’s work based on scientific results from the Fram expedition, result-ed in new theories about the attributes of ocean currents. Of equal importan-ce is the fact that his work inspired talented young scientists to go into ocean-ography, so that eventually an entire network of Scandinavian scientists wasworking on related problems.

Dead water

From time to time, sailors had experienced that they had been travelling witha good wind; when suddenly their ship would grind to a halt, and the rudderwould stop working. Even slow-moving motor-powered ships could find itimpossible to start moving forward again, when stuck in so-called ‘dead water’.The Fram experienced this mysterious phenomenon off the Siberian coast inAugust 1893, in the Bay of Taymyr. The ship got stuck, as though a large,invisible hand were holding it in place.

Taking samples, Nansen found that a layer of relatively light fresh waterfrom a river that flowed into the bay rested atop a layer of much denser water.He postulated that the ‘dead water’ effect occurs when a sort of underwaterwave, which is undetectable at the surface, forms along the boundary separa-ting the two layers of water. Nansen returned to this puzzle, when he wrotehis report on the Fram expedition.


At that point he had just read an article by Vilhelm Bjerknes (1862–1951),who was working in Stockholm as a mathematical physicist and who wouldlater become the founder of modern meteorology. Bjerknes examined analo-gies between electromagnetic and hydrodynamic phenomena. Hydrodynamics,the science of the dynamics of fluids, had for years accepted that circulationor vortex motions in fluid cannot occur except as a result of an external force.Using theoretical models, Bjerknes identified a fluid consisting of layers of diffe-rent density which is set in motion without any external influence. But didfluids like this exist in nature?

Nansen thought so.On a calling card he sent Bjerknes on October 21st, 1898, Nansen suggest-

ing that they meet to discuss the ‘dead water’ problem. The suggestion causedits own ripples. Nansen was of the opinion that Bjerknes’s fluid circulationtheory held a answer to the solution. Bjerknes reacted immediately. He agreedwith Nansen’s analysis. A few quick mathematical calculations confirmed theapparent possibility of Nansen’s underwater wave. Bjerknes asked one of hisstudents, Vagn Walfrid Ekman, to research the problem, both theoreticallyand experimentally. Nansen dropped by from time to time, to oversee thework and to cooperate with Ekman and Bjerknes. In time, Ekman’s thoroughinvestigations supported all of Nansen’s intuitive suppositions; but even beforethe results were published, Nansen, Bjerknes, and Ekman had begun workingon yet another phenomenon that had been studied on board the Fram.

While the Fram lay icebound in the drift ice, Nansen had started makingastronomical observations in an attempt to determine the ship’s exact posi-tion. An analysis of the data showed that the ship and the ice had been movingnot entirely with the wind as would be expected based on the then prevailingtheory. Instead it moved to the right of the wind’s direction, in some cases deflect-ing by as much as 20 to 40 degrees. Nansen believed that if the rotation of theearth could make the ice flow to the right of the wind, then the ice woulddraw the water below with it. This next subsurface layer of water thus drew withit the layer below, causing it to deflect even farther to the right. Might it evenbe possible that this movement, caused by the wind, could lead – far belowthe surface – to a deflection in the opposite direction?

Nansen was back in Stockholm in November 1900 to discuss this odd disco-very with Bjerknes. Once again, Bjerknes called upon Ekman, who was stillworking on the ‘dead water’ phenomenon. Bjerknes asked Ekman to considerthis theory. That same evening Ekman hit upon the first solution, which incor-porated Bjerknes’s circulation theory. Nansen stayed in Stockholm for a coupleof days to discuss the problem further with Ekman. Bjerknes soon adjustedhis theorem regarding water and air circulation to include forces caused byfriction and the earth’s rotation. Ekman then used this result to reformulate


his own analysis, and arrived at a mathematical model of a three-dimensionalstructure of wind-driven currents. This was the so-called ‘Ekman Spiral’, whichhelped open up a new understanding of ocean currents. Although Ekman’stheorem was not complete, it pointed the way towards development of an exactscience ocean currents.

Nansen was as elated as Bjerknes and Ekman. He asked Ekman to colla-borate with him in Norway. This became possible when Nansen persuadedthe newly established International Commission for Ocean Research, aScandinavian initiative, to set up an international laboratory in Christianiaunder his direction. In 1902, Nansen invited Ekman to become his assistant.

Nansen now began to recruit new blood in his endeavours to secure atheoretical and instrumental basis for the development of physical oceanogra-phy. The success of Ekman and other Swedish assistants in applying the circu-lation theorem to oceanographic and atmospheric movements promptedBjerknes to switch disciplines from mathematical physics to geophysics. Thischange proved unusually productive. Soon, Ekman became one of the pioneersof modern oceanography. He continued to collaborate with Nansen, but he alsoworked increasingly with one of the young recruits to the Nansen-inspirednetwork: Bjørn Helland-Hansen.

In 1901, Nansen sent Helland-Hansen to Stockholm to study underBjerknes. He was taught the details of Bjerknes’s new circulation theorem andhow to make practical use of it in the study of oceanography.

Scandinavian oceanographers had great expectations that Bjerknes’s theoremand new oceanographic instruments would realise the dream of establishing arational fishing industry. By identifying certain layers of water where herringand other fish thrive, scientists might manage to track ocean currents, andeven predict their movement. This and other visions about how to combinephysical and biological oceanography led to the establishment in 1900 of theBergen Marine Biological Institute, under the leadership of zoologist JohanHjort. Helland-Hansen joined this internationally significant initiative wherehe was responsible for the development of the physical oceanography program.

Helland-Hansen and Nansen developed ever more sophisticated theoreti-cal and instrumental tools. The two struck up a close personal and profession-al friendship. They embarked on a study of the Norwegian Sea using theInstitute’s new seagoing vessel, Michael Sars, which had been fitted out withbrand new precision instruments. The year 1909 saw the publication of TheNorwegian Sea, the first in a series of monumental classics of oceanographyon which the two collaborated during the next decade. Together, they beganto change science and politics in the North Atlantic and Arctic. Through scien-tific exploration of the sea, they helped secure Norway’s territorial claims inthe north.


Mapping the Arctic Ocean’s physical characteristics, and in this case illustrating the route

taken by the Fram in 1893, which is indicated by the line extending farthest east. The water

temerature and salt content data, which are marked on the map, would be of major importance

to Nansen’s later oceanographic program. But the question was, how to obtain more data?

Nansen’s plans for the Arctic Ocean

On April 29th, 1907, when Nansen’s term as Norway’s ambassador to GreatBritain was coming to an end, he lectured to the Royal Geographic Society. Tenyears earlier he had received the Society’s gold medal for his Fram expedition.Six years before that, the Society had awarded him its Patron’s Gold Medal forhis Greenland expedition. In London, at the centre of the Empire’s wide-rangingnetwork of geographical and scientific activities, Nansen summarised the bodyof knowledge that had been accumulated over more than a decade of polarresearch; he also outlined his vision for future studies.

The president of the Society introduced Nansen with these words: ‘andwhen we, this evening, hear his talk on polar questions, we will have the plea-sure of listening to a man whose experience and thoughts regarding the subjectare unparalleled’.

In his speech, On North Polar Problems, Nansen presented results fromstudies of Arctic natural phenomena. By combining the scientist’s eye for obser-vation with systematic and logical thought processes, he dissected several smallassertions, hypotheses, and theories about the Arctic that were circulating inEurope and America at the time. Repeatedly, he showed his audience that peoplewho spread rumours and speculations about polar issues, would have to acceptthat he was an authority and was a solid scientific observer with extensive experi-ence from field research. Nansen focused on a question of special interest tohis public: Might there still be undiscovered land in the Arctic?

Having analysed various types of ice he had encountered, in terms of thick-ness, age, and appearance, Nansen rejected assertions that there existed sizableand as yet undiscovered tracts of land in the Arctic. The assertions had beenbased on impressionistic descriptions of the ice, which contained more thanjust a sprinkling of poetic licence. Nansen knew how useless it was to base scien-tific argumentation on observations like ‘enormously thick ice’, or ‘centuryold snow’. Researchers often had only limited access to a single area of the Arctic;without systematic comparative study sensible evaluations of ice or other naturalphenomenon was at best problematic.

Nansen demonstrated broad and detailed knowledge of the Arctic whenhe assessed the arguments for and against the existence of undiscovered landnorth of the route that the Fram took when drifting across the Arctic Ocean.He concluded his talk raising scientific questions he considered most impor-tant, rather than planting a flag to claim new land. These questions dealt withthe distinctive geological and oceanographic features of the North Pole Basin,the edges of the basin where the continental shelf abruptly plunges, theunknown ocean northeast of Greenland, the geology of the North AmericanArctic Archipelago, and the nature of the ice in the interior of Greenland. He


called for expeditions to new areas to study these problems, and to previouslyexplored areas, but equipped with better instruments and techniques.

Then Nansen turned to logicistics. How was it possible to combine geogra-phical research with geophysical and geological studies? He discarded sled tripsas an alternative. One might travel across unfamiliar polar ice that way, but‘we are no wiser as regards the depth of the sea, the currents that cross it, andthe physical condition of the layers of water below; not even the very ice onetravels across can properly be measured’. He did not exclude future use of sledjourneys for the purpose of transporting new mobile sounding equipment andlight scientific instruments; otherwise the venture would be too difficult. Atthat stage, ‘airships’ and submarines were admittedly still too primitive toguarantee safe passage; while ice breakers could not transport enough coal toenable explorers to travel sufficiently far or stay away for so long. There wasone method of travel that facilitated the scientific study of the Arctic: driftingwith the ice on board a properly constructed ship.

He called for a new Fram journey, but this time he wanted to enter the packice north or northeast of the Bering Strait, so that the ship could drift throughthe as yet unexplored areas to the north of the route taken in 1893–96. Afterfive years, the ship will have drifted to the northeast coast of Greenland, which,scientifically speaking, was virgin territory. Not only would the proposeddrifting venture cause the ship to traverse unknown areas of the Arctic; butthe vessel could also be equipped with many new instruments that might allowperform extensive studies of the ocean and the air. This, in turn, would perhapsilluminate the secrets of the ‘polar regions’.

Just a year later, in November 1908, Nansen’s vision of a drifting expeditionacross the Arctic Ocean and a new, exhaustive scientific program were presentedto the Norwegian Geographic Society. Although the plans for the expedition andthe detailed descriptions of the research to be conducted were quite clearly Nansen’s,the lecture, Plans for a Polar Journey, 1910–1917, was given by Roald Amundsen.

The world’s longest detour

Amundsen’s plan was as clear as it was simple. He wanted to borrow the Framand complete Nansen’s work. The plan to drift across the Arctic Ocean wasstill viable.

A good deal of new polar competency had been accumulated since the Fram’sreturn in 1896. Even when unloading the Fram in 1896, Nansen had discussedfurther plans with Sverdrup. However, for various reasons Nansen had never againset out on another journey. It was Sverdrup who became the natural leader of thesecond Fram expedition (1898–1902), which was Sverdrup’s third expedition.


The plan was to sail the Fram up Greenland’s west coast as far north aspossible. From there the expedition would proceed with dog sleds around thenorth shore of Greenland, and then move south along the east coast; and chartNorth Greenland this way.

Operating expenses for this second Fram expedition were covered by AxelHeiberg and the Ringnes brothers, who owned the brewery with the same name.Parliament only granted public funds for repairs and refitting. There were 16people on board: five men with scientific backgrounds (including the medicaldoctor, Dr. Johan Svendsen), ten crew members, and Sverdrup. One of thecrewmen, harpooner Hendriksen, had participated in the first Fram expedition,and had obviously not been frightened either by his encounter with the polarbear or by the teasing that ensued. The cook, Adolf Henrik Lindstrøm, wasanother man who would leave his mark on several polar expeditions. SverreHassel, the 32-year-old jack-of-all-trades, would also make his mark in polarhistory. Thirteen years and six months after this departure from Christiania,Hassel would be one of the five men who first set foot on the South Pole.

By the autumn of 1898, at approximately 79° N, the Fram was halted bythe ice and had to veer further south than planned. When the Fram failed tomove any farther north during the summer of 1899, Sverdrup chose to headin a southwesterly direction, towards Jones Sound at 76° N. The ship was laidup there, in various small fjords, for the next three winters. From there, differ-ent teams set off on long sled trips to the north and west, where they mappedand discovered several new islands that were named in honour of the expedi-tion sponsors: Axel Heiberg Land and Ellef and Amund Ringnes Land.Approximately 150,000 square kilometres of land were mapped. Naturally,the scientific results of an expedition like this were significant. But the secondFram expedition lacked that special, heroic individual performance; it did notset any records. For this reason, it has slipped into the background, as far asthe annals of Norwegian polar history are concerned.

In 1903, the year after Sverdrup’s return with the Fram, a far more modestvessel left Christiania. Roald Amundsen’s first goal was as sought-after as theNorth Pole itself, if not more so. He wanted to do what Sverdrup had wishedto do, but had not done; that is, sail through the Northwest Passage, the wester-ly maritime connection between Europe and Asia. Over a period of 400 years,numerous expeditions had made this attempt. In 1745, the British Parliamenthad offered the dizzying reward of £20,000 to anyone who discovered what wasassumed to be a short, safe passage between the Atlantic and Pacific. Such adiscovery would be of inestimable importance to Britain’s naval power. AfterAmundsen paid a visit to ‘the man who had accomplished feats which madeevery fibre in me tremble’, Nansen approved the latter’s plan.

All Amundsen could afford for the journey was a small refitted fishing


smack called the Gjøa; and even that cost too much. The crew needed to bekept to a minimum because the Gjøa was so small. Amundsen took six men,probably the smallest number of men who ever set out on a journey like that.He was also given a few dogs that had survived Sverdrup’s expedition.

The Gjøa, on which a tiny paraffin-driven engine had been installed, wasa slow ship, which was too heavily laden. On the other hand, Amundsen andhis crew were fully equipped to stay for several winters. Polar expertise wasnot lacking onboard. Despite an alleged drinking problem, Amundsen signedon Lindstrøm from the Fram, as cook. The first officer was Anton Lund ofTromsø; and Helmer Hanssen of Vesterålen was second officer. Both wereexperienced Arctic sailors.

On August 30th, 1906, the Gjøa sailed southward through the Bering Strait.The first trip through the Northwest Passage had been accomplished. To besure, it could be pointed out that this happened at a time when the traversingthe Northwest Passage was no longer considered very important, and whenthe 1745 prize was no longer on offer.

However, the Gjøa’s achievement did not go unnoticed.The modest expedi-tion might not have brought home a huge amount of geographic and climate-related results, but at least it established the location of the magnetic NorthPole, at that time. The most important result of the Gjøa expedition was thatit established Amundsen as an international polar explorer of stature, worthyto stand along side Nansen and Sverdrup. Amundsen could now make moreplans, and build on the knowledge and experience acquired on these expedi-tions, regarding equipment and dog-sledding. Throughout the long wintersin Arctic waters, both Sverdrup and Amundsen’s men had learnt how to livewith the polar environment. They had seen how the Inuit dressed, what theyate, how they constructed their igloos, and how they handled their dogs.

A new drift expedition across the Arctic Ocean was a fittingly prestigiousproject for a newborn nation. King Haakon made the first contribution tothe fundraising effort. Parliament granted 75,000 kroner to outfit the Framfor its new task. Amundsen had attended a course in oceanographic observa-tion, just as he had studied terrestrial magnetism before the Gjøa journey.

The departure was set for January 1910. Many applications arrived frompeople wanting to take part in the so-called third Fram journey, so thatAmundsen was able to hand-pick his men. Lindstrøm was included yet again,not just for his culinary expertise, but more for his personal qualities.Throughout two long expeditions, he had kept up his own spirits, as well asthose of his fellow travellers. Helmer Hanssen was also included, having demon-strated his competency in the Gjøa crow’s nest.

In order to include Sverre Hassel, Amundsen had had to supplement hiswages with a ‘personal wage increase’. The two long and impeccably executed


dog-sled tours with Gunnar Isachsen, west from Ellesmere Land during theFram II expedition, made Hassel perhaps Norway’s most experienced man, withrespect to the practicalities of dog-sledding. Yet another man with unique Arcticsurvival experience was given a berth; that was Hjalmar Johansen.

Johansen had had a rough ride since his triumphant return from Franz JosefLand 13 years earlier. He had married the girl of his Arctic dreams, and had alsoadvanced rapidly in his Army career, and been promoted out of turn. But thingshad not progressed well. He was now separated, had left the Army, and wasconstantly short of money. He had spent the previous winter on Svalbard, wherehe had recovered somewhat, and discovered that he still knew how to masterArctic conditions. Nevertheless, if Nansen had not pleaded his cause, Amundsenwould never have taken him on.

One more member of the team was a man with very special talents. OlavBjaaland hailed from Morgedal inTelemark, called by some ‘the cradle of skiing’.He had won the prestigious King’s Cup at the Holmenkollen skiing competi-tions; and he was also a skilled ski-maker.

In September 1909, however, something decisive happened. In the spaceof a few days, the world was informed that two men had claimed to have reachedthe North Pole: Dr. Frederick Cook in 1908 and the indefatigable Peary in1909. A bitter dispute between the two Americans ensued about whom – if


Who was really the first to reach the North Pole? While Cook and Peary fought it out, this

German postcard producer envisioned Zeppelin being the first to get to the pole.

anyone – had actually reached the pole first. Amundsen did not sit aroundawaiting the outcome. Instead, he decided that the third Fram expedition wouldhead instead for the South Pole; or, as he put it, the expedition would be ‘exten-ded’. He would travel to the South Pole before turning north and becomingicebound in the Arctic!

Amundsen said nothing officially. He kept his plans secret and postponedthe departure by a few months ‘owing to delays’. These delays were caused byyet another announcement during September. A British expedition led byRobert Scott would try to reach the South Pole during the summer of 1910.

Since the turn of the century, there had been hectic activity in Antarctica.Robert Falcon Scott (1868–1912) visited the Antarctic for the first time in 1902.He took dogs with him, though he knew very little about them; and he reached82° 17’ S. Numerous expeditions from other countries visited the area, but itwas not until 1909 that the Englishman Shackleton made a real push towardsthe Pole. He got tantalisingly close, at 88° 23’ S, even though he used Siberianponies that had a rough time in the cold and the hard terrain.

Amundsen realised he needed to make haste. Robert Scott was now ableto build on his own and Shackleton’s experience, and would probably conquerthe remaining 180 kilometres. In order to gain an advantage over Scott, andnot upset his own Norwegian supporters, including the Parliament (which afterall had granted funds for a trip north), Amundsen chose to pretend that his planswere unaltered: a westward journey drifting across the Arctic Ocean over aperiod of several years.

This was not an easy task. It appeared extraordinary that he had dogs sentfrom Greenland to Norway instead of picking them up on the way north. Nordid the reasonably large prefabricated hut, which was to be used for stayingthe winter on the Antarctic ice barrier, seem to fit in with his plan to allowthe Fram to be icebound in the Arctic. He also needed to enlarge the crew.The plan was to allow half of the men to stay the winter in Antarctica, whilethe rest sailed the ship out of the ice and returned the next summer. In thisway, the ship would evade the pack ice. In choosing a location for campingfor the winter, Amundsen drew on the experience of his Norwegian predeces-sors. He would pitch his camp on the actual ice barrier, in Hvalbukta, (The Bayof Whales), at the same place where Borchgrevink had landed, and from whichhe had made a day trip south. Amundsen was certain that this part of the icecap rested on solid land, and therefore that there was no danger of it breakingup. He was partly wrong. The location is in fact only an island that protrudesup through the ice. But on the whole it appeared to be quite stable.

Amundsen succeeded in keeping his plans concealed from all but a fewkey players. On August 9th, 1910, the Fram left Kristiansand heavily ladenwith equipment, coal, and provisions, as well as nearly 100 dogs. The dogs


spilt over onto the deck and bridge, and ‘there was just enough room left forthe helmsman.’

In all, there were twenty men. The Fram was no less uncomfortable thanbefore, but the weather was reasonable, and as most of the men had alreadyexperienced life at sea, the worst manifestations of seasickness were avoided.Amundsen’s ‘official’ plan was to travel around Cape Horn and up the Americanwest coast to the Bering Strait. Thus, it was not so odd to chart a course forMadeira and the port of Funchal. Amundsen’s actual intention, however, wasnot only to take on last-minute provisions, but to inform the crew and therest of the world about the real plan. This would give the men the chance towithdraw.

On September 9th, Amundsen called all hands on deck and told them thetruth. Their goal was Antarctica and the South Pole. The news took the crewby surprise. Hjalmar Johansen was just writing a letter to his wife, from whomhe was separated, and managed to add the news. ‘By Jove, what a surprise!And that, in only 15 minutes. We are not going to the North Pole; we aregoing to the South Pole.’

Nobody chose to return home from Funchal. Quite honestly, one simplewinter in Antarctica sounded more tempting than an uncertain, but no doubtlong, drift through the northern ice. Formally, Amundsen stressed that this wasjust an ‘extension’ of the original plan, but they all realised that a completelynew situation would arise once the ship returned from Antarctica.

That same evening, the Fram set out on the long journey to the south,but with only 19 men. One man had been sent home. Amundsen’s authorita-rian management style did not suit everyone. With a limited spread of canvasand a small engine, and dog feces in every nook and cranny, the voyage to thesouth was a long affair. The dogs suffered in the heat, though sun-canvases werespread over the deck to provide shade. However, the suffering did not preventthem from multiplying along the journey.

They crossed the Equator on October 4th. The wind started to blow, andthey reached the ‘roaring forties’ by the end of the month. Then they headedeastwards. On the whole, the Fram performed well in the wind and roughseas; but no one could do anything about the pitching and rolling caused bythe tub-like hull. ‘Cooking is not easy, when you cannot even put a coffee cupdown anywhere without it immediately performing a summersault.’ A few dogsalso fell overboard.

In early November, the Fram was at the same latitude as the Cape of GoodHope. The remainder of the year was taken up with sailing east. They neededto get to 170° E, as far east as New Zealand, before heading south again. Onthe morning of January 1st, 1911, the lookout spotted the first iceberg; andthe next day the Fram crossed the Antarctic Circle.


Antarctica is surrounded by a belt of pack ice, but inside this belt, the seais mostly open during the summer. Amundsen made for the ice, which provedto be surprisingly easy to push through. To the delight of the crew, the floeswere full of seals. After three months at sea, fresh meat tasted good to manand beast. The dogs ‘ate until their legs would no longer carry them’.

On January 14th, the Fram sailed into Hvalbukta and hove to by the icebarrier. In a spirit of great excitement, a group of four set out across the frozenland on skis.The passage from sea ice and up onto the actual barrier was straight-forward. They were able to ascertain, with unequivocal joy, that the ice was evenand fairly free of crevasses. It would not be necessary to haul the equipmentfor miles inland, over the ice to find a suitable place to stay for the winter.After only four kilometres they found an excellent and sheltered site.

Interpersonal skills might not have been Amundsen’s strong suit, but hewas a master at detailed planning and logistics. Framheim, which means FramHome, was ready to move into after only 14 days. All the equipment and provi-sions had been brought ashore. After the long sea journey, of course, the morethan 100 sled dogs were totally unfit, as were their masters, but the labour oftransporting everything from the ship to Framheim served as good exercise foreveryone. From time to time they shot seal to add to the winter provisions.To protect the dogs during the winter, and for various storage purposes, theyerected 14 large tents round the hut, ‘following a plan which had been workedout beforehand’, Amundsen emphasised.

On their way down to the Fram on February 4th, when the hut dwellerscrossed a ridge and looked down at the sea, they saw two ships at anchor inHvalbukta. As the alternatives were reasonably limited, they immediately rea-lised that the newcomer was Scott’s ship, the Terra Nova.

Scott himself was not on board. The Terra Nova was out surveying, whileScott was establishing his base 600 kilometres away. Nevertheless, the meetingwas relatively tense. Both parties knew that they were battling to arrive first atthe Pole. No doubt Scott’s men considered the Norwegians intruders on theirterritory. After all, their expedition had been planned for a long time.

The English guests were shown around the Fram and invited to Framheim.There was no denying that they were impressed with the entire set up and howwell organized it was. They were especially surprised to discover Amundsen’smeans of transportation. Among British polar explorers, a basic theory haddeveloped that dogs were considered inefficient and difficult to handle. Scottwas using ponies and something revolutionary: specially constructed and motor-ised sleds. Time would prove that the ponies were useless, and that the motor-ised sleds were impractical, pie-in-the-sky devices unable to survive their encoun-ter with Antarctic reality. Scott’s men were treated to a demonstration of dogteams and experienced drivers, who were also expert skiers, in action.


Two nations. Two different expedition cultures.

Two rivals. The Fram and Scott’s ship, the Terra

Nova, in Hvalbukta in February 1911.

One of the delicate points following Amundsen’s surprise announcementon Madeira had been the division of crews between the land and sea parties.It was likely that only a few would be chosen for the push to the South Pole,but there was always a chance that one might be included if one were part ofthe land party. To make up for the disappointment, Amundsen increased payby a generous 50 % for crew members who would have to put up with rattlingaround in the Fram performing oceanographic observations. There was abso-lutely no way that this grand gesture could be reconciled with the expeditionbudget.

The truth was that at this point the third Fram expedition was bankrupt.Luckily for Amundsen, his creditors were on the other side of the world.

This was soon made obvious to the sea party, whose ten men set out forBuenos Aires on February 15th. There was no cash in the kitty and few provi-sions onboard. Captain Thorvald Nilsen had been led to believe that therewould be money waiting for him, but that was not the case. He could noteven afford to pay the berthing charges, let alone the salaries that would enablethe crew to go ashore.

Rescue arrived in the form of a rich and generous Norwegian-Argentineanland owner, Don Pedro Christophersen. He had previously offered to support theexpedition, but now the route had been, to put it mildly, drastically changed.Don Pedro made a quick calculation, and he offered to cover all the Fram’sexpenses during the journey. Thanks to him, Captain Nilsen could now devotehimself and his crew to oceanography. Large areas of the South Atlantic andSouth Pacific had never before been explored, and the journey yielded signifi-cant scientific results.

Amundsen at 50° below zero

The crew that stayed for the winter in Hvalbukta set to work immediately, awarethat the polar winter would soon force them indoors. The South Pole journeywas to take place the following spring, and they began to establish depots. Onthese depot journeys, they tested the limitations of their dogs, their equipment,and themselves.

The first journey started out on February 9th with four men and threesleds. A skier without a sled led the party; it had been demonstrated that thismade the dogs pull better. The ‘lead sled’ followed, driven by an experienceddog handler. This was Helmer Hanssen’s job. Amundsen generally broughtup the rear. The reason for this, he said, was to maintain control and to pickup anything that might have fallen off the sleds. But no doubt his nearsighted-ness played a part in this decision; he was not the right man to lead the way.


The four men were in completely unknown territory. For the time being,they observed, the ascent was reasonable and the snow conditions good. Thedogs pulled willingly, and the small expedition, with its heavy loads, made daymarches of up to 40 kilometres. After five days they reached their goal, 80° S.They built a depot and marked it well.

The return journey was purely a triumphal procession. The sleds wereempty and the men could hitch a ride. In two stages of 70 and 100 kilome-tres, and with just a few hours’ sleep, they swept back to Framheim.

No wonder optimism flourished. True enough, they had more to do. Thesleds were too heavy. Cooking and breaking camp took too long. The worstproblem was that their boots were not up to standard. But they now had allwinter to work these things out. Those who had remained at Framheim had notbeen idle, either. They had started to dig tunnels in the snow around the hut,which over the winter developed into an ‘under-snow’ system of passages, withveritable workshops in snow caves.

On February 21st and in high spirits, the entire crew aside from Lindstrømthe cook, set out on the next depot journey. Encouraged by the success of theprevious journey, they loaded up the sleds and planned to reach 83° S. Butnow there were snow drifts, and skiing conditions had changed. They walkedstraight into a gale; it got colder and fog set in. The dogs’ paws grew sore. Ittook them a day longer to reach the depot at 80° S, and they were obviouslymuch more tired.

They had previously marked the route to the first depot. But the white openspaces totally lacked any points of reference, and the weather did not allowfor observations. Amundsen realised that marking the depots well would be amatter of life and death. Since they would hold as firmly as possible to a north-south course, he made sure that markers were erected in an east-west direc-tion every nine kilometres in both directions. Markers were numbered to indica-te which marker had been found. That way, even those en route to the Pole whohad got badly lost, could still manage to find a depot, even in the worst weather.‘The method was new and untried,’ commented Amundsen, ‘but proved laterto provide complete security.’

They continued southward, and the temperature dropped. On March 2nd

it was –45° C. The next day the depot expedition was confronted with a newproblem; the ice started to crack. The crevices, though not very wide, wereseemingly bottomless, and the men had to be extra careful. The weather wasbad and several of the dogs were in poor shape.The men built a depot and restedfor one day.

They were back on March 21st, having spent an entire month away. Someof the expedition members had turned back along the way in order to hunt.They realised that the dogs needed more food, and organised a third journey


with fresh seal meat to the first depot at 80° S. On March 30th, seven men setout with six sleds and 1,100 kilos of meat.

The nine Framheim inhabitants were now all ready to stay for the winter.It was no picnic. Every activity was geared towards what would take place nextspring. On April 20th, they saw the sun for the last time.

In the snow cave workshops, the men worked with the sleds, boots, andprovisions. The tents and the windproof clothing were also altered as a resultof experience gained on the depot trips. Though they were able to draw onobservations made by previous expeditions, the weather was extreme. In addi-tion, the terrain was mostly unknown, and they knew there were mountainranges in their path. Shackleton’s expedition had established that the Pole itselfwas situated on a high plateau, possibly over 3,000 metres above sea level. Thelast depot trip had also warned them about the dangers of crevasses.

In other ways, too, the last, long stage would be unlike the other sledjourneys. In some ways, it was reminiscent of Nansen’s Greenland journey. Thattrip had passed through a lifeless icescape. Here, too, there was no possibilityof living ‘off the land’ if anything went wrong. Therefore, the depots were ofvital importance.The provisions needed to be accurately calculated.Then again,it was necessary to consider what the dogs could manage to transport.

Care of the dogs during the winter was not only essential to the expedition’ssuccess, but provided a much needed break for the men who otherwise got abit fed up with one another. Not everyone was equally satisfied with Amundsen’smanagement style. Hjalmar Johansen and Sverre Hassel, both of whom hadbeen on other expeditions under other leaders, wrote particularly scathing notesin their diaries. ‘Our normal stroll is from Framheim to the depot, around thedepot (maybe a couple of times) and back again. This was supposed to be acompulsory walk for everyone. Now only those who feel they are in controlof their own destinies (in other words Amundsen) go for this stroll. Meanwhile,everyone else is burdened by work, and no longer indulges in such things.’ Thuswrote Hassel. For his part, he was probably hurt by having been ‘demoted’ todog handler. Helmer Hanssen, Amundsen’s favourite, got the important jobof driving the first dog team.

Bjaaland was also critical. Yet, Lindstrøm and the other ‘rookies’ (OscarWisting, Kristian Prestrud and Jørgen Stubberud) were apparently pleased withthe ‘Boss’.

Work continued throughout the winter. Bjaaland rebuilt the sleds to makethem lighter. Wisting and Hanssen lashed them together, knowing their livescould depend on work well done. Wisting was also the tailor who reworkedthe clothes and tent. Stubberrud prepared the provision boxes, while Johansenworked on the actual provisions. Everything had to be weighed, counted, andpacked in as compact a manner as possible. The crates were carefully fastened


to the sleds and provided with ‘milk-churn’ lids. Should the sleds overturn, theywould not fall off, and at the same time the men could access their provisionswithout having to unlash the crates.

Norway’s Constitution Day, on May 17th, was celebrated, but mainly be-cause it was Lindstrøm’s birthday. Amundsen was fonder of June 7th, the dateof the dissolution of the union between Norway and Sweden. The winter sol-stice, Norway’s midsummer night’s eve, was celebrated as if it were Christmas.After all, they were ‘upside down’ as far as the calendar was concerned.

Work continued. Hassel wrote on June 17th: ‘This week I have been cuttingwhip-lashes in the oil depot. The smell of oil is quite offensive, but it is a goodplace to work. With the aid of a primus, the temperature rises to –15° C. Inthe other rooms beneath the snow, where the ceiling is thicker, the tempera-ture can rise to 0° C.’

On August 15th, they started packing the sleds inside the snow caves. Theprocess took six days, and when they were done, the South Pole expeditionwas ready to take off. The gravity of the moment was clear to everyone, eventhe ironical Hassel: ‘The boss said that anyone who wanted could write a letterhome before we started. “We are in danger everywhere” and so it might be agood idea to take the opportunity of sending a few words to those who arewaiting at home. The letters will be deposited in an iron box, which will belocked and the key placed in a sealed envelope. Everything will be put in themiddle of the table. That way, if Lindstrøm should somehow disappear duringour absence, Lieutenant Nilsen would find the box on his arrival, find theenvelope addressed to him, and take the box and its contents.’

The letters were written, but it was too early to leave. All they could dowas tow out the sleds; and this was done on August 22nd. Fully loaded, theyweighed 400 kilos and had to be pulled out with block and tackle. The sun re-turned the next day, but it was murderously cold, sometimes well below –50° C.The dogs clearly suffered in the cold, though most of them had managed wellduring the winter. Now the men tried to harness them to the sleds, using anew system, twelve dogs to a team. It worked fairly well, and the dogs pulledthe sleds up the first sharp rise onto the barrier.

The entire atmosphere was coloured by speculations about Scott. Was theweather milder near his base? Had he already set off to the south? It was notonly the element of competition that mattered, not for Amundsen, anyway.The expedition’s questionable financial position could be salvaged by sellingthe literary rights to the battle for the South Pole. The loser would not be ableto count on fat fees. ‘The boss is very worried that the Englishmen will get tothe Pole before us and wants to leave as soon as possible,’ wrote Johansen scepti-cally in his diary. He remembered the early start with Nansen in 1895, moreor less at the same time of the year.


The plan was for eight men to travel south. Only Lindstrøm would staybehind and look after Framheim. It was a large party, and some of the men mighthave to turn back after establishing depots. On September 7th, Amundsenthought they should make an attempt. The temperature had been in the twenti-es for many days. They set off. The conditions were good, but the dogs wereunfit, and a bitch in heat caused a good deal of noise and confusion. She hadto be shot the next morning. The heavy sleds moved smoothly, and they covered23–30 kilometres a day, which was not a bad start.

On September 10th, they woke up to a temperature of –55° C. The frozenmist around the dogs and men was so thick that one team could not see theother. It was heavy going, but the day’s march was acceptable. The next daythere was also wind. The dogs were suffering, and the haze made it impossibleto see the sun. The oil in the compass froze. Amundsen halted and built igloos,like he had been taught by the Inuit in Canada. He then decided to continueto the 80° S depot, unload the sleds, and turn. The false start would not havebeen in vain. They would be able to complete the first stages a lot more quicklyafter they had got going in earnest.

On September 13th, they reached the depot, unloaded, and turned back.However, it was too cold, well below –50° C. Several of the dogs died. Hanssenand Stubberud were suffering from the first stages of frostbite. Amundsentried to lighten the mood by opening a bottle of gin. It was frozen solid andthe bottle burst. He had better luck with the aquavit, which thawed slowly.

It was slightly milder on September 15th, just under –40° C. This improvedthe skiing conditions, and the sleds were nearly empty. They were 75 kilome-tres from Framheim. Amundsen, who had no dog team, hitched a ride withWisting, and together with Helmer Hanssen they got a head start. They didnot stop to wait for the others, as planned, but drove all the way and got backto Framheim without delay.

The other dog teams were in worse shape. The men were now insuffici-ently equipped, and the weather deteriorated towards the evening. Stubberud’sfeet hurt, and he tried to ride on the sled. The dogs refused to pull, but lucki-ly he was overtaken by Bjaaland, and the two got to Framheim towards evening.

Kristian Prestrud, the expedition’s youngest member, was much worse off.His team had broken ranks, and the few surviving dogs were distributedamongst the others. He was badly frostbitten, and he was supposed to be towedbehind Johansen’s sled. But Johansen’s dogs were so tired that they refused topull anything other than an empty sled.

Johansen went ahead. He wanted to catch up with the others and fetch helpfor Prestrud. He only found Hassel, whose dogs were equally exhausted andwho had no other equipment than a tent, which he gave to Johansen. ThenHassel set off in pursuit of the others.


Hjalmar Johansen sat down to wait. Towards evening the temperature fellto nearly –50° C. After two hours, Prestrud came, moving stiffly along on hisskis. By now Amundsen was with Lindstrøm, drinking coffee and eating hotpancakes. Johansen and Prestrud had a few biscuits and 30 kilometres to go.

Once, on their expedition to find Franz Josef Land, Johansen had carriedNansen, who was then suffering from sciatica. Johansen was now 15 years older,and for various reasons not as fit as he had been. Nevertheless, he managed toget Prestrud through the Antarctic cold. It was foggy, but he located the compli-cated downhill route from the barrier. The nature of the terrain necessitatedthat they go out onto the ice-covered Hvalbukta, and then turn back toFramheim. Here they lost their bearings. Normally, the dogs would have foundtheir way back so close to the base, but they were too tired. Only when theyheard the dogs barking at Framheim were the men able to complete the lastleg of the journey. They returned home at half past midnight, having not eatenproperly or drunk anything for 17 hours.

That night Hjalmar Johansen kept quiet about Amundsen’s behaviour, andhis splitting up the group, and making sure that he got back to safety himself.The next morning, however, he spoke up. ‘This is not an expedition; this ispanic stations.’

Amundsen did not regard this outburst as mere criticism, justified or not.To him, an attack like that was tantamount to mutiny. Over the course of theday, he isolated Johansen, who had initially been supported by several of theothers. Even Prestrud, whose life Johansen had probably saved, caved in.Amundsen, in plain words, informed them that the program had changed. Fiveof the eight would set off for the Pole. Johansen, Prestrud, and Stubberud wouldmake an excursion eastwards to King Edward Vll Land.

As can be imagined, the mood in the little hut at Framheim was not verypleasant during the month that followed, while they were waiting to set offanew. Amundsen was in a black mood, and he never even spoke to Johansen.But he had lost a good deal of time owing to the hasty attempt. Dogs and menalike needed time to recuperate. Scott was constantly on his mind. Had Scottstarted out? How quickly could he advance with his ponies and motorised sleds?

Towards the South Pole

By October 19th, all the frost injuries had been healed and the weather was reaso-nably mild. Hanssen, Wisting, Hassel, Bjaaland, and Amundsen set off. Theyhad four sleds, each with 13 dogs. The sleds were so lightly loaded that themen could ride on them. Most of the equipment and provisions were alreadyat the 80° S depot. The only problem was the condition of some of the dogs.


A few of them were quite simply let go to find their own way back to Framheim.A couple were driven on the sleds, in the hope that they would recover.

On the 21st, it clouded over, and they were caught in drifting snow andwind. The course should have been straightforward, but the terrain slanted ina way they could not recognise. Suddenly it looked as though Bjaaland’s sledwas about to overturn and disappear. Bjaaland jumped off, stopped and grabbedhold of it, but the sled slid deeper and deeper into a large crevasse. Hasselmanoeuvred his sled across the crevasse. The rapidly disappearing sled wastied to it and the dogs unharnessed before they too vanished into the abyss.

But the sled was too heavy to haul out. Wisting was fastened to a rope andlowered down, and climbed further into the crevasse, where he untied the crates,which were hauled out one by one. The others stood on the edge of the crevas-se and pulled, and in the end they saved the sled, too.

It was out of the question to continue in the fog. It was difficult enoughto find a suitable camping site in this area riddled with crevasses. In the after-noon, however, the fog cleared; and they wriggled out of the dangerous area,and found the igloos they had built during the unsuccessful ‘false start’ onemonth earlier.

Visibility was particularly bad the next day. But with the aid of markers,the odometer and compass, they hit straight on the depot after a 42-kilome-tre day’s march. This confirmed that the system worked. They stayed at thedepot for two days, partly to allow the dogs to eat their fill of the seal meatthat had been left there the previous autumn, and partly to reload the sleds.

They set off due south with heavily laden sleds. They had decided to takeit easy initially, as the dogs would inevitably grow tired pulling such heavy loads:400 kilos per sled. During the first stages they managed 28 kilometres per day,four days per degree of latitude.They also started constructing large snow cairns,at first building one every 14 kilometres, and later every nine kilometres. Ineach cairn, they left behind a piece of paper on which the cairn number andposition were written, as well as the direction and distance to the next cairn.No one could be sure what the weather, snow conditions, and visibility wouldbe like on the way back, not to mention what condition they would be in them-selves.

So far, the only real problem they had encountered was the occasionaldeep crevasse. On time and according to plan, they reached the 81° S depoton October 29th. Their course was a bit too easterly, but the system with thetransverse markers was working admirably. They rested one more day, got theirprovisions, and set off again. There were more crevasses. Helmer Hanssen fellwhile crossing a seemingly harmless crevasse, and lay helplessly stretched acrossit while the dogs began to fight, quite satisfied that their master was incapableof exercising the necessary discipline! The weather was bad during the next


Amundsen’s leadership qualities havebeenques-

tioned, but no one questioned that this pedantic

planner was a master of logistics. A view of the

depot at 83° S.

few days, and they missed the last depot by 5.5 kilometres. Still, the markerssaved them, despite their mistake.

Once again, they rested for a day and loaded the sleds. Some of the dogs begansuffering serious problems, but that eventuality had been taken into account.Theywere shot and left at the depot to serve as dog food on the return journey.

Considering the experiences gleaned so far, Amundsen decided on thefollowing course of action: They would increase each day’s march to 37 kilome-tres, and thus cover one degree of latitude every three days. In return, they gotto rest every fourth day, and leave a small depot at every degree. That way thesleds would soon be lightened.The terrain was undulating; there were no crevas-ses, but neither were there any points of reference. Therefore, they decided tobuild even more cairns, only five kilometres apart.

On November 6th, they left depot number five at 82° S. Exactly accordingto plan, it took them three days to reach 83° S, where they built a depot onthe fourth day. But the dogs started causing problems. Two bitches in heathad been shot, and then three of the best dogs had suddenly disappeared. Themen were sure they had gone off, following their old tracks in search of thebitches. This affected Bjaaland’s team, and necessitated the reassignment ofthe dogs; they needed time to adjust to the new system.

Skiing conditions were good and the visibility was excellent. Bjaaland jokedthat ‘his nibs’ would be the first to spot the mountains, as he was the tallest. Oneday away from the depot, they were able to glimpse the mountains to the south,the chain they knew they would have to tackle to reach the polar plateau itself.

As this was virgin territory, the sight triggered an orgy of naming. WhenAmundsen, in his book about the expedition, refers to Don Pedro ChristophersenMountains, and calls them the most magnificent peaks aside from the onesnamed after Nansen, he is discreetly renaming them after the fact. After all, atthat moment he was unaware that the Norwegian-Argentinean capitalist hadsaved him and the Fram from an extremely embarassing situation.

When they reached 84° S, the snow conditions were so good and theremaining dogs so vigorous that the men decided not to take their day of rest.No doubt the constantly gnawing thought of Scott played a role in this decisi-on. The weather deteriorated, and thick fog set in. They skied by the compass.When the weather cleared the next day, they could see that they were headingstraight for the point in the mountain range that they had pinpointed as aplace for a possible ascent.

Under the mountain ridge, the ice meandered in great ridges and valleys,and there were crevasses and holes, too. Once again, they agreed not to rest at85° S, but built a depot and set off the next day, November 16th. The ice hadbroken up and there were great fissures, but they were easily visible and partlyfilled by the drifting snow. Early in the morning they reached the mountain range.


This was a decisive moment. Up until now, they had driven across a fairlyeven surface, a sort of gigantic Norwegian Hardanger Plateau. From now on,they no longer knew what to expect, other than that it would be tough goingand tiring, owing to the steep ascent and also because of the altitude.

They had 550 kilometres to go to reach the pole. They had 42 dogs leftfor the four sleds. Having calculated carefully and allowing for a large marginof error, they now re-packed the sleds and made a depot. In calculating howmuch food they needed, they took into account the dogs, too; the dogs werenot just consumers, but would become food, as well. The plan was to slaugh-ter the dogs, one by one, and feed the remaining dogs with the fresh meat.

If necessary, dog meat could also be used to vary the men’s diet. Amundsenand his men had taken just four types of food with them: pemmican, milkpowder, chocolate, and biscuits. This combination was nutritious and high incalories, but the lack of fresh food increased the risk of getting scurvy. Amundsenhad seen this sickness first hand during the Belgica Expedition, but he took thechance that the sledding expedition would be sufficiently short so that thesickness would not have time to develop.

On November 17th, they started the ascent. The mountain was covered by largeglaciers with plenty of crevasses. They marked a safe passage through the crevas-ses with snow cairns, in order to make the return journey safer.

It was steep. Soon two dog teams had to be harnessed to each sled. Thiscontributed to their relatively slow progress, but the worst moment arrived whenthey realised that the route they had chosen was inaccessible. They had todescend, with fully laden sleds, and start over. In order to brake their steepdescent, they lashed rope around the sled runners and managed eventually toget the dogs and equipment down.

The days that followed were exceedingly exhausting. The terrain was steep,and the glaciers were full of crevasses. Two teams laboriously pulled one sledup, then descended to pull another sled up. The men gradually felt the effectof the thin air, and became unsure whether it would be possible to climb themountain ridge at all.

They lost heart, and there was a strong exchange of words betweenAmundsen and Bjaaland, who was normally very calm. Amundsen orderedBjaaland back to Framheim, but as the farmer’s son was no good at naviga-tion, Hassel would have had to accompany him. But before it came to that,the conflict resolved itself.

The ascent took four days.The last day was a veritable marathon: 31 kilome-tres in an ascent of 1,600 metres. They were now at an altitude of 3,000 metresand were breathing with difficulty. They had decided in advance to rest fortwo days, not just to acclimatise themselves, but to slaughter more than half the


dogs and fatten up the others.The camp site was christened ‘The Butcher’.Theywere at 85° 36’ S.

Along the journey, the men had discussed dog meat. They were interestedin the gastronomic aspects of dog meat, but were also concerned about theprospect of eating their trusty ‘helpers’. According to Amundsen, though, themen ate their ‘dog cutlets’ with relish. ‘I must admit that they could have beenslightly more tender, but after all, you cannot ask everything from a dog, either.’

According to all their estimates, the men had arrived up on the actual pla-teau where the Pole was located. The next day they reorganised the sleds, again.One sled was left behind. Amundsen demanded that the chocolate and bis-cuits be counted so that they were absolutely sure they had the correct number,and to be sure that the division among the sleds was fair. Doubtlessly, it wasuncomfortable to stand ‘with this niggling work in –20° C, in a gale and withoutgloves most of the time’. However, the success of the entire expedition restedon such ‘niggling work’ as the counting of provisions, building of cairns, andmarking of depots. Amundsen’s pedantic planning no doubt minimised thedanger the men faced on a desolate icescape, 1000 kilometres from their base.

The weather at ‘Butcher Depot’ was not good. Gales, storms, and a tempe-rature of –27° C made it impossible to continue. This involuntary intermissionhad one positive outcome: the remaining dogs were able to recover after theawful strain of the ascent. On the fifth morning the men could wait no longer;they set off to the south in the snowstorm. The conditions were terrible. ‘Asled trip through the Sahara could not have presented a worse gliding surface.The thin air gave Hassel a headache. The only positive note was that the terrainactually sloped slightly downwards. But progress was slow: 19 kilometres thefirst day, and 30 the next. On November 26th they had reached 86° S. Theweather was changeable, but visibility remained poor. Fog and light snow didnot make the skiing conditions any better, and the dogs struggled.

The clouds lifted allowing the men to be able to survey the terrain; the sightwas a depressing one. The gentle descent from ‘The Butcher’ was now takingits revenge. The terrain rose steeply again, in the form of a mountain coveredby a large and seemingly impassable glacier. It stretched up and away, crevasse-ridden and full of holes, ice blocks, and pressure ridges. Without further ado,it was named Devil’s Glacier.

Amundsen was unprepared for this. To ease progress, the men had left allunnecessary equipment at ‘Butcher Depot’, including the crampons, becausethey had envisaged a rather even plateau all the way to the Pole. When themen saw the glacier, with its large expanses of blue ice, they no doubt regret-ted their haste. They started to calculate the amount of time and provisions itwould take for someone to go back for the crampons.

The vertical drop from ‘The Butcher’ to where they were standing was about


600 to 700 metres. They realised that this would mean a corresponding,daunting ascent on the return trip.They set off up the glacier without crampons.It was not a matter of haste but of careful advances. Fifteen kilometres was agood day’s march. In the evening, a couple of men went out to scout for a useablepassage for the next day’s march. The first day they found a route with somesort of grip for the skis; but the second morning a gale had swept away the toplayer of snow, and for extensive stretches there was nothing but smooth ice.

Amundsen and Hassel led the party, tied by rope. The sleds had to bemanoeuvred sideways on slippery, uneven slopes. The men tried to supportthe sleds to avoid time-consuming overturns. In several places they had to useice axes and hack away at obstacles; in other places they constructed narrowsnow bridges to traverse the crevasses. It was impossible to keep to a straightsoutherly course; all they could do was to follow the terrain and the ice forma-tions.

On November 30th, they camped in an icy area surrounded by several extra-ordinary haystack-like formations. The tent pegs had to be hammered straightinto the ice. Hassel became curious about these formations, and hit one of the‘haystacks’ with an axe. It was hollow, and inside a shaft led straight down intothe ice. Their tent was surrounded by these creepy holes! The only consolati-on was that the ice in the ‘haystacks’ was suitable for melting into water.

The next day brought drifting snow, and the wind was so cold that theysuffered minor frostbite. They were skiing on slippery blue ice interspersed withpatches of snow. The snow here was so sticky that Amundsen, in a momentof inspiration, compared it to fish glue! Intermittent deep crevasses made thingseven more difficult. ‘A beastly day with a gale from the southeast and driftingsnow’, Hassel wrote in his diary. ‘The snow was hard as stone; the patches ofice were bare and shiny; and it was so slippery that the dogs could hardly stayon their feet. The sled could be caught on a slab and not be able to be moved,one way or the other. In this way we moved forwards at a snail’s pace for eighthours.’

The next day they were unable to even move until the afternoon. A briefglimpse of the sun made it possible to establish their position: 86° 47’ S. Theday’s march had amounted to a pitiful four kilometres.

However, on December 3rd, it appeared that their worst problems were over,and that they had really reached the plateau described by Shackleton. Skiingconditions gradually improved as the blue ice became covered with snow. Butone obstacle remained: a long valley full of crevasses and a treacherous surfacethat constantly gave way beneath dogs and men alike. Several times the leaddogs had to be hauled up by their harnesses. Bjaaland, too, was on his wayinto a great crevasse, when he managed to grab a rope from a sled and haulhimself out. The area was christened ‘The Devil’s Ballroom’.


Nevertheless, they reached 87° S by that evening. The dogs were tired afterthe rough ascent in the thin air. And they were hungry. With such short rations,the dogs were always on the lookout for boots, leather bindings, and harnes-ses – anything that they could gnaw. At this point, the plateau actually lay ahead.They were at 3,000 metres above sea level. Over the next few days they climbed,almost imperceptibly, another 300 metres. They made about 40 kilometresper day. The worst obstacle was the weather; the wind-blown snow obstruct-ed visibility and made it nearly impossible to make observations. They usedthe compass and dead reckoning, but the thought of their reception back homeworried Amundsen. How would they be received if it became known that theyhad conquered the South Pole, as calculated by dead reckoning? In this respect,the bitter battle between Cook and Peary, as to who had actually conqueredthe North Pole, functioned as a warning.

On December 6th they passed 88° S, by their dead reckoning, and ap-proached the point where Shackleton had arrived, ‘furthest south’. The nextmorning the sun broke through the clouds, and they hastened to make twoobservations. They determined that they were at 88° 16’ S, which was consist-ent with their dead reckoning calculations. In the afternoon they stopped andunfurled the Norwegian flag, because they had reached 88° 23’ S, and there-by broken the record for having gone farthest south.

Or so they hoped. For during the entire trip they had been preoccupiedwith the thought of Scott. When had he left? How fast was he progressing?What was his ascent like?

With just under 160 kilometres left to the Pole, they decided to stop for aday and make a last depot. Lighter loads would make the final stages of thejourney go faster. Two of the three dog teams were in bad shape. As there wasabsolutely no point of reference on the entire plateau, the depot had to be wellmarked. Continuing on, they constructed cairns even more often, building asmall one every 3.7 kilometres. It was now sunny and windy, but the days ofdrifting snow had taught them that it would be hard to keep a straight course.

They continued southward on December 9th. They made reasonableprogress, 28 kilometres per day (equivalent to1/4 of a degree of latitude), adjust-ing the pace to the dogs and the thin air. They reckoned that they would reachthe Pole on the 14th. The men kept looking around. Bjaaland thought the dogswere behaving strangely. Were they sniffing something due south?

The uncertainty affected their mood.The atmosphere was tense. Amundsenquarrelled furiously with Hassel about something having to do with naviga-tion (and Amundsen was right). Hassel was true to form: ‘Amundsen took outhis azimuth compass when we stopped to take our bearings. He made his owncalculations for the first time. This shows how cross he is with me – for mycarelessness in making our observations this morning.’


The terrain started to tilt slightly and downwards. The weather was reason-able; there was a slight wind, and the temperature was between –25 and –30°C. Some of the men were suffering from frostbite. They progressed mechani-cally, day by day: 89° 15’ S, 89° 30’ S, and 89° 45’ S.

The loneliest place in the world

On the morning of December 14th the sun was shining. The five men hurriedout of their tent and got going. But it clouded over in the afternoon, and theywere forced to travel very carefully, measuring out the distance regularly. Thecompass was on the front sled – Helmer Hanssen’s sled – which had been speci-ally constructed without iron. Usually, a skier led the front sled; if he divergedfrom the correct direction, Hanssen would keep him in line.That day they startedoff without a skier ahead; but then Hanssen asked Amundsen to lead.

Amundsen and the others looked around constantly. The even, white pla-teau appeared untouched by any human presence.

At three in the afternoon the odometer indicated that they had reachedthe Pole. The flag was planted, and the compulsory photographs were taken.They celebrated by eating a piece of seal meat. After a brief rest in the tent,they were up and went outside. As they had been unable to make any obser-vations at midday, they would try again at midnight. The first reading was 89°56’ S, which was not bad, given that they had used dead reckoning. They wereabout seven kilometres from the actual (mathematical) Pole.

Amundsen’s instruments were relatively primitive, and for very goodreasons. There was no room on such an expedition for advanced observation-al apparatus. Therefore, he decided that three skiers would ski 20 kilometresin each direction and plant a large flag. By doing this, they would leave no doubtthat they had covered the Pole. As the weather was excellent, three of them– Wisting, Hassel, and Bjaaland – set off immediately, as soon as they had amidnight snack. At 2:30 a.m. they set out on their 40-kilometre trip, withouta compass, but with a flag and a flagpole, which they would carry until theyturned around. In the meantime, Amundsen and Hanssen made a series ofobservations.

Luckily, the good weather continued; the observations were successful, andthe three skiers returned in the afternoon. Calculations showed that they woulddo well to move the camp about ten kilometres. The next day they reloadedtheir gear onto two sleds, and Bjaaland was excused from driving a dog team,which was a task he had never really mastered. Then again, he had the honourof walking ahead to the next campsite, at the spot which they finally determi-ned to be the location of the South Pole. At this point Amundsen organised


the men into shifts to perform hourly observations around the clock for thenext 24 hours.

They were 1,300 kilometres from Framheim. No one else was near; 550kilometres away, Scott and his men were struggling southwards towards thePole, which they would reach a little more than one month too late.

On their return journey and as long as they were still at a high altitude,Amundsen and his men started to travel in stages of 28 kilometres a day.Conditions were good, and the dogs had recovered somewhat, having eaten twoof their colleagues; and so the men skied for five to six hours, and then tooklonger rests. Bjaaland thought the nights were ‘hellishly long’, but Amundsenwas in no hurry. They had only 16 dogs left. The two teams should, if possible,last until they got back to Framheim, although the depots were well enoughequipped, and the men might manage the last few latitudes without the dogs.

They found the first depot without any difficulty. Then Christmas arrived.The only holiday meal they had, consisted of gruel made of biscuit crumbsand dry milk, which was supposed to replace the traditional NorwegianChristmas rice porridge. They crossed the highest point of the plateau andstarted to look out for the seracs and the demanding descent ahead. Then theyveered off course, lost sight of the row of cairns, and did not recognise theirsurroundings at all. To top it off, Wisting developed a toothache. As luck wouldhave it, pretty much the only medical equipment they had with them was atooth extractor. Inside the tent, Amundsen made his debut as a dentist.

On January 2nd they reached a spot they recognised: Devil’s Glacier. Thistime they happened upon an easy passage, and managed to avoid the Devil’sBallroom on their descent. However, they still had no idea where the depotwas in relation to their present location. The terrain undulated and was whollyunrecognisable. A glimpse of a mountain range in the distance gave them a clue:They were too far to the west. They pitched camp after a full day’s march,while Bjaaland (on skis) and Hanssen (with a dog team) made a 50-kilometredetour to fetch provisions. There was enough food for the men to reach thebarrier, but they were running out of dog food. Bjaaland was pleased: ‘Thereturn journey was easy; after a ten-hour trip, we were back in camp, and wenow have lots of provisions.’

His light-hearted attitude was probably also, to some extent, due to theabundance of chocolate in the depot; they had run out of it.

Now they began to move faster. The weather was good; and in the eternalsunshine they stopped thinking about ‘day’ and ‘night’. They drove for a while,then took a rest, and they set off again. After only three days they reached‘Butcher Depot’, where the dog meat was stored. Amundsen had realised thatthe dogs needed more to eat than just pemmican.

From there, the men set off downhill, with Bjaaland in the lead, followed


by the sleds with braking ropes, and drivers fighting to keep the sleds upright.Fortunately, the snow was soft, and skis and runners got a good grip. Amundsenand Bjaaland, not burdened with sleds, had fun racing downhill. The man fromTelemark was glad to have descended; at last he could ‘breathe like a normalperson’.

On January 6th they reached the 85° S depot. Ahead of them lay 700 kilome-tres of well-marked ski trails, stretching across the barrier’s flat terrain, withplenty of depots en route. At the end of it all was the ‘courtyard’ at Framheim.They just had to push on! To be sure, the weather was bad nearly all the time,but the well-marked route made it easy to find the cairns. They covered as muchas 55 kilometres in 24 hours, and never needed to use all the provisions in thedepots. The dogs were fed double rations, and even given biscuits and choco-late. They gained weight and pulled more eagerly than ever.

It took ten days to cover the next three degrees. The 82° S depot had beenconstructed the previous autumn and thus represented ‘civilisation’s furthestoutpost to the south’, as Amundsen wrote in his diary. The gala banquet thatheralded their arrival there included chocolate porridge.

A few days later, on January 18th, Scott and his men found the tent thatAmundsen had left standing at the South Pole. Above it, the small Norwegianflag still flew in the polar wind.

On the way home, the Norwegians were pleased to be experiencing betterweather. But their joy turned to consternation when they saw the innumer-able seracs and ice falls in the terrain around 81° 20’ S. They had travelledover it three times, but visibility had always been poor. ‘Huge areas of thesurface had fallen to their depths, and opened up the most abominable, aweso-me chasms, large enough to swallow up many caravans as big as ours. Criss-crossing these holes in all directions were broad, ugly cracks. We saw hummocksand “haystacks” everywhere. It was an absolute miracle that we had passedover unscathed before.’

But this was also to be their last major obstacle en route home. At four inthe morning on January 25th they arrived at Framheim and awoke their fourcompanions. Lindstrøm was not slow in putting on the kettle; 99 days and2,600 kilometres had elapsed since they enjoyed their last cup of coffee.

On March 7th, 1912, the Fram docked in the port of Hobart on Tasmania.Amundsen immediately sent encoded telegrams to the newspapers that hadpaid for first rights. Then he sent Hjalmar Johansen home, and wrote Nansena letter absolving himself of any wrongdoing by saying that Johansen had beendismissed for ‘mutiny’. Johansen was already struggling, with no job, no money,and no wife. This defeat broke him down, completely; and that winter, inChristiania, he took his own life.

At the end of March, Scott and his colleagues, already ill, starving, and frost-


bitten, perished only 18 kilometres from one of their depots. Nevertheless,Scott’s motorised sleds were a portent of what was to come: telegraph, radio,aeroplanes, caterpillar tractors.

Amundsen’s ‘detour’ round the South Pole was the highlight of his career andof Norwegian polar exploration. He made sure that all five of the men ‘who hadrisked life and limb and stuck together through thick and thin’ had plantedthe flag on the Pole. If there was anything specifically Norwegian about thesolemn ceremony at which the South Pole Plateau was named Haakon VllPlateau, then it was the dry, low-key manner in which the event was record-ed, as if it were merely the climax of a particularly long ski trip. ‘This briefmoment will be remembered by all of us who stood there. One learns to dowithout long drawn-out ceremonies in these inhospitable surroundings: theshorter, the better.’

Norway, a small and poor nation, came late to polar exploration. ButNorwegian polar explorers made an impact with five classic expeditions:Greenland, the drift across the Arctic Ocean, Sverdrup’s Canada expedition, theNorthwest Passage, and the South Pole expedition. Most impressive of all,perhaps, is the fact that the small, goal-oriented expeditions did not lose a singleman to starvation, scurvy, frostbite, or accidents. Viewed in light of the recordsof other countries, this is praiseworthy.

Of course, this was, to quite an extent, due to luck. There could easilyhave been catastrophes on all the expeditions. The Greenland journey was apioneer project and difficult to prepare; Nansen and Johansen’s long odysseyin the ice was foolhardy, to say the least; and the South Pole men might easilyhave fallen into bottomless crevasses or driven right off icy precipices. But luckusually follows those who make correct decisions with the aid of intuitiveknowledge. Expedition members were experienced and knowledgeable; manyof them had been brought up in an environment where skiing, hunting, andphysical work were part of everyday life. But much of the knowledge and under-standing about how to survive in the Arctic and the Antarctic came from else-where. It came from people whose homes were on the icy frontiers, from peoplewho possessed knowledge and survival techniques that polar explorers couldonly dream of.

The Arctic masters

When Nansen applied for financial support for the Greenland expedition, herealised that ‘Norway is that nation most suited to polar exploration. We arebetter conditioned to endure the climate than anyone else, and we have superi-


Robert Scott, seated at his desk at Cape Evans,

Antarctica. Not everyone thought he was sufficiently

focused on the task ahead. Trygve Gran wrote, ‘It was

as if therewere notices hungupeverywhere saying:No

Shop Talk.’

or skiers which is very significant.’ He would choose his crew from ‘amongstthe best Norwegian farmers I can find’. But he also suggested that he wouldinclude the Sami or Sami people (formerly known as Lapps).

The inspiration for this decision no doubt came from Swedish polar explor-er Adolf Erik Nordenskiöld. Nordenskiöld had twice included Samis on hisexpeditions, and when he tried his luck on Greenland’s inland ice in 1883 andhad to turn back, he despatched two Sami skiers to continue inland, acrossthe ice. They returned 57 hours later, having covered 230 kilometres, a distan-ce that caused a sensation. Nevertheless, it appears that Nansen was not entire-ly convinced that he should gamble on Samis. He wrote to his Swedish mentor:‘Were the Lapps (Lars and Anders Baronen) you took with you stronger, anddid they have more staying power, to pull sleds, etc., or was it only their skiingskills which surpassed that of the other members?’ The experienced Swedishpolar traveller replied that ‘a couple of Lapps are invaluable during expediti-ons, in the snowy deserts, if for no other reason than that we never get lost’.

Nansen hired two Samis to accompany him over the Greenland ice. Theywere named Samuel J. Balto and Ole N. Ravna. Nansen might not have beenas convinced as Nordenskiöld of the Samis’ usefulness in ‘snowy deserts’, butthe experience gained as a result of their participation in his Greenland journey,would influence his choice of equipment, clothing, and food when planninghis North Pole expedition.

Another cultural encounter that would be of even greater importance toNansen was his experience of Inuit life on Greenland, while he waited throughthe winter for passage back to Europe. Nansen went on long hunting tripswith the natives, and was often the only European in their company. He learntsome of their language and, according to his Inuit friends, was able to makehimself understood in their mother tongue. But why did the young skier takesuch an active part in their lives? It is probable that his main objective was tolearn. Not primarily to bring knowledge about their culture back to museumsor ethnographic institutions, but rather to learn how to survive in the Arctic.His debut in Greenland had whetted his appetite. His next journey would beto the North Pole, and he needed to be prepared.

Before he travelled to Greenland, Nansen had shown little empathy orrespect for traditional life on that island of ice. In a lecture he gave before hisdeparture, he drew a rather negative picture. As in many other places in theworld, ‘on Greenland, despite complaints about hard times and famine, peopledie not of starvation but of too much food, and they eat as much as they canstuff into their mouths’. In Nansen’s description of the Inuit, we can recog-nise an arrogant cultural superiority which was consistent with the patroni-sing attitude that was typical in the late 19th century. He presented theGreenlanders as small, odd, dirty little creatures who ‘never wash, not in water


The men on the Gjøa expedition recognized the value of

dressing like the Inuits.Nodetailswere superfluous, even

though the men initially thought that it was ‘foolish for

grown men like us to wear fringes on our outfits’.

anyhow’. They were not beautiful, certainly not the women, who spent their‘sluggish, loafing lives indoors in tiny winter houses’. And when they marri-ed, they ‘decay[ed] into coffee-drinking, dirty sluggards; women over 50 arenearly always ugly’. According to Nansen, it was a horrible sight to see women‘emerge from their mud huts through the narrow doors, like some troglodyteor troll, bow-legged and bent, virtually bald, the few remaining strands of hairsticking out to the sides, from top to bottom covered in soot and dirt’.

When Nansen returned from Greenland, he gave another lecture about theinhabitants of Greenland. His views had altered dramatically. He opened hislecture by saying that ‘we Europeans are used to viewing ourselves and our civili-sation with great satisfaction’. Nansen believed that this kind of arrogance result-ed in ‘our being very willing to look down on all primitive people as low anduncivilised’. In contradistinction to his attitude before traversing Greenland,Nansen was now keen to put an end to such attitudes, as he made clear in hisbook Eskimo Life, published two years after his return. This book claimed topresent the Inuit truthfully, and drew both on Nansen’s observations and oncontemporary reports. Nansen discussed several key ethnological and ethno-graphical questions regarding the Inuits’ origins and level of development.However, the book should primarily be viewed as a warning against what heconsidered the unfortunate developments on Greenland. He argued that famili-ar prejudices against the Inuit were not consistent with reality, and he soughtto open people’s eyes to the ‘misery we have caused them’. In other words, hewished to ‘scream the truth to the world; surely if they only knew, then peoplewould awaken from their own indifference and immediately make good theoffences they have committed’.

How can we explain Nansen’s admiration for Inuit life? He even askedhimself the following question in his Fram diary: ‘Why do I consider the Eskimossuperior to the Europeans?’ The mere fact that he was on Greenland cannotexplain his changed attitude toward this foreign culture. Enough people havetravelled and observed ‘the others’ without emerging as their friend and defend-er. The ‘evidence’ did show that the Inuit were dirty, inferior, and uncivilised.

After Nansen’s return he became an advocate for the positive elements ofInuit culture; he admired their tough life in the ice. That does not mean thathe considered them to be as developed or as intelligent as white men. Hisdescriptions romanticise their life and are in many ways paternalistic. Whenhe looked at the Inuit, he saw a well-functioning aboriginal society in whichhigh morals and cooperation flourished. Europeans, however, were in theprocess of shattering this society’s foundations. In Nansen’s view, modern equip-ment and Western ideas did not belong in the Arctic. This was the developmentwhich both saddened and concerned Nansen.

To Nansen, authentic Inuit society represented life that was uncontami-


nated by modern civilisation. Therefore, the colonial power should ‘pack upits wares and return them and its merchants to Denmark’. This was a viewNansen championed all his life. When some Norwegians claimed sovereigntyover East Greenland in the 1920s, his message could not be misunderstood:‘The country belongs to the Eskimos and their interests are what count. Thebest and the most proper thing that Danes, Norwegians, and others can do, ifpossible, is to stay away; and let the Eskimos live in peace without Europeaninterference.’

Nansen was not the only polar explorer who served an apprenticeship withthe Arctic masters.

In 1891 a restless Norwegian was in Philadelphia, reading a newspaperfull of stories about misery around the world. But it was not robberies, murders,and strikes that caught the attention of the 21-year-old from Christiania. Hehad just finished reading In Darkest Africa by Henry Stanley; and he nurtur-ed, in his own words, revolutionary plans. He wanted to escape modern civili-sation and see the world’s farthest outposts; he was drawn to the darkest Africa.But as he was putting the paper away, he happened to see a small notice aboutRobert E. Peary, who was just then planning an expedition to North Greenland.Eivind Astrup made up his mind immediately. With a Norwegian-English dicti-onary in one coat pocket and an English-Norwegian dictionary in the other,he turned up to promote his candidature. A few days later he was told that hehad been picked as one of seven participants. Frederick Cook was another one.

The expedition stayed for the whole winter near Whale Sound on Green-land’s west coast. Its purpose was to conduct scientific investigations, and itincluded a push north over the inland ice.The young Norwegian became Peary’scompanion, and they covered 2,000 kilometres in 97 days using skis and snow-shoes. This sensationally efficient journey demonstrated the advantage of usingInuit clothes and equipment, and, especially, using dogs as draught animals.

The expedition members had made a conscious effort to learn. They per-suaded an Inuit family to settle close to the expedition hut, partly to help themprepare skins and sew clothes.

The North Greenland expedition of 1891–92 was successful. It had under-taken extensive surveying and collected minerals, plants, and birds. In addition,it brought back to the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia know-ledge about and cultural artefacts from the world’s northernmost tribe, ‘aboutwhich one previously only had little and unreliable information’.

In 1894, Astrup was on his way back to Greenland as a member of Peary’ssecond Arctic expedition. This one was not nearly as successful as its prede-cessor, however, and this new, major journey north fell apart. Astrup grew illand had to turn back, several of the dogs froze to death; and three of the expedi-


Nansen in an Inuit home. His hunting companion, Arkaluk, said Nansen learned the language

easily and was not squeamish. He ate everything the Inuit offered him, except for fermented

food and drink.

tion members developed frostbite. ‘Accompanied by a loyal native friend’,Astrup set out on a long sled trip down the coast. He collected his experiencesfrom this trip and his other impressions from two winters on Greenland inthe book With Peary near the Pole.

Astrup’s book is similar to Nansen’s book in many ways. He describes theInuit way of life, customs, character, morals, social conditions, intelligence,artistic ability, and religious ideas. In addition, he takes the reader huntingand demonstrates the toughness needed to survive on the harsh coast.

According to Astrup, one would assume that the Inuit fight for survivalwould result in a dark and fatalistic view of life; ‘but how far from the truthwas this assumption’. To Astrup, the Inuit were a people full of good humourand unusually happy with their lot. They led healthy lives, without any typeof ‘addictive substances or stimulants’.

According to Astrup, ‘the small Eskimo community we are talking abouthere is based on the principles of equality’. It was a community in whichfreedom, equality, and brotherly love were not hopeless or distant ideas, butwere part of their ‘genuine and true reality’. There reigned a freedom ‘as com-plete as one could ever hope to achieve anywhere in the world’. In addition,their morals were in accordance with Christian principles. The reason for allthis was the conditions under which they lived. ‘Eskimos are good people, asthey have no interest in being anything else.’ Astrup depicted Inuit life as a virtu-al ‘dream come true’. They were helpful, they shared the yields from their hunts,and one could almost always trust their ‘unqualified honesty’, in the nearlyCommunist social fabric in which theft was unknown. But in spite of all theadmiration he could muster; Astrup was not of the opinion that the Inuit wereintellectually as well-endowed as white men, although he did not explicitly statethis. To him, they were a people about to step out of the Stone Age; they were‘children of the moment, who will later have to pay dearly for the surprises ofcivilisation’.

Astrup did not, as did Nansen, place his observations in a context of theo-ries of cultural development and Inuit origin. He did believe, to an extent,that the study of Inuit beliefs might be an important contribution to the studyof mankind’s development. It was only in a footnote that he pointed out thatGreenlanders had originated in Asia, in his opinion. Astrup’s book was moreimportant than Nansen’s regarding one point. Nansen had tried to reconstructthe real life of the Inuit, as it might have appeared before the Europeans arrivedand caused disruptions. He was severely criticised for this in the German journalGlobus: Illustrierte Zeitschrift für Länder und Völkerkunde (Illustrated Magazineof Countries and Ethnology). The reviewer did not think that he had studied‘real’ Inuits, but rather a ‘hybrid race’, which was comprised not only goodLutherans, but of people who could read and write. Astrup did not receive


this kind of criticism. The so-called Polar Eskimos were considered ‘thenorthernmost people in the world’; and owing to their geographical isolation,they had not become Europeanised – a process which had taken place in therest of West Greenland. Therefore Astrup was able to produce new materialabout New People, to use Knud Rasmussen’s book title about the Inuit; andthis fact made the book an important contribution to ethnography. Nansen’smost important contribution to cultural research was no doubt his ability toconvey information, not only as an author but also, especially, as an illustra-tor. His drawings of weapons and tools were still being frequently used manydecades after his book first appeared. His description of kayaking, accordingto Rasmussen, was ‘the most exact and technically the best description of theart of kayaking to date’.

Both Nansen and Astrup share a romanticised admiration for Greenland’sdistinctive social fabric. Both sought to describe the Inuit way of life from afunctional and cultural standpoint, without measuring it in terms of Westernmoral and cultural standards. This is partly because of their own experiencewith the conditions about which they wrote. This becomes particularly clearif one compares the texts written by Nansen before and after his visit toGreenland. Yet what an author writes about a foreign culture must be consideredin light of what his contemporaries expect to hear. The story Nansen told beforehe left for Greenland was well suited to the times. His story in Eskimo Lifeand Astrup’s book did not fit the bill as well. Astrup and Nansen were not theonly voices in the wilderness. On both sides of the Atlantic there were scien-tific communities which reacted to how the Inuit were treated and portrayed.One who did react was the Danish Hinrich Rink.

Beginning in the early 1860s, Rink had conducted a general, comprehen-sive scientific survey of conditions on Greenland. He is considered the founderof a critical documentary tradition that raises questions about the activities ofthe colonial power and the work of missionaries. He maintained that theseforeigners ruined the customs and institutions that served important func-tions in primitive hunting communities. Nansen was more explicit than mostin his criticism of European colonial policy, and Rink praised him for that. Rinkthought that Nansen’s ‘original method by which he studied the Greenlanders’,combined with his positive attitude toward the Inuit, produced a descriptionwith ‘a high degree of originality, freshness and truth’.

Of all the Norwegian polar explorers’ meetings with natives, the one with thegreatest impact is Amundsen’s encounters with the Netsiliks during his voyagethrough the Northwest Passage. Amundsen was the only Norwegian polarexplorer to collect a significant amount of ethnographical material. He did soon a people that had not until then been adequately studied in the West. After


his return, the collection was presented to the Ethnographical Museum inChristiania and exhibited in what was called the Gjøa Hall.The collection contains900 items, and remains to this day the world’s largest collection of Inuit artifacts.It is also the museum’s largest collection of artefacts from one single people.

Amundsen had no background in cultural research when he began hisvoyage in 1903, to sail through the Northwest Passage. However, he had studi-ed his Norwegian and American predecessors, and he had spent an Antarcticwinter with Cook. He was thus well aware of the fact that Inuit techniques werean important prerequisite for a successful polar expedition. There is reason tobelieve that Amundsen’s reason for making contact with Arctic peoples was toglean firsthand knowledge of how they travelled in the ice. His travelogue is fullof examples of Inuit techniques he learnt about: how to warm frozen fingers;how best to get the sled runners to slide; how to pack a sled well; how to dress,and especially how to build the perfect igloo. He spent a good deal of time onthe last-mentioned with Teraiu, his ‘excellent teacher’.

The stay in Gjøahavn turned into an Arctic college and ethnographic collec-tion station. During the second winter, he gathered an entire Netsilik civilisa-tion onboard. As he wrote in his diary of January 8th 1905: ‘The ethnographiccollection now contains examples of all Netchilli Eskimo tools.’

What was Amundsen’s motivation for making this ethnographic collec-tion? Of course, like the magnetic and geographical observations, the collecti-on would contribute to making the expedition more scientific. At the same time,a collection like this would give the entire nation, as well as Amundsen himself,prestige. In addition, Amundsen might have envisioned some commercial valuein the kayaks, harpoons, fur clothing, and arrowheads. When he sent a letterfrom Alaska to the Ethnographic Museum in the hope that ‘this complete collec-tion from, I dare say, the least known, living Eskimos ought to be of interest’,it is probable that he thought it might improve his finances, which had beendrained because of his travels.The collection no doubt formed an important partof the scientific material for which the government paid 40,000 kroner.

Amundsen’s writings about the Inuit in the Northwest Passage are systema-tized differently than Nansen’s and Astrup’s. None of Amundsen’s chaptersprovides generalizations regarding their customs, morals, and so forth. Nor doeshe attempt to place their way of life within a broader ethnographic context.On the contrary, he almost seems glad not to have studied specialised litera-ture on the subject. He maintains that he has consciously not read the autho-rities for fear of ‘reporting what others, and not I, myself, have seen and experi-enced about them’. He also emphasises that he is telling his own story. ‘Ourunderstanding of these Eskimos was so varied, that I can state that every oneof the seven Gjøa expedition members had his own, distinct opinion aboutthem.’ Cook Lindstrøm could ‘not stand the Eskimos’.


It is probably not a good idea to put blind faith in declarations like this.There is no doubt that Amundsen read something about the Inuit. Neithercould he divorce himself completely from the traditions from which he came.Nonetheless, his personal style makes his descriptions differ from those ofNansen and Astrup. In this context, there are both villains and heroes.Amundsen found some of the Inuit to be so aggressive, that he placed firecrackers around the Gjøa to keep them away. He depicted others as hard-working and helpful. Some were backwards, and others were intelligent. Hedescribed some as ‘quite simply beautiful’; while others were described as ‘ugly,flat-nosed Eskimos’. Amundsen does not seem to make any effort to under-stand the Inuit on their own terms. He says that some Inuit families were lazyand dirty, and therefore they had not managed to build proper winter dwellings.Although Amundsen made many distinctive observations about the Inuit, henonetheless falls within a tradition of observers who view cultures as determin-ed by their environment. This means that he believed that the natural environ-ment in which the Inuit lived, led them to adopt a certain social order. Heimplies that the Inuit were almost governed by instinct, which helped themsolve practical problems.

Amundsen writes a good deal about the ten different Inuit tribes he encoun-tered along the Northwest Passage, but it was the Netsiliks that particularlycaptured his imagination. This is also the tribe that he presents in the mostpositive light. The reason is no doubt that Amundsen, like Nansen and Astrup,had more admiration for societies that had not been ‘perverted’ by the influ-ence of the modern world. According to the polar explorers, these people liveda healthy life with healthy values, isolated from the expectations of modernsociety. These people mastered to perfection the very elements against whichexplorers came to test their skills. It is against this backdrop that we shouldgauge Amundsen’s conviction that ‘those Eskimos who live completely isola-ted from every civilisation are absolutely the happiest, the healthiest, the mosthonourable, and the most satisfied’.

Nansen, Astrup, and Amundsen were not trained cultural researchers. They didnot set out with the intention of studying the aboriginal Arctic population.They developed, nonetheless, relationships with local populations that canremind one of later social anthropologists and their ideal of participatory orsympathetic observation. Yet, they also differ from this tradition. They wereall collectors of cultural traditions; either they brought cultural artefacts backwith them, or they returned with accounts of cultural phenomena and insti-tutions. In their view, the ‘primitive’ culture they observed, was static and formedby the physical environment in which ‘polar people’ lived.The particular charac-teristics of these communities were not shaped by cultural and historical proces-


A group of Netsilik visit the Gjøa in 1904. Roald

Amundsen was extremely interested in learning

how the Inuit mastered life in the Arctic; how they

dressed, handled dogs and built igloos.

ses. Thus they helped maintain a picture of ‘the others’ as beings who were qua-litatively different from ‘us’.

The cultural descriptions, however, give an impression of an ideal and posi-tive existence in the ice of the Arctic as a clean and unfettered alternative world.It presents a romantic picture that differs from contemporary ethnographicliterature. The fact that Nansen, Astrup, and Amundsen produced suchpresentations could be due to their basic knowledge, the way in which they wereintroduced to the Inuit cultural heritage, and their sadness in realising thatthis life might disappear as a result of its collision with modern society. It isreasonable to believe that the circumstances under which one comes into contactwith a foreign culture will affect one’s attitude toward it. Claims have been madethat the British left the Arctic frontier in favour of a preoccupation with thedeserted Antarctic, because they realised the Inuit had superior transportationand survival skills which eclipsed British military traditions. The British kepttheir distance from the native peoples of the Arctic. Even in times of imminenttragedy, as with the Franklin expedition, they did not degrade themselves bymixing with ‘savages’. In this regard, British tradition differs dramatically fromAmerican and Scandinavian tradition. Like Peary and Cook, Norwegian polarexplorers conducted themselves in a way that was antithetical to that of theirBritish counterparts. They consciously sought to learn from the natives. Theyrealised that only by employing Inuit techniques, like the dogsled, clothing,and hunting en route, could they reach the North Pole. This realisation led tocultural exchanges that doubtlessly affected their attitudes.

Records without heroes

No one discovered as much new land as Otto Sverdrup, and no one set asmany records as Roald Amundsen. Nevertheless, these two men never attainedthe kind of international status that Nansen did. Many have said that whatAmundsen gained with his ship, skis, and dogs, he squandered with his pen.He lacked the ability to dramatise himself; he lacked the ability to make thingsappear more difficult than they were. That is what one of his biographers,Roland Huntford, maintains. When Amundsen returned to Framheim afterhaving been to the South Pole, he noted: ‘we cannot really report seriousdangers, great need, or major exertion’. The newspaper Morgenbladet wrote thatin comparing the accounts of Scott’s and Amundsen’s South Pole expeditions,one got the impression that both the terrain and the weather was much moredifficult for Scott than for Amundsen.

Amundsen was no great author. However, his ‘problem’ was not only hisstorytelling ability, it was also his capacity for planning and organisation. Nansen


had made the Scandinavian approach to expeditions known, and had therebyprofited magnificently. This approach was further developed by Sverdrup andperfected by Amundsen. However, despite impressive results, honour and glorywere not as forthcoming. Amundsen’s organisational perfection just hastenedan inherent and unavoidable tendency to trivialise. The public wanted morethan records; it wanted heroism. Well-planned, problem-free expeditions simplydid not pay.

Amundsen became painfully aware of this fact when he sailed the Gjøathrough the Northwest Passage in 1903–06. He had attained a goal that hadbeen sought after for three hundred years, and had also located the magneticNorth Pole. It had all taken place too ‘humbly’, though, in the words of theBritish press agent who tried to explain to him why the local media were nottoo excited. The ‘scientific public’ appreciated what he had done, but the‘general public’ was not particularly interested. Thus, he could not count onlarge lecture fees. Besides, he had been unfortunate regarding the way the newshad been handled, and had already lost large sums as a result. Amundsen’s firsttelegram had been stopped, but the contents had been leaked, and they hadspread from newspaper to newspaper. By the time he arrived in San Franciscoin 1906, the excitement had long since died down.

This situation basically repeated itself when Amundsen won the race forthe South Pole against Captain Scott. His supporters hoped that the expeditionwould provide Amundsen with financial rewards in line with the financialsupport harvested by Nansen after the first Fram expedition. Amundsen didreceive an advance on his book of 111,000 kroner, and this beat all previousrecords. Still, 86° 14’ N, which was the endpoint of Nansen and Johansen’sfoolhardy and gruelling expedition, yielded greater financial and symbolicrewards, than Amundsen’s supposedly problem-free 90° S. Once again, GreatBritain was the culprit. The lecture incomes were not as anticipated, and thepublishers realised that Amundsen’s ‘lack of imagination’ would not yield astro-nomical book sales. All in all, Amundsen’s income from the conquest of theSouth Pole amounted to only about half what Nansen had made from Fram.

The great human drama of the South Pole was the one presented posthu-mously by Scott and his men, when the mortal remains of the expeditionmembers were found and their written accounts made public. Scott’s suffer-ing, self-sacrifice, and martyrdom set in motion in Great Britain a passionateinvolvement equal to what was generated in Norway with the Fram’s triumphalprocession. ‘Nothing in our time’, wrote The Manchester Guardian, ‘not eventhe shipwreck of the Titanic, has touched the nation so directly and deeply asthe loss of these men.’ Their heroism, wrote another newspaper, ‘made thefeats of the classic gods pale in comparison’. And a third newspaper wrote: Scott’slast ‘message to the public’ was ‘the most gripping document ever read.’ For


the first time in British history, the king attended a memorial service for some-one who was not a member of the royal family. In the course of a decade, about30 to 40 monuments were erected around the country. Amundsen’s expeditionhad also involved heroic deeds and drama, and would have made good copyfor a media establishment that preferred conflict and catastrophe to plaintriumph. The problem was that Hjalmar Johansen risking his own life to saveLieutenant Prestrud, and his subsequent verbal attack on Amundsen for onlythinking of himself, had to be kept an absolute secret. Scott’s destiny was doublyunlucky for Amundsen. Not only had the latter supposedly ‘stolen’ the recordfrom Scott, but he was also made the scapegoat for Scott’s terrible homewardjourney. It was claimed that the discovery of a flag already flying over the SouthPole had shattered the courageous Scott’s morale. Bitterly, Amundsen had toadmit that his own brilliantly executed success had been overshadowed by Scott’stragic defeat and gripping account. Amundsen might be received like a kingin Paris and Rome, but that did not make up for the lack of recognition inwhat he resentfully called ‘that plum-pudding nation’.

To a certain extent, Amundsen lost to Nansen at home, too. The first edi-tion of The Northwest Passage was only half as large as the first edition of thetwo-volume work Farthest North (Fram over Polhavet). On the other hand, therewere so many extraordinary circumstances surrounding the Fram’s triumphantjourney, that a rerun was unthinkable. In fact, it was actually astonishing thatAmundsen’s triumphs were celebrated as much as they were, given that thecountry had already been through three large celebrations for Nansen andSverdrup. When the men of the Gjøa returned to Norway in November 1906,a year after its traversal of the Northwest Passage became known, the capitalwas once again overcrowded and the festivities extensive. In March 1912, whenit became known that the South Pole had been conquered, the whole countrywas awash in flags and celebrations. Nansen gave a lecture to the GeographicalSociety in the presence of the king and queen, and the press enthusiasticallyhailed a new Norwegian triumph. In July, 8,500 tickets were sold when anational festival was held at St. Hanshaugen in Oslo, celebrating the South Polemen, in this case without Amundsen.

Above all, it was Nansen who stepped forward and interpreted Amundsen’sachievements for the nation. The fact that Amundsen himself did not becomea national role model on this occasion has been seen as yet another of his short-comings in relation to his predecessor. This can also be viewed from anotherangle. Amundsen’s problem abroad was not necessarily the same as his problemin Norway; indeed, one might assume that his lack of a strong national rheto-ric was a strength rather than a weakness. Nansen was a nationalist, but hewas also an aristocrat, and he was highly controversial, at first for his nationalradicalism, and later as a critic of parliamentary democracy. There is a notice-


able asymmetry between Nansen’s national and international recognition.Nansen’s ability to have an influence by virtue of his name alone was far greaterabroad than it was at home. Abroad, the name ‘Nansen’ was sufficiently re-nowned to create a diplomatic impact. In Norway he was domesticated, trappedand tamed within the scope of recognized political and social boundaries.

Unlike Nansen, Amundsen was more like the politicians representingpesant, rural and labour interests: utilitarian, level-headed, unassuming, and notgiven to using lofty language to describe the national significance of his deeds.During his stay in Antarctica, Amundsen wrote: ‘Norwegian peasants! My God,think that one is dependent on such rabble … ’. By ‘peasants’ he meant membersof Parliament devoted to cost-cutting and sparseness in public spending.However, the fact is that politicians of this kind really liked Amundsen and prefer-red him to Nansen. After Amundsen’s South Pole triumph had helped him moveout of Nansen’s shadow, he was able to establish a less problematic relationshipwith Parliament than had any polar explorer before him.

Amundsen’s first transaction with Parliament in 1907 looks like a kind ofbarter. He was still in debt after the Northwest Passage, and so the Parliamentcovered his debts by buying artefacts and observational records. There wereclaims that Amundsen could have received more for his collection if he had soldit abroad. Only four MPs, including the Socialist Egede-Nissen, voted againstthe purchase agreement.

The so-called third Fram expedition was more controversial. WhenParliament debated the issue in 1909, it was much like the debate on Fram in1890. Supporters pursued the usual double strategy, appealing to universal dutyand national competitive prestige at the same time. It was a duty ‘to sacrificesomething for those things which were mankind’s obligation to fulfil’. Yet, itwas held to be just as important to march ahead of the rest of mankind: ‘Shallwe sit by and see another country steal the honour … ?’ The expedition wouldbe an honourable exploration trip, and at the same time: ‘This is no record-breaking undertaking.’ It was a question of giving: ‘… this is one of the fewareas where we can give something’; but also of making an investment: ‘Theprofit that the nation gained from the Nansen expedition is so excellent that Ido not think any Norwegian will want that grant undone.’

Some of those who opposed funding the expedition accepted that patrioticconsiderations weighed heavily. But they held that it would not look good ifthe budget committee, which was encouraging moderation in all areas, and threa-tening to increase taxation, at the same time started the new year by granting75,000 kroner to a project that was ‘neither necessary nor essential, strictlyspeaking’. To emphasize that the allocation was not a question of luxury, thesupporters referred to the honour Nansen had brought to the country. Theyadded that Nansen’s name and deeds had been an important asset to the country


in 1905, when it had been vital to promote Norway’s case for independenceabroad. At the same time, the debate indicated that Nansen had become anambiguous resource for would-be polar adventurers. After 1905, Nansen was ahigh profile critic of parliamentary democracy, with its prosaic compromises andconflicts.The government should emulate the Fram, he maintained: build uponexpert knowledge and remain above petty partisan struggles.

Politicians who were critical of Nansen, nonetheless spoke flatteringly ofAmundsen. The farmer and Liberal politician Ivar Tveiten said that there wasno one he would rather see at the head of such an expedition, because ‘this steadyand modest man made such an impression on me’. On account of the sympa-thy for Amundsen, the person, even the socialist Alfred Eriksen felt he couldnot oppose the grant. ‘… I must admit that the sympathy which his personinspires in people, creates more understanding for this polar journey than Ihonestly had for Nansen’s.’ For these MPs, Amundsen was best, alone, notbecause he was small compared to Nansen, but because Nansen’s nationalisticideology had become a burden.

An uncontroversial polar explorer

On March 8th, 1912, Parliament began its workday with a short statement madeby its president, Wollert Konow: ‘Fellow representatives, we cannot begin ourwork today without gathering together in grateful happiness, admiration, andpride. We must express these emotions, which have filled our hearts upon receiv-ing the news that Roald Amundsen and his men have reached the South Poleand planted the Norwegian flag there. We are imbued with heartfelt joy anddeep gratitude that the Fram and her noble crew have once again returnedunscathed from a dangerous journey. We admire that courage, that vigour andperseverance which once again have made science triumph, and which yet againconquered large areas for scientific exploration and research. We are proud toknow that these men are our compatriots, and that they have once again broughtglory to the name of Norway. …’ The assembly stood up when the Presidentmade his speech.

From that point on, the Parliament supported everything Amundsen did.A motion was made immediately to establish a professorship for him. Nansenand Birkeland were willing to lend it legitimacy, but it was difficult to arguethat Amundsen was in possession of anything remotely resembling adequatescientific qualifications. Of course, when he was travelling around talking aboutthe Antarctic, he was one of the few who knew what he was talking about. Somemembers of the press, to be sure, were not so gracious. ‘Are the attempts tohonour Amundsen now going to degenerate to such a degree that they will mock


the man and the entire nation? He does not deserve that.’ The Parliamentarycommittee turned the professorship proposal down, and the chairman main-tained that he acted with the approval of Amundsen himself. In fact, Amundsenhad made it clear that, ‘humble man that he was’, he did not wish to be reward-ed individually; rather he wished that Parliament would do something tohonour the entire crew. Thereafter, the Parliament unanimously granted136,365 kroner to what was generally called ‘Roald Amundsen’s expeditionto the North Pole’, an expedition which, for pecuniary reasons, had been obligedto make a detour via the South Pole, before once again turning towards its maingoal. Amundsen was personally granted an annual stipend of 6,000 kroner, asa so-called ‘national reward’. Each of the crew were awarded a one-time paymentof 4,000 kroner, for a total of 44,000 kroner.

Now it was necessary to sail the Fram from the southern to the northernhemisphere. Time elapsed and new expenses were accumulated. In 1914,Amundsen was obliged to ask for more money. The previous year, LiberalGunnar Knudsen had been reinstated as Prime Minister, and Nansen hadimmediately planned action against the parliamentary ‘nonsense’ and the newgovernment. In 1913 Knudsen had allegedly told Leon Amundsen, Roald’sbrother, that there was no possibility of any more funding. Roald Amundsenhad threatened, via his brother and Nansen, that he would cancel the trip northbecause of the politicians’ ‘breach of promise’.This was where things stood whenNansen nailed Amundsen down and made him continue the polar project; hereminded Amundsen that ‘I have done more for you than I have done foranyone else in the world; I sacrificed everything, as I abandoned my SouthPole expedition, the keystone of my lifework as a polar explorer; and I relin-quished the Fram in order that you might complete your expedition acrossthe Arctic Ocean.’ Amundsen realised that he could not get away with cuttingshort the trip; and despite Knudsen’s pessimistic indications the previous year,the politicians proved not to be a problem in the end. Amundsen asked for200,000 kroner; 50,000 to begin with and 30,000 a year for five years. Thatcovered half his budget. The Ministry of Finance recommended the applica-tion, and it was passed in Parliament with only two dissenting votes. But thewar changed everything, and in August Amundsen relinquished the money.

In 1917, Amundsen decided to organise an ‘expedition to the Arctic Ocean’with a newly built ship, Maud, named after Norway’s Queen Maud; and heasked the government for a new grant equal to the one he had relinquished in1914. He got the funding. The striking thing about these grants is that theywere passed without opposition, and the conditions for granting them becameless and less ideological. There was not longer rhetoric about heroic deeds orhonour and recognition for Norway. ‘The national reward’ signalled an endto the discussion of ‘gifts’. From then on, Parliament consistently supported the


Roald Amundsen, dressed for the weather in an Inuit parka.

grants without further discussion. Thus, the grand, nationalistic rhetoric thathad accompanied the initial polar triumphs was gradually set aside. The wardid not predispose people toward grandiose language. At the same time, thisincreasing modesty of language involved an adjustment to Amundsen’s own,low-keyed ideological style. For him, this style proved to be more and moreof a strength as the struggle over the union with Sweden receded into the past.

Maud

Amundsen signed on Helmer Hanssen and Wisting, along with the engineerSundbeck and sailmaker Rønne, who had been part of the ‘sea party’ on theFram. He also added four ‘new’ men; thus the crew that left Tromsø on July16th, 1918, consisted of nine men. World War I was still raging, and there wasa real danger of attack by German submarines.

Maud was not attacked by submarines, but her first encounter with roughseas was dramatic enough. The ship was built along the same principles as theFram and possessed the same eccentric characteristics. She rocked so muchthat the waves washed over the deck and threatened to fill the saloon. The rigwas also damaged.

However, there was plenty of time to make the necessary repairs. On July 25th

they reached the Yugor Strait, where they encountered ice. Khabarovo, Nansen’slast port of call on the Fram journey 25 years earlier, was temporarily inacces-sible. Instead the Maud hove to by Vajgatj Island. Amundsen bartered with thenatives, repaired damage, and strengthened the bow. When the ship set off again,it hit a mud bank and then more ice. For a couple of days it sat off Khabarovo,where the men became acquainted with a young Russian-Norwegian telegrapher,Gennadij Olonkin. When the Maud set sail on August 17th, Olonkin had joinedthe expedition as second engineer and the tenth crew member.

Nansen had previously arranged for Amundsen to take a course in ocean-ographic techniques under the guidance of Helland-Hansen. Bjerknes had senthis student, Harald Ulrik Sverdrup, to Helland-Hansen for a similar course.Helland-Hansen came to appreciate young Sverdrup’s many talents, and itwas probably Helland-Hansen who first recommended Sverdrup to Amundsen.During the summer of 1916, Helland-Hansen did all he could to persuadeSverdrup to join Amundsen’s new expedition. When the expedition started totake shape and plans were made to depart during the summer of 1918, Sverdrupspent even more time studying the secrets of oceanography with Helland-Hansen.

Sverdrup became leader of the scientific team of the expedition, and theMaud expedition would, in many ways, shape his future career. The Maudwas a floating laboratory that collected data on the earth’s magnetism, atmos-


pheric electricity, weather conditions near the ocean surface and high aboveit, oceanographic conditions, ice formations, the Northern Lights, and justabout everything else that might be of scientific or cultural interest. The crewof nine shared the everyday, practical duties, and most of them tried to take partin the research. When the Maud made her way eastwards along the coast ofSiberia, they realised that the mass of ice was more extensive than previous scien-tists had observed. They froze in near Cape Chelyuskin by September. Theyspent the winter making improvements on the ship and the scientific instru-ments. Sverdrup had the opportunity of adapting what he had learned to Arcticconditions.

When summer came, the ice barely broke up along the coast. The men useddynamite to push on eastwards, but got no further than Ajon Island. One daySverdrup made this note in his diary: ‘Just imagine, me as linguist and psycho-logist among natives!’ Two days earlier, the versatile natural scientist had actual-ly denied any interest in ethnology. ‘There must be a limit to how thinly I spreadmyself.’ In the two-day interim, the boss, Roald Amundsen, had encouragedhim to go ashore to live among the reindeer herding tribe, the Chukchins, fora while during the winter grazing season, in order to study their language,customs, and so forth.

Why did Amundsen want to send Sverdrup out on such an expedition? Heprobably wanted to ensure that the expedition returned from unknown terri-tory with as much information as possible on a broad range of subjects, includ-ing data on different cultures. Amundsen, who felt he had ‘torn a primitive peopleout of the Stone Age’ by introducing modern products to the Inuit during theGjøa expedition, may have seen it as his duty, as a representative of civilisedsociety, to document what he found of ‘aboriginal’ cultures. Sverdrup was highlypreoccupied with the latter topic. He pointed out that modern transport, alcoholand tobacco, and weapons were wiping out special cultural characteristics. ‘Ourgeneration is bound at every opportunity to save what can be saved, gather infor-mation about ways of living and of thinking, especially amongst those peoplewho are still to be found on the frontiers of civilisation.’

Sverdrup’s eight-month-long scientific journey differs from the encounterthat Nansen, Astrup, and Amundsen had with Arctic cultures. Sverdrup didnot go to learn from the Chukchins but to study them, although he was virtu-ally thrown into the role of researcher. His techniques were different, too. Hetravelled with one family and stayed with it during the seasonal movement oflivestock from coast to tundra. He was a ‘culture collector’, a collector of cultu-ral artefacts and traditions, who literally travelled with the aid of his ethnogra-phic artefacts. Sverdrup’s studies of the Chukchins came to be considered quitesignificant in the field. The Ethnographic Museum in Oslo had very fewChukchin artefacts. Owing to political developments in the Soviet Union,


Gathering snow tomelt into water. TheMaudwas

never a popular success. But seven years in the ice

provided agreat deal of newknowledge about the

Arctic Ocean.

Sverdrup’s studies were among the very few undertaken by Western scientistsin this area. In Norway, ethnographers were particularly interested in discover-ing where the Sami people had originated, and therefore there was keen interestin the Arctic peoples to the east. Moreover, a key theme in Arctic culturalresearch was the relationship between the two main types of Arctic culture:reindeer-herding and coastal culture. Sverdrup’s field work could contributetowards solving these problems. His ethnographic collection, photographs, andnotes were turned over to the Ethnographic Museum, and language researcherKonrad Nielsen edited the dictionary Sverdrup had compiled.

Sverdrup’s descriptions revealed little admiration or fascination for the polarpeople’s social fabric or mode of living. For him, their society was an exceeding-ly primitive one, and it was governed by certain moral laws. But Sverdrup, unlikeNansen, Astrup, and Amundsen, did not hold these unwritten laws forth asideal. To be sure, his work on the Chukchins contained elements of romantic-ism. He celebrated the tribe’s life on the tundra and the ‘happy, unaffectedcondition in which they still find themselves’. Sverdrup concluded his descrip-tion with a wish that they might ‘stay as they are’, and ‘preserve their happyway of living and thinking’. But Sverdrup’s account diverges significantly from,for instance, Nansen’s assertion that aboriginal Arctic society was a well-func-tioning and morally superior one.

The ship broke away from the ice during the summer of 1920. But it did nothead north. Amundsen sailed the Maud to Nome, Alaska, to take on provisi-ons. At least the Maud expedition set one record: on July 23rd, Amundsen wasthe first man to have traversed both the Northwest and Northeast passages.He said himself that now, having completed the Northeast Passage, he had‘managed to unite it with my Northwest Passage of 1906, and so for the firsttime there had been a complete circumnavigation of the Arctic Ocean. In thesedays of record breaking, that might carry some weight’. Those members of thecrew who wanted to return home, were given leave to do so. During the twoyears of the expedition, some had already left. At best, it would take another threeyears to drift across the Arctic Ocean. Amundsen had already fallen out withHelmer Hanssen, the veteran of the Gjøa and Fram. He and the gout-riddenRønne left, and to Amundsen’s annoyance, Sundbeck decided to join them ontheir return trip to Europe. There were now only four men remaining to com-plete the journey, a rather indefensibly low number of crew members. Sverdrupwas in despair, but he decided to continue. He had given his word, and as longas he was in good health, he felt he had no right to leave his position.

Back on the Maud, Amundsen tried to reach the pack ice that summer.Once again, when the ship arrived at the coast of Siberia, it was halted by abnor-mally thick ice. Another winter beckoned. This time Sverdrup stayed with


another tribe, the Coastal Chukchins. In one of the very warm, airtight tents,permeated by the smell of boiled reindeer meat and unwashed bodies, Sverdrupremoved his underwear in a competition with the skipper, Oscar Wisting, tosee which of them had accumulated the most lice. Being the expedition’s offi-cial scientist, he was often the butt of friendly banter, but the men allowedhim to retaliate to show he was one of the guys, too. ‘Your mother should seeyou now, Sverdrup!’ roared the good-natured Wisting. They wore themselvesout driving dog teams in howling snowstorms to take extensive magneticmeasurements. No opportunity must be lost to take observations from the thusfar unknown territory.

The following summer in 1921, the Maud’s propeller broke and she wasforced to sail down the stormy North Pacific to Seattle for repairs. In the U.S.A.,Sverdrup learned about the revolutionary progress that Bjerknes and his youngassistants had made in meteorology during the last three years. This startedSverdrup thinking. When Bjerknes had left Leipzig for Bergen in 1917, hehad made plans to establish an experimental weather-forecasting service, andhe had wanted Sverdrup to join him. Now, others had taken his place; Sverdrupdeeply regretted this development. In a state of torment, he privately admit-ted to Bjerknes that if he had had any clue about what was going to happenon the Maud expedition, he would never have signed on. All he could do nowwas to make the best of a bad situation. While they waited for the repairs tobe completed that winter, Sverdrup was able to spend time in Washington,D.C., at the Carnegie Institute’s Department of Terrestrial Magnetism. Thiswas where Amundsen had learned about advanced techniques in the measure-ment and analysis of the earth’s magnetic field. The express goal of the insti-tute was to chart the magnetic fields of the entire planet, and this no doubtled to Sverdrup being offered a position there. Here he analysed his provisionalmagnetic observations, borrowed infinitely superior instruments, and establisheda relationship with staff that would have far-reaching consequences for theircooperation in years to come.

Amundsen himself had had enough and decided to follow Nansen’sexample. He wanted to leave the ship and set off for the North Pole on hisown, but not with dogs, skis, and sleds. In Seattle he ordered fish, cheese, andjuice, but no huskies. Instead he asked for two ‘aeroplanes’. As the main heroof the ‘classical era’ in polar exploration, he now wanted to make the leap intoa completely new era.

When the Maud once again headed for Nome, Alaska, she was carrying twoplanes and two pilots, Odd Dahl and Oskar Omdal. In Nome, Amundsendivided the expedition in two. The large transport plane was loaded on boarda cargo ship bound for Point Barrow on the northern tip of Alaska. Amundsenand Omdal accompanied it. Wisting and Dahl remained on board the Maud


with the smaller reconnaissance plane.They allowed Maud to become iceboundabout ten nautical miles from Herald Island to start the drift across the NorthPole. Amundsen noted that the outcome of both projects was unpredictable,but added: ‘One thing is clear, if we succeed at both, then we will have accom-plished the greatest polar journey in history.’

After they had stayed the winter, the crew on the Maud started to build arunway for their little observation flights. Near Herald Island they stamped outthe irregularities in the ice. To make sure it was visible amidst all the white, darkstrips of cloth were placed along both sides of the runway. On May 28th, 1923,the crated Curtis plane was hoisted down onto the ice and assembled. Thenthey had to wait for suitable weather, and on June 5th they were ready for takeoff.It went well. Dahl and Wisting circled above the Maud. They noted that allthe contours of the flattened landing strip disappeared when seen from abovein the cold air; and this made landing more a matter of luck than of skill. Thisrepeated itself the next time, too. On the third attempt, on June 22nd, the skishit a puddle on the runway during takeoff, and the plane came to rest with itstail in the air. The pilots crawled unscathed out of the wreckage, but what awreck it was. After fourteen days of repair work, ‘completely without any spareparts’, Dahl was willing to take to the air again, assuming of course thatProvidence was with him. Unfortunately, this assumption was mistaken; andon July 16th, the plane crashed against the top of a pressure ridge. The under-carriage was forced up into the cockpit where Wisting was sitting; and had itbeen forced a few more centimetres, that would have been the end of him. Thepropeller had been splintered to bits. Wisting reported back to the expedition’sadministrative headquarters in Christiania; this time ‘the damage is too exten-sive and unable to be repaired; so the plan to conduct geographical researchfrom the air must be abandoned.’ It was obvious that the plane was unsuitedto making short observational trips from a mother ship during polar expedi-tions.

What about the flight across the North Pole?The larger plane, with Omdal and Amundsen, was supposed to fly from

Alaska over the North Pole and south to Svalbard. Assuming, of course, thatthe fuel lasted that long.

Aeronautical technology had made huge progress during World War I.Nevertheless, it was asking a lot to plan a flight of several thousand kilome-tres without the possibility of re-fueling and without being able to make a forcedlanding if necessary.

Amundsen was perfectly aware that aeronautical technology in 1923 wasnot really up to a flight clean across the Arctic to Svalbard, and that it was ahighly doubtful undertaking. So he loaded the plane with sleds and kayaksfor what he said would be the final part of the expedition, which would be from


the North Pole to Svalbard. Thus the last part of the expedition could be turnedinto a traditional polar expedition on ice.

Amundsen and Omdal unloaded their plane in the tiny village of Wainright,west of Point Barrow, in the autumn of 1922. They fixed the departure datefor June 20th,1923. On May 11th Omdal ran a test flight. The plane becameairborne, which in itself was no small feat, as it had been under wraps duringa long Arctic winter. But it was damaged during landing, although Omdal survi-ved. In his diary, Amundsen bemoaned the situation; ‘I do not have much hopefor this flying business; it all looks like a hodgege.’ That seemed to be con-firmed when the drive shaft broke during another attempt on June 10th. To topit all off, his financial supporter, Håkon Hammer, had more or less broughthim to the brink of ruin. And what was worse, the press turned against him.Aftenposten asked whether Amundsen had lost his nerve. Dagbladet called thelarge Junkers aeroplane that was to have taken him and Omdal to the North Polea suicide machine.The media maintained that the flight was a desperate attemptto cover up all the problems that had arisen with the Maud, and that expertshad always doubted that flying would work. Poet Arnulf Øverland waxed ironicabout the whole venture. Since Amundsen had discovered that it was cold atthe South Pole by taking scientific measurements with a thermometer, he nowwanted to find out if the North Pole was cold, too. The North Pole had alrea-dy been discovered, but there was no problem discovering it a second time.Amundsen had, after all, discovered the Treasury, and wanted a couple millionkroner from it. ‘Let’s therefore, yet again, for the seventh and last time, givehim money,’ wrote Øverland. ‘Let’s allocate a generous grant to him, with enoughfunds to buy a large refrigerator with a strong and solid lock on it. Put him init. And then let the old man enjoy the cold as much as he wants.’

But what about the Maud crew, and the ship’s drift across the Arctic Ocean?In September 1923, the men kept their spirits up by hoping they might driftto the north of Nansen’s route; but then the wind started to blow from the north.Day after day, they were helpless witnesses to the northerly winds that blewthe ice and the icebound Maud further and further south. They felt despair,great despair. Now, their route would in all likelihood be longer, and the scien-tific yield would be of less interest. A strong work ethic and a minimum ofmutual contact prevented them from sinking into a deep depression or experi-encing personal conflicts. No longer did Saturday evenings end with drinkinga toddy and singing ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ along with the gramophone.At last, in February 1924, Amundsen sent his men a wireless message askingthem to give up the Arctic crossing and come home. Or, at least, try to comehome. They were icebound; and if the ice to the south did not open up suffi-ciently during the summer to let them out, they might continue drifting foranother three or four years. They got out, and finally continued east along the


Sverdrup measuring the tides during the first winter in

Maudhavn. TheMaudwas a test of patience. Even though the

ship never reached the central Arctic ocean, the expedition

was very important for oceanography and polar geophysics.

coast. Once again, unusual ice conditions prevented them from reaching theBering Strait. Yet another long winter awaited them. Sverdrup started to ana-lyse the data he had collected, and wrote what was published later as Dynamicsof Tides on the North Siberian Shelf. In that work he proves, based in part onanalyses of tidal surveys, that there are no large land masses in the central Arctic.At last, on October 5th, 1925, the Maud reached Seattle and the expeditionwas concluded. Sverdrup remarked many times that the greatest achievementof the journey was the fact that the men parted as friends. He thankedAmundsen, ‘not only because you gave me the opportunity to work on subjectsthat interest me, but more because you helped me to become a man’.

Their return home was not marked with any kind of celebration or honours,and Sverdrup commented tersely: ‘From a popular point of view our trip wasobviously a failure. Personally, however, I do not feel at all depressed, as I thinkour scientific results are so numerous and so valuable, that the expedition willbe in the forefront of those polar expeditions which have enriched geophysi-cal science with new data.’

An aeroplane to the North Pole

The Maud fiasco led to a brutal change in public opinion. The newspapersmocked Amundsen. His rival, the pilot Trygve Gran, accused him of trustingtoo much in luck, rather than in the meticulous preparations for which hewas so famous. Proud though he was, the criticism did not paralyse him; onthe contrary.

By September 1923, he was working on a new plan to conquer the ArcticOcean and the North Pole. With Haakon Hammer once again as his guaran-tor, he ordered two, and later three, German Dornier-Wal sea planes, built onlicence in Italy as a result of the Versailles Treaty. Amundsen’s brother Leonrecruited pilots. Agreements were entered into with an American, three Italians,a journalist, a photographer, and the Norwegians Riiser-Larsen, Dietrichson,and Omdal. The latter men travelled to Italy to oversee the construction ofthe planes. Amundsen too went along with ‘publicity’ in mind. He metMussolini on April 7th, 1924.The anchor of the party was Hjalmar Riiser-Larsen (1890–1965). He hadgraduated from the Naval College, in the first class of pilots in 1915. Later inEngland, he had passed a supplementary exam that qualified him as an airshippilot; and he was responsible for teaching Leif Ragnar Dietrichson (1890–1928)the art of flying. Riiser-Larsen and Dietrichson had both been involved in the1923 flying venture in the Arctic; Riiser-Larsen as technical advisor andDietrichson as the pilot for the Svalbard party.


At this point, Leon warned against continuing their cooperation withHammer, which led to Amundsen breaking off communications with his ownbrother. Instead, Amundsen began cooperating with The NorwegianAeronautical Association. At the same time, he personally went bankrupt. Asfar as financing was concerned, things looked pretty doubtful; and it was unlike-ly that Norwegian aeronautic lobbyists were strong enough to put him on hisfeet and complete the purchase of the German sea planes. Both contracts withthe Doriner-Wal company and with personnel obviously were worth nothing.

Amundsen was deeply depressed when he left for the U.S.A. on a lecturetour to make some money. There he met Lincoln Ellsworth. That accidentchanged everything.

Lincoln Ellsworth (1880–1951) was 44 when he called on Amundsen inNew York. His posthumous reputation has not been good; and he was consi-dered a spoilt upper-class fellow without any particular skills as polar explor-er.The first part of his life was certainly carefree. His father was a hugely wealthymining millionaire, who had his own town (Ellsworth, Pennsylvania), had builtChicago’s first skyscraper, and owned a castle near Florence. The son neverrefused his father’s money, but he had carved out his own life. He was a quali-fied surveyor and had worked as an engineer on several railway constructionprojects in the Canadian and American wilderness. Ellsworth had taken partin a geological expedition to the Andes, and had been a member of a polarexpedition which was to find the mysterious Crocker Land between Alaska andGreenland. However, the expedition leader died before they got going, andCrocker Land was later proven never to have existed. He had lived withAmerican Indians, so he knew something about life in the wilderness.

In short, Ellsworth was the very prototype of the modern well-to-do man,20th century man. He was technologically orientated and an engineer. Yet, healso worshipped untouched nature: the romance and danger, the aboriginallife in the wild. He was both an urban sophisticate and a hardy outdoorsman,and he was impressed by and drawn to the masculine ideal. ‘I am a hero-worshipper’, he declared with honesty. He would certainly revere Amundsen.

On October 8th, 1924, Ellsworth called his Norwegian Polar hero and askedif he could join the North Pole operation at his own expense. He alleged thathe had made the same request to Amundsen in Paris during World War I, atwhich time he had served with the Allied air forces. Amundsen noted enthu-siastically about his new sponsor. ‘He is wonderful. His father is very rich, andcan easily pay for the whole shooting match.’

Ellsworth offered to pay $2,000 at once, to be allowed to join the polar flight,and hoped to raise more from his father’s resources. ‘Something might comeof this,’ Amundsen wrote optimistically. And although Ellsworth senior was notquite as ‘generous’ as his son, he nevertheless allowed himself to be persuaded


to let his son and heir take part in what might be considered a suicidal expedi-tion. He set a condition, though; first his son had to promise to stop smoking!With this condition alone, Amundsen was given $90,000 for the plannedexpedition.

Amundsen immediately instructed Riiser-Larsen to ‘expedite the purchaseof the two aeroplanes’. Amundsen did not concede when Ellsworth senior triedto wriggle out of the written agreement, or when Ellsworth junior hinted thata North Pole flight might be just a bit on the tough side. Amundsen raisedthe remainder of the money for the ‘forthcoming trans-polar flight’ fromSvalbard to Alaska in Norway. The sources, both public and private, includedpress contracts arranged with the assistance of the organisation that had takenhim under its wing, the Norwegian Aeronautical Association.

Norway had implemented the Svalbard Treaty just when the Amundsen-Ellsworth flight was about to set off. In August 1925, Svalbard becameNorwegian territory, which made it timely to arrange domestic financing forthe expedition. As Hammer, the businessman, had once said: national senti-ment ‘makes the money flow’. Amundsen did not fail to advertise that his inten-tion was to explore what he called ‘the Norwegian segment of the Arctic Ocean’.

Riiser-Larsen and Dietrichson were sent to Italy, again. As previously, Dornier-Wal was the preferred plane; it was tailor-made for polar flights. The under-carriage was constructed like a boat. But instead of the floats under the wings,the plane had additional short wings mounted on either side of the fuselage.These would neither fall off nor would they disintegrate if struck or duringan accident. In addition, the ‘Wal’ could land on its belly on land, ice, or snowwithout the wings breaking, should a float be knocked off. The fuselage wasmade of the light alloy called duraluminium. It was not only strong, but flexible;and a blow against the pack ice would not destroy it. Each plane was equip-ped with two 350 horsepower Rolls Royce engines that worked in tandem,one pulled and the other pushed. In order to make more room, they droppedthe radio, which according to Riiser-Larsen would allow for another 120 kilosof fuel, and which provided ‘a considerably greater amount of security’ than thewireless communications technology of the times. In those days, one couldnot securely locate an aeroplane from more than 160 kilometres away.

The Dornier planes were constructed for a crew of three: an observer, apilot, and an engineer. Therefore, in addition to Ellsworth, they needed onemore mechanic. Riiser-Larsen suggested ‘one of the two Germans from Pisa’,where the Dornier-Wal factory was located. No sooner said than done.

As so often in polar history, there were competitors. Riiser-Larsen knewabout four of them: a French expedition (Payer), an Icelandic solo pilot (GrotvirAlgarsson), and an American airship expedition. They were all planning flight


In the competition to reach the North Pole, several tried

to travelbyair.Thisdepiction is fromAndrée’s tragic 1897

expedition and is based on a photograph found in 1930.

expeditions to the North Pole. ‘How serious our competitors are I do not know,but because we must, and will be, the first, we must assume that they are seriouscontenders, and we must conduct ourselves accordingly.’

There was another reason to make haste. Prior to September 1927, 23men and three women had lost their lives trying to fly over the Atlantic andthe Pacific. Flying competitions were quite simply so dangerous that somecountries were thinking of banning them. In 1925, Amundsen had no timeto spare for his North Pole expedition.

On April 13th,1925, everything, including the planes, was ready in Ny-Ålesund on Svalbard, after a stormy passage from Tromsø. The 30-odd men whohad arrived in two ships fromTromsø included pilots, mechanics, meteorologists,and journalists. Tromsø pharmacist Fritz Zapffe, Amundsen’s greatest admirer,had been asked to develop the correct diet for the crew. In addition, he super-vised the complex logistics of the project. The meteorologists were responsiblefor picking the best time for takeoff. But it was the pilots’ job to decide wherethey were going.

Toward the end of April, Amundsen confessed to Dietrichson and Riiser-Larsen that he and Ellsworth had made a secret pact to fly one of the planes onwardfrom the Pole to Alaska instead of returning to Svalbard. ‘This plan,’ Amundsennoted in his diary, not without some bitterness, ‘met with absolute resistance fromRL, and to a certain extent also from D. The result was that I had to give up theidea.’ Apparently, he was not entirely in charge, as he had been during his previ-ous expeditions, but had become second in command after Riiser-Larsen.Thoughhe still wielded psychological power over his men, this incident demonstratesthe transformation of a polar expedition; the fact that Amundsen had to giveup his intention of moving the goal-posts in the middle of the game – as he haddone in 1910 when he set sail for the South Pole instead of the North Pole –from an individual’s struggle to a high-tech enterprise. The reason was quitesimple: ‘I cannot fly alone’, Amundsen said. He realised that.

On May 18th the two planes, N24 and N25, were fuelled and equippedfor 30 days, including equipment needed to get home or reach Greenland: sleds,kayaks, skis, etc., if they proved necessary. On May 21st, the meteorologists gavethe green light.The six men took their seats in the planes.They took off at 17:15hours.The destination was the North Pole, 1.200 kilometres due north. Aboardthe N25 were Roald Amundsen as navigator, Riiser-Larsen as pilot, and KarlFeucht as mechanic. The crew of the N24 were: Ellsworth as navigator,Dietrichson as pilot, and Omdal as mechanic.

During take-off, the N24 fuselage cracked. As Zapffe noted from theground, ‘It was not in Dietrichson’s nature to turn round. Daring to the end,he just accepted the crack and entrusted himself to fate.’


Great effort and resources were required to

assemble the two Dornier-Wal planes, theN 24

and N 25, in Ny-Ålesund.

For eight hours all went well. Half the fuel had been spent. According to allcalculations, they should be somewhere near the Pole. The N25, with Riiser-Larsen at the controls, prepared for landing in order to make accurate obser-vations. On the way down, one of the engines failed and ‘the whole situationchanged’, Amundsen noted. They had to make an emergency landing, and theyhad to make do with the nearest open channel, which was completely surround-ed by sharp pressure ridges. Down they went. Riiser-Larsen was ‘cold as ice,untouched’, Amundsen wrote with a combination of horror and respect.

The N24 followed them down. Dietrichsen landed a few kilometres awayfrom Riiser-Larsen, and with a damaged plane after the rough take-off.

The men on the N25 calculated their position: 87° 44’ N and 10° 20’ W,which was about 250 kilometres from the Pole. It was not much comfort thatonly Peary had been closer. It now took several days to contact the N24, andalthough the physical distance between them was small, a reunion could notbe taken for granted. The temperature was –15° C and, unfortunately, rising.That meant slush, which could be fatal, if the men wanted to move. Evenwithout slush, it was immensely tiring to climb over pressure ridges, carry afull load, paddle over open leads, and struggle through half-melted ice. At onepoint Dietrichson and Omdal nearly drowned. Ellsworth demonstrated hiscourage by hauling them up out of the icy water. It took five days to reachtheir colleagues on N25, exhausted and partly snow-blind.

A period of gruelling physical work and mental effort now followed, as themen attempted to pull the N25 up out of the water and over the huge pressureridges. There was a constant danger that the ice would damage the Dornierfuselage, and force them to start walking, which would certainly lead to death.They started to build a runway on the ice, ‘an Arctic road’ as Ellsworth called it;it was made of ice and snow rather than gravel and cement, and wide enough tohandle a plane with a 20-metre wingspan. They only had fragile wooden shovels,knives in sheathes, and ski poles. But the ice was constantly moving, and everyday they more or less started from scratch, patching over or circumventing newleads. It was Sisyphean labour. It mercilessly drained their energy, which theyhad insufficient nourishment to replace. Nevertheless, Amundsen cut rations,thinking that their stay in the icy wilderness might be of long duration.

Amundsen organised life in the midst of this hopelessness according tonormal polar-expedition procedures. The first commandment was to observea fixed routine. He divided the days and nights into shifts – working shifts,eating breaks, smoking breaks, rest and reveille. But they were on the absolutefrontiers of life itself; they never even saw a seal. The regular routines couldhardly prevent them from seeing how hopeless the situation was. Silent, stalwartRiiser-Larsen was aware of it: ‘I do not want to die here.’ The men were declin-ing rapidly into depression, dejection, and apathy.


It appears as if the German mechanic, Feucht, was the first to succumb toblack despair, a melancholy that persevered even after they had reached safety.Feucht had experienced the worst horrors as a pilot during World War I, andcertainly did not lack courage; and his breakdown caused a chain reaction ofpanic-like aggression.

Amundsen was furious when Feucht spilt a bit of tobacco on the ice duringa smoking break. He told Ellsworth that Feucht had done it to irritate the others.Ellsworth himself said that it ‘got on his nerves’ that Feucht wasted a few bis-cuit crumbs; and that he rejoiced when he was given more to eat than Feuchtbecause the latter could not or would not follow the prescribed ritual, whichwas to catch the crumbs in one’s hand and then lick them up, so that not a singlelife-giving milligram would be wasted. Many years later, when Ellsworth wrotehis memoirs, it irritated him exceedingly to think that Feucht, in his depressedcondition, had not even noticed his comrades’ demonstrative crumb-licking.Neither could Ellsworth forget that he, too, had brought the others’ wrath downupon himself. Amundsen snapped at him one morning: ‘Why do you sigh soin your sleep, Ellsworth? You keep me awake.’ Ellsworth was speechless with


A hopeless situation at 87°43’N. One plane has been destroyed. The other works, but there is

no runway.

shame. In 1925, the masculine façade of stoic calm and self-control was aboutto disintegrate at 87° N.

At the end of May they set themselves a June 15th deadline. On that day itwould be up to each individual to try and make his way out on foot and bykayak, or await a possible rescue mission. Realistically, the expedition was moreor less a a lost cause. Then there was a turning point for the better.

The men were tired, hungry, and so mentally exhausted that they just stood andstared at their Arctic runway, which the ice would most certainly break up thefollowing night. Then, on June 11th, Omdal got the idea that it would be easierfor them to trample a runway flat, rather than to kill themselves trying to movesnow and ice around by hand. ‘After lunch we started our huge tramplingproject. Step by step, the track was stamped so that the soft, wet snow turnedinto a compact base.’

On June 15th, the day of their deadline, the runway was declared finished.The crewmen from the two planes squeezed into one, the N25. A few metresaway from the plane, a crack appeared that might break up the ice at anymoment. Two hundred metres further along, there was a fissure two feet wideand filled with ice and slush. The floe they were setting off from ended in athree-meter-wide lead, which could also stop all plans. On the other hand,the runway was 500 metres long, and should work.

Riiser-Larsen started the engines at 10:30 a.m. The plane shook andshuddered. Roald Amundsen could not hold back a squeal of excitement andlater noted in his diary: ‘It was as though the N25 understood the situation.’They were airborne; they reached the north coast of Svalbard. A polar sea vesselpassed by. The skipper, Nils Nilsen, had withdrawn to his cabin when he heardfirst harpooner Henrik Nilsa, ‘who invoked this power and that power be-cause there was some sort of devilry afoot’. They spotted something indeter-minable. Nilsen thought it must be an aeroplane, but an Italian one; because‘they were so black’. Then he recognised Amundsen’s hawk nose.

The N25 was transported to Horten on the Oslo Fjord; it had become anational treasure. It was included in the enormous national festivities thatcelebrated the miraculous homecoming of these North Pole explorers. Thenewspaper Tidens Tegn greeted them with the admission: ‘And if we felt person-al anxiety for one of our country’s greatest sons and his young companions, menwe care about, then our joy today is mixed with national pride. Once againNorway’s name and honour are being broadcast around the world.’

They had not reached the North Pole, but they had flown further norththan anyone else. On the basis of visual and hydrologic observations, they couldverify Nansen’s estimates from 1907, presented at the Royal Geographic Societyin London, that there was no land between the North Pole and Svalbard. The


effort required to finally get the N25 airborne proved two things. Aeronauticaltechnology was fit for use in these inhospitable regions; and the era of the classic-al polar virtues of muscle power and imagination was not yet over.

The experts, however, were not at all impressed with Amundsen’s latesttriumph. The Geographical Journal described the polar flight to 87° N as theresult of courage and good mechanical support. But above all the journey was‘a story of astonishingly good fortune’. The plane had proven unsuitable for usein ‘polar regions’, because getting the plane airborne again once it had landedwas so risky. The main conclusion quarters was that ‘it gives little encourage-ment to Arctic explorers to repeat the adventure’. In other words, this timeBritish geographic scientists did not consider Roald Amundsen’s expeditionto be serious. Because in science, miracles don’t count.

The airship Norge

Soon after the fiasco of 1925, Dornier-Wal offered to provide a huge plane tobe used in a new attempt. But two failed flights were enough. Not thatAmundsen had shelved his plan to reach the North Pole by air. Even duringtheir forced interval on the ice in 1925, Amundsen’s main sponsor, Ellsworth,and his aeronautical advisor, Riiser-Larsen, had given him the go-ahead foranother try, but this time with a dirigible, instead of a plane, starting fromSvalbard and landing in Alaska. After their 1925 rescue, the only question waswhich airship manufacturer they should choose.

The choice was between two nations and two men: the talented Italianengineer Colonel Umberto Nobile (1885–1987) and the German CountZeppelin (1838–1917). Zeppelin was the most prominent European name in thefield. He had developed a large airship which became the only commerciallyviable form of dirigible. On the other hand, Nobile had constructed an airshipwhich had considerable advantages in a polar context.

The Zeppelins consisted of balloons lying on their sides and kept in placeby a rigid aluminium cover. Nobile’s airships had aluminium shells only at theends, and they were semi-rigid. Nobile had reached the conclusion that alumi-nium airships were more vulnerable to damage and accidents under low pres-sure, and more sensitive to strong gusts of wind, than were semi-rigid airships.The rigid airships would be destroyed in bad weather; while the semi-rigid oneswould be thrown about, but would not sustain serious damage. That represent-ed a major advantage, considering the constantly shifting weather in the polarareas.

Then there was the price. An Italian airship cost two million kroner. AGerman Zeppelin was not available for less than ten million kroner. In real


terms, the price of the Italian ship was even lower. Like Dornier-Wal, Nobilehad both commercial and technological motives for placing his airship atAmundsen’s disposal. His first airship had crashed in the U.S.A. in 1922. Hissecond one, the N1, had not been a success either, when Amundsen came askingto buy it. Mussolini, of course, was also pleased by Amundsen’s interest in flyingan Italian airship over the North Pole and across to Alaska.

Following negotiations, the price for the N1 was set at $75,000 plus a salaryof $10,000 for the pilot, and an option for Italy to buy the airship back at aprice of $36,000 if it returned undamaged. To cap it all off, Nobile himself,the designer of the vessel, would take part in the journey.

The total cost of the airship journey, with crew, mooring masts, and hangars,would be many times that sum. But then Ellsworth’s father died in 1925, leavingEllsworth junior as the sole heir of his vast mining fortune.

During secret negotiations in Oslo, which the former Christiania was nowcalled, it was decided that Nobile would provide half the crew. The other halfwould be Norwegian.

The journey would take place in May 1926. During intricate negotiationsinvolving the Norwegian Aeronautical Association, Nobile, and Mussolini, itwas agreed that the Aeronautical Association would handle the administrativeand financial part of the expedition if Ellsworth would supply $90,000, a sumlater increased to $100,000.The remaining funds were obtained mainly throughpress contracts. The airship was to fly under the Norwegian flag and was tobe named Norge. The agreement was signed on September 9th.

The national posturing on behalf of all the signatories during the negoti-ations seems to have been very noticeable. During the hand-over ceremonyon March 29th, 1926, the Italians demanded that Nobile’s name be part of theofficial expedition title: ‘for political reasons’, as the Aeronautical Association’snegotiator Rolf Thommessen said. Amundsen does not seem to have takenmuch interest in this detail. Ellsworth therefore agreed that the official namewould be the ‘Amundsen-Ellsworth-Nobile Transpolar Flight’.

Amundsen suddenly started to make waves. He accused Ellsworth of beingasleep during the final phase of the negotiations, and of giving in to the Italians’demand. Amundsen flared up, so much so that Ellsworth took refuge in hishotel room. He was so upset with Amundsen’s outburst that he appears tohave been on the brink of collapse. It is interesting to note that the personalexplosions between Amundsen and Nobile, for which the Norge journey becameso notorious, did not cause nearly as many problems as the outbursts of furyto which Ellsworth was subjected during preparations.

Nobile limited the number of crew members to 16. In principle, there weretwo parties, the Norwegians and the Italians, all of whom agreed to a 50–50national division. Further discussions became difficult because the participa-


tion of three of the men, Amundsen, Ellsworth, and Nobile, was not up fordebate. Moreover, of the remaining 13 spots, one went to a Swedish meteoro-logist, Finn Malmberg, an expert whose nationality was not taken into account.The 12 other spots were divided between Italian and Norwegian experts, withItalians filling most of the mechanical and operating positions, and Norwegianshaving the navigation, telegraph, and communications jobs, including publicrelations. The journalist Fredrik Ramm was hired to send copy to the newssyndicates, thereby securing much of the financing. Omdal, Riiser-Larsen,and Wisting were natural Norwegian candidates by virtue of their competenceand experience on Amundsen’s previous expeditions. Wisting had not takenpart in the 1925 flight, but that was because he had then still been iceboundon the Maud. When Amundsen asked him to fill the position of helmsmanon the airship Norge, he did not hesitate for a moment, but decided to joinAmundsen rather than return to his family in Norway.

But one man did not accompany the airship Norge in 1926, despite havingbeen asked, and despite his love of adventure and especially of flying. Thatwas Dietrichson. He declined because of ‘family matters’. The excuse mightsound plausible, but is not credible.

The real reason why Dietrichson was not part of the expedition was probab-ly due to his professional indignation. As a professional expert, he was shockedto hear that the millionaire tourist Ellsworth had been named as ‘leader of thescientific work and navigator’. Dietrichson, with his professional pride, wouldnot approve of that kind of amateurishness.The situation did not improve whenEllsworth took a lightning course in navigation at the Oslo Nautical Academyin the spring of 1926, getting full press coverage for his studies. Dietrichson,with his consummate aviation skills and extensive aeronautical education andexperience, was offended at the thought of being placed alongside an unqua-lified adventurer, even though, and maybe because, Ellsworth had been calleda navigator during the flight the year before.

Amundsen’s response to Dietrichson’s ‘no’ was to call him stubborn. ‘It issimply unseemly that he is beginning to criticise decisions that have been takenby the Aeronautical Association. If he does, he is useless. Discipline is the onething that matters above all else.’ This is how Amundsen summarised the tradi-tional power structure in polar exploration. As in the case of Hjalmar Johansenduring the South Pole expedition fifteen years earlier, Amundsen’s exercise ofleadership was based on hierarchy, subordination, and superior rank, notprimarily on knowledge and qualifications. This old natural order had beenchallenged by a new concept of command structure during these years, one thatwas based on an ability to understand technology. Muscle power had beensupplanted by motor power. This was why Dietrichson and Riiser-Larsen hadsquelched Amundsen’s and Ellsworth’s dreams of flying the N24 and N25 to


Alaska in 1925. And this was probably why Dietrichson rejected the offer of anew adventure in 1926, because it would require him to bow to an archaic despotwith unlimited power to hire and fire at will. Dietrichson’s ‘no’ in 1926 was, deepdown, a warning that the kind of manhood symbolised by Amundsen, whichwas a manhood based on a wielding of total power and not on competence,was on its way out. Expeditions had become technological projects that wereimpossible for one man to control. Authority no longer relied solely on physi-cal and psychological skills, but more on intellectual and technological ones.

The flight across the North Pole in the airship Norge was a large-scale project.It was a technical system, as technology historians would characterize the expedi-tion. It involved technological interfacing between men and various areas ofexpertise: technicians, pilots, meteorologists, and not least of all the world press,which helped finance the whole thing. No expedition members were indis-pensable, because they could be replaced by people with similar skills. The scaleof the project was so large that no single person could take it all in.

The system included Nobile’s factories in Rome. There the luxury airshipN1 was rebuilt. It was stripped of cabins and galleys and equipped with modernnavigational and communications systems. Amundsen’s confidante Riiser-Larsen and the other Norwegian crewmen were in Rome, where they weretaught to master the specialised technology which was built into the airship.Oscar Wisting and the pilot Emil Horgen were trained in helmsman techni-ques; Birger Gottwaldt perfected his radio skills. Oskar Omdal learnt engine-ering, and was placed under the supervision of chief engineer Natale Cecioni,along with two other Italian engineers, an arrangement which caused noproblems at all.

Ellsworth and Amundsen boarded the airship when it arrived in Ny-Ålesund.They joined an expedition where everything was already prepared. All of it hadbeen arranged by the experts when the enormous airship sailed into Kongsfjordenon May 7th, following a perfect flight across Europe under Nobile’s command.

Norge was 348 feet long; its gas containers carried 672,000 cubic feet ofliquid hydrogen, and it was fitted out with three German Maybach propul-sion engines, with a capacity of 230 horsepower apiece. The ship required ahangar and mooring masts in Ny-Ålesund, in addition to mooring masts inOslo and Vadsø, where the ship had made stopovers. It had landed in thosecities, according to a route across Europe determined by the availability ofsuch landing facilities. ‘If I should take my hat off to anyone,’ wrote Riiser-Larsen, ‘it is the guys who built the hangar in Kings Bay during the winter of1925–26.’ Riiser-Larsen was not a man to doff his hat to just anyone.

The Norwegian Aeronautical Association had hired one of the capital’smaster builders, Ferdinand Arild, to build the hangar on Svalbard in August


The Polar expedition had become a technical project. Seamen

and skierswere replacedby an armyof technicians andground

crew. The Norge just before its departure from Ny-Ålesund on

May 11th, 1926.

1925. Arild was an experienced contractor with one particular merit in hisportfolio; he had Arctic experience. Setting to work, he employed 20 construc-tion workers, ordered eleven tons of fittings and bolts, acquired large quanti-ties of coarse timber from Sweden (still standing when ordered), supportingbeams from Hamburg, and containers of magnesium so that pictures couldbe taken and developed during the dark winter months, and then sold tonewspapers, of course. This was just some of the equipment that had to beordered and transported to Svalbard before the ice set in. Everything was inplace on October 22nd, 1925, and the construction work could begin.

The manager of the coal company on Svalbard shook his head when he sawArild’s workmen: ‘One does not build on Spitsbergen in the winter.’ It was a majorjob just to pull the power lines from the aggregate at the pithead and to the hugesearchlights. It was even harder to handle frozen timber at a height of 30 meterson slippery scaffolding in the cold, dark and wind, or to level the hangar areawithout machinery, and on a 300-meter thick layer of earth. On January 19th,however, the outer walls of the hangar was raised to full height. On February13th, the hall was completed; it was 110 metres long, 30 metres high, 35 metresbroad; and the work had been completed without a single accident.

On April 21st, Amundsen arrived with his close colleagues, Ellsworth andZapffe. As in the previous year, Zapffe was in charge of provisions; he immedi-ately took over as operating manager of the base, with a direct line to the bosshimself, as Roald Amundsen was called. A few days later, the naval commandovessel Heimdal arrived. The government had placed the vessel at the disposalof the expedition, to use as a base. Twenty Italian special workers were on board.

Then suddenly, if not entirely unexpectedly, on April 29th the old Americansteamer Chantier turned up in Kongsfjord with the Fokker Josephine Ford,together with pilots Richard E Byrd and Floyd Bennett.

Byrd and Bennett came to Ny-Ålesund to complete what Amundsen hadattempted in 1925: to fly to the North Pole. This did not come as a shock.Amundsen and Byrd had discussed the plans the previous autumn. Amundsenhad put up a brave front. He had said that his goal in 1926 was to fly theairship over the North Pole and all the way to Alaska. He did not regard theAmericans as rivals, at least that is what he said when they arrived at his base,and for this reason he told his colleagues to assist Byrd and Bennett if needed.At least, that is the official version of the story.

But was it really like that?Amundsen’s reserve technician, Bernt Balchen (1899–1973), wrote clearly

and emphatically in his autobiography that the atmosphere between the twoAmericans, Byrd and Ellsworth, was very cool when they met at Svalbard in 1925.‘They are polite, of course, but there is no warmth between them.’ And of course


it irritated the Norwegian-American-Italian expedition members to be visitedby people who were, at the very least, a disruptive factor, if not outright rivals.

Supply officer Zapffe noted in his diary that Byrd’s arrival was met in theNorwegian camp not only with irritation but with shock. Byrd was activelyopposed by the Norwegian camp. The base ship Heimdal did all it could toprevent the American ship from coming alongside the quay. Norwegian expedi-tion members who tried to help Byrd were abused, and to a certain extent ostra-cised by their fellow countrymen in the little polar community.

Zapffe emphasized with indignation in his diary that Balchen had askedthe expedition sail-maker to help with repairs to the American plane, referringto Amundsen’s approval and the promised offer of payment as well. Balchenmade a claim to Arild that were was an agreement about cooperation betweenthe two expeditions. Amundsen brushed this aside as nonsense when Zapffeconfronted him with it. Zapffe then refers to rumours in the Norwegian campthat Balchen had made a deal to go ‘to the other side’. And ‘there are rumblingsin the camp about all sorts of things, but I honestly hope that no Norwegianhas accepted any Judas’ money …’ to help them get their plane in the air.

On May 9th at 6:00 a.m., Byrd and his pilot Bennett took off. Late thesame night, they returned from the North Pole. Amundsen kissed them, accom-panied by ‘the crowd’s enthusiastic hurrah’s’ and the Heimdal ship orchestra.Within 25 minutes, journalist Arnesen launched the theory that Byrd andBennett could not have managed to fly round trip to the North Pole in the timethat they claimed to have used.

Bernt Balchen joined the Americans on their return to the U.S.A., afterAmundsen left on Norge without his reserve technician. In the U.S.A., Balchenhad a brilliant career as a pilot. During the last half of the 1940s, he contribu-ted to the development of Norwegian aviation before returning to the UnitedStates. But he never forgot Amundsen.

Thirty-two years after the Norge expedition, in 1958, Balchen wrote, in aprivate letter, that Byrd’s record attempt in 1926 had been ‘a hoax’. Bennett hadtold him so, as early as in 1928 when the two were flying together in the U.S.A.In 1971, he went public with calculations which indicated that the JosephineFord could not have flown to the North Pole, given the time allowed and thecruising speed of a Fokker. In 1960, the Swedish polar expert Gösta Liljequisthad already made calculations and reached the same conclusion.

Over the Pole in a storm

On May 11th, 1926, at 8:35 a.m., 16 aeronauts boarded the airship Norge. Anhour later it floated elegantly out of the hangar. Fifty men, including the crew


on the Heimdal and the journalists and photographers present, helped withthe ropes. At 10:00 a.m. the airship headed for Cape Mitra at the approachto the Kongsfjord, escorted by Byrd’s tiny Fokker. It is ‘a wonderful sight’,telegraphed the journalist Arnesen to Aftenposten, ‘accompanied by deafeninghurrahs from the over 100 spectators.’

The first part of the trip, to the North Pole, over the Arctic Ocean, and tolandfall on the north coast of Alaska, was not dramatic; it bordered on boring,‘just ice, ice, and more ice’. Horgen and Wisting were working, respectively, theside and height rudders. Riiser-Larsen made observations pertaining to driftand speed and calculated the heading. Malmgren conducted meteorologicalobservations. Journalist Ramm wrote telegrams to the New York Times, theexpedition’s most important international sponsor. Radio telegraph operatorsGottwaldt and Storm-Johnsen were working at the wireless. News went out,and weather forecasts came in. Umberto Nobile wandered back and forth inthe captain’s cabin, correcting the course, keeping a lookout, and giving orders.

Further aft, in the airship’s three engine gondolas, Omdal worked with theItalian mechanics and riggers. Their ability to keep their balance while walkingbetween the gondolas and inside or outside the airship, and sometimes evenup on the slippery roof, was an example of first-class circus artistry. It was abso-lutely necessary.The expedition’s most imminent danger was icing; the steel wiresand the slight hawsers that held the ship’s cover in place over the gas bags weresusceptible to icing. If a piece of ice hit one of the gas containers and pierced ahole in it, they were finished; and they all knew that. ‘The situation was horrible,’Riiser-Larsen remembered 30 years later. ‘I will never forget the bangs.’

Other dangers lurked, too. They had to wear shoes with rubber soles toavoid sparks. Gas bags stored onboard the ship were filled with hydrogen. Whenat one point during the flight Nobile had ascended too high, there was dangerof sunshine driving the temperature up to a fatal level. Riiser-Larsen was alleged-ly obliged to snatch the helm out of his hands, and force the ship down.

According to his own statements, Amundsen played a minor role. He ‘sitson one of the two aluminium water tanks in the captain’s cabin. He is mostlyoccupied with quietly staring out of the window and studying the ice condi-tions, which are constantly changing. His look is far-off and dream-like.’Amundsen’s official job was to search for new land. Prime Minister Lykke hadauthorised him to take possession of any new land in the name of King Haakon.The likelihood of finding anything but ice-covered sea was small, andAmundsen certainly knew that as he installed himself at the water tank in Norge.Nevertheless, he declared to the press before the expeditions: ‘We are not expect-ing to find such a colony.’ But he cunningly added that maybe, just maybe,an isolated colony of humans might appear beyond the ice barrier. That wouldno doubt have been the most ‘dramatic and extraordinary discovery in the histo-


ry of mankind’. Amundsen was concerned with the grand, the unexpected,the completely incomprehensible; in short, whatever might increase the expedi-tion’s news value and thus pry open the sponsors’ wallets.

On May 12th at 1:25 a.m., in quiet weather and under a midnight sun,the Norge passed over the geographical North Pole. It descended to threehundred metres. The men threw down a Norwegian, an American, and anItalian flag, plus a lot of little Italian town pennants. Amundsen ‘looked mestraight in the eye and without a word shook my hand’, Wisting later wrote.Amundsen added: ‘Nothing was said, it was not necessary.’ Only the two ofthem had been to both Poles.

For about an hour they circled the Pole and photographed the frozen land-scape. Then, at 4:30 a.m., they set off southward, this time along the 157th

westerly meridian, headed directly for Point Barrow, Alaska.Fog arrived in ice-cold blasts. The crewmen were freezing. Riiser-Larsen

tried to thaw some frozen sandwiches in his pocket. The wireless antenna hadbeen turned into a 450-foot-long icicle. They lost contact with the outsideworld. Aftenposten subscribers could read that the airship had been spotted nearPoint Barrow, but had immediately disappeared. Either the expedition had beenlost, or Amundsen had been acting like he did before; and was continuing ona new journey of exploration, for instance to Wrangel Island, ‘having seen howeasy it had been to reach the Pole’. The New York Times, however, expressedconcern. ‘No Word From Norge, Missing Two Days. May Be Adrift In PolarStorm Off Alaska. Byrd Prepares For A Search By Airplane.’ In other words:Situation normal; Amundsen had disappeared; international alarm; rescuemission being organised. And then he turned up again.

The airship crew spotted land on May 13th, at 6:50 a.m. Svalbard time,47 hours after departing Ny-Ålesund. The ship had flown more than 3,200kilometres. Now, the nightmare began.

The plan was to manoeuvre the airship from Point Barrow, just south overthe Endicott Mountains, southeast towards Kotzebue Bay and the SewardPeninsula to Nome. That was not possible. The Brooks Range was envelopedin thick mist, and they were forced to follow the coastline southeast of PointBarrow. Then they lost direction at the very same time that a violent storm blewin from the northeast. The airship was hurled over to the Russian coast. ‘Likea cork, we were thrown up and down by the violent wind and sometimes theNorge drifted down the Bering Strait.’ They struggled eastwards again andsighted the small town of Teller, 88 kilometres from Nome, at 5:30 p.m. onMay 14th Svalbard time. That was 72 hours after departure from Ny-Ålesund,and 5,456 kilometres away. They were hauled down by petrified inhabitants,which was a tremendous feat. Landing a motorised airship without the assis-tance of a well-coordinated ground crew had never before been attempted.


This was the first flight ever from Europe to America by way of the NorthPole. It was a triumph for the builder of the airship. For the man behind theenterprise, Amundsen, it was a triumph to be able to proclaim with absolutecertainty that there were no land masses north of Svalbard and Alaska. Notwithstanding strong theories of the absence of land in the polar basin, untilthen, this matter had been subject to speculation. However, from this momenton, it was a fact that Amundsen had had the honour of discovering the empti-ness of the High Arctic.

There was another triumph; all the expedition members were unhurt. Buttheir solidarity was blown to pieces as soon as the journey was over.

First, Amundsen and Nobile broke into an ugly, public quarrel regarding whowas responsible for the good results. Then Amundsen terminated his strongfriendship with Riiser-Larsen. Finally, Amundsen broke off contact with theNorwegian Aeronautical Association, which had been his greatest support. In theend, he had alienated himself from the polar pilot and aeronautical community.

Amundsen’s last journey

After the 1926 Norge flight, Amundsen announced that he was too old to makeany more polar journeys. He said solemnly that he would leave the arena to theyounger generation. He added chivalrously that he would always be ready tohelp if needed. But he had turned fifty, and it was showing. In March 1928, hehad a tumour removed from one of his thighs and in April he underwent radiumtreatment. That ‘killed all the matter’, he wrote manfully to his sister-in-law.

In addition to his physical worries, some observers added that his mentalcondition was not entirely healthy either. His break with the NorwegianAeronautical Association was typical. The Association’s sober-minded account-ant, the banker Per Skjoldborg, had to travel out to Svartskog, Amundsen’s homeoutside Oslo, to explain to him his financial obligations. ‘He was angry withGod and humanity at one moment, and the next he was all smiles. His moodchanged more often than the weather. I do not have him pegged.’

What was worse, he irritated his international supporters. In his angryautobiography, he calls the community of British polar explorers ‘bad losers’.The Norwegian ambassador in London had to ask former ambasssador Nansenfor diplomatic assistance. Nansen wrote in a supposedly private letter to the vicepresident of the Royal Geographical Society that Amundsen ‘has lost his bal-ance and is no longer entirely responsible for his actions’.

It is difficult to say whether Nansen was right in his layman’s diagnosis,or whether Amundsen was just bad-tempered and selfishly looking after hisown reputation.


When, however, Amundsen’s fury shifted from Nobile to the AeronauticalAssociation’s Rolf Thommessen, the latter wrote in a legal document relatingto a lawsuit: that Nobile’s failure to join Amundsen as co-author of the official1926 expedition book ‘shows quite clearly that the clash was a battle of honour,a conflict which no contract could prevent’.

Probably that diagnosis cut to the core of the conflicts that characterisedAmundsen’s relations to his surroundings during his last years. Possibly his concernwith his honour even decided his last leap to fame and – almost – immortality.

The last chapter of the Amundsen saga started with the arrival of AustralianHubert Wilkins and American Carl Ben Eielson in Oslo during May of 1928,after their record flight from Alaska to Spitsbergen. As they passed throughthe Norwegian capital, they were cheered at a grand luncheon hosted by theNorwegian aeronautical community. During this lunch, Minister of DefenseAnderssen-Rysst telephoned and asked for a meeting. Nobile had disappearedin his airship, probably somewhere over Norwegian territory. He was back inSvalbard that spring to undertake an Italian airship expedition to the NorthPole in an airship that was now called the Italia. On behalf of his government,Italian Minister Count Senni had already requested Norwegian assistance. Thisis when Amundsen made his famous response: ‘right away’.

That evening, May 26th, Amundsen, Otto Sverdrup, Gunnar Isachsen,and Riiser-Larsen met with the Minister of Defence. Riiser-Larsen was orderedto work out a rescue plan. He recommended that the Italians get hold of twoDornier-Wal seaplanes. Amundsen could board and take command of one ofthem when it made a stopover in Norway. One of the Navy’s Hansa Brander-burger reconnaissance planes must be sent up north to pilot rescue boats asfar into the ice as possible. As a safety measure, it was determined that a requestshould be made for the Russian icebreaker the Krassin to be put at the disposalof Otto Sverdrup, who had previous experience with a Russian rescue mission.The government agreed to the plan. The Navy ordered Finn Lützow-Holm andmechanic Svein Myhre to head north on May 27th. Of course, the conditionwas that the Dornier-Wals’ would follow. If not, there was a major possibility,an ‘ominously big’ possibility, that Lützow-Holm’s rescue mission would endin a tragedy, if he and Myhre or one of them were to suffer a minor or majoraccident during the solo flight in the deserted polar regions.

The Dornier-Wal planes never materialised. The Italian Government rejec-ted the Norwegian rescue plan; they would not agree to Amundsen takingcommand. Mussolini did not want an Italian polar expedition to be saved bya Norwegian, at least not by Amundsen. Riiser-Larsen was probably correctwhen he wrote in his memoirs that ‘Mussolini prefers a glorious death to amiserable homecoming’. However, the Daily Telegraph wrote: ‘The entireNorwegian press agrees that it is the duty of Norway to continue to look for


the Italians, even if the Italian government refuses to accept Norwegian assist-ance.’ As usual, the world press followed the story with hawk-eyes. Norwaywas just as eager to get on with the job as Italy was to avoid it. On all sides,including Amundsen’s, it certainly first and foremost was a question of honour– of masculine honour.

On May 30th, the government decided to send Riiser-Larsen up north alongwith his mechanic, Jarl Bastøe, in order to accompany Lützow-Holm. It wasabout time. When Riiser-Larsen arrived in his plane in Ny-Ålesund on June 7th,Lützow-Holm was missing. ‘I asked the District Governor not to inform thegovernment, as a telegram would leak out and cause grief to the families ofLützow-Holm and Myhre’, Riiser-Larsen reported rather coolly a few days later.At that point he could afford to be tough. Lützow-Holm had run out of petrol.It was nothing unusual, but nevertheless particularly dangerous at 80° N.

In the meantime, Amundsen was twiddling his thumbs and watching hisformer colleagues taking part in a rescue mission which in time grew into aworld spectacle. Peter Wessel Zapffe wrote in 1957: ‘A tide of journalists andphotographers surged northwards from the large metropolis where the printingpressed waited like insatiable monsters of steel, hissing with impatience.’Amundsen felt betrayed by the Norwegian government; by Riiser-Larsen, whohad gone to Svalbard to help his colleague Lützow-Holm; and lastly, and whatprobably hurt most, by Nansen. According to press reports, Nansen was alsobusying himself with rescue plans right in the middle of the international mediastorm. The end result was yet another competition, a free-for-all to come toNobile’s rescue, whether Mussolini wanted it or not.

Amundsen contacted Leif Dietrichson. Dietrichson agreed to his plan toput together an aeroplane expedition to find Nobile. Ellsworth had no part init this time, which might have swayed Dietrichson, although it would meanmoney problems. That bit took some time, though it was solved in about thesame manner as when Ellsworth had turned up, or rather telephoned him inNew York in 1925. The manager of the Norwegian-French Chamber ofCommerce in Paris, Fredrik Peterson, offered money for a plane. Minister WedelJarlsberg established contact with the appropriate French authorities, and afew days later the seaplane the Latham 47 landed in Bergen with a Frenchcrew. Amundsen and Dietrichson climbed aboard.

At 4 p.m. on June 18th, they took off from Tromsø, set a course south toMalangen, and from there travelled northwest out over the Arctic at Hekking.About 60 nautical miles west of the coast of Troms County, the plane was ob-served by fishermen, headed north-northwest. At 6:45 p.m., Ingøy Radio inter-cepted Amundsen’s voice, asking for information about ice conditions onBjørnøya. At 7:25 p.m., the plane was called by Bjørnøya Radio, but contactwas not established. On June 20th, journalist Odd Arnesen dispatched a telegram


saying that people at the rescue mission headquarters in Ny-Ålesund weregetting worried, ‘but we who know Amundsen and his ways, and hope andbelieve that he has a surprise for us all, and that in one of the next few days therewill be a solution to the mystery’.

This time, however, there was no solution, no mystery. No one ever heardanother word from the Latham.

The poster for Roald Amundsen’s memorial fund. The purpose of the fund was to support

projects that were related to Amundsen’s lifelong work, including Arctic and Antarctic research.

One July day in 1907, the Norwegian geologist Adolf Hoel (1879–1964) stoodon the deck of the French yacht Princesse Alice while it made its way upKongsfjordrenna (the Kongsfjord shelf trench) on the northwest coast ofSpitsbergen. He described his first glimpse of Svalbard in his field diary entryfor July 23: ‘Finally spotted land 7.30. It was Vogelhoek and Cape Mitra. Onlythe top of the latter could be seen jutting out over the foggy sea. We finallyanchored at 10 just beyond the tip of the headland. Wonderful evening withmidnight sun for the first time. Beautiful drift ice spotted.’

Hoel’s first sighting of land became a reminder that this was not Norwegianterritory. Vogelhoek, the northern tip of the island, Prince Karl’s Forland, wasnamed by the Dutchman Barentsz in 1596, and Cape Mitra was christened bythe Englishman Scoresby in 1818. This area of Svalbard hardly bore a place namethat suggested Norwegians had ever set foot there. However, when the French-Norwegian expedition in which Hoel participated completed its map-making,which had been conducted during two short summer months in 1906 and 1907,the area between Forland Sound in the south, Magdalene Fjord in the north andLiefde Fjord in the northeast had acquired 86 new place names. Famous scien-tists, expeditionists, and members of their families had got places named after them.Of the 86 persons, 49 were Norwegian. Adolf Hoel’s name was given to both apeninsula and a mountain, while the leader of the Norwegians on the expedi-tion, Gunnar Isachsen generously provided his own family name to designate theregion generally. The Norwegianization of Spitsbergen had definitely begun.

Playing for big stakes: Spitsbergen

The research and commercial activity in the Scandinavian portion of the Arcticincreased appreciably in the last decades of the 19th century and up until the

t h e c o n q u e r o r s 281

THE CONQUERORS

1920s. Not unexpectedly, the idea arose during this period to bring the largestgroup of the as yet unclaimed Arctic islands, Spitsbergen, under Norwegianor Swedish control. After the turn of the century, when the extraction of itsconsiderable coal resources got underway, Spitsbergen became the focus of moreintense economic interest. The increasing economic activity led to manyconflicts of interest, which made it timely to reach a settlement regarding theislands’ legal status and sovereignty.

For several decades Norwegians had been involved in much of the commer-cial activity on the archipelago, from fishing to tourism; but Norway’s scien-tific achievements had been modest, especially compared with those of Sweden.Then, rather suddenly from 1906 onward, Norwegian scientists became inter-ested in mapping Spitsbergen. At the same time, Norway’s Spitsbergen poli-cies changed direction.

Captain Gunnar Isachsen (1868–1939) had been the topographer on thesecond Fram expedition (1898–1902) and done some impressive map-making.From 1903 to 1905 he served in the French Army. Afterwards he wanted toresume his mapping of uncharted Arctic regions, and chose to focus onSpitsbergen. Believing that his chances of obtaining Norwegian financing wereminimal, he turned to Prince Albert I of Monaco, who for years had paid forsupplies to research expeditions in the Mediterranean and Atlantic, in the lattercase leading the expedition himself. Political events linked to the dispute overthe union with Sweden in the spring and summer of 1905 foiled his plans.However, Isachsen was offered the chance to lead a Norwegian unit of theprince’s expedition to Spitsbergen in the summer of 1906.

After completing the expedition’s first summer of work and returning toNorway, the team topographer, Arve Staxrud (1881–1933), published a lengthyarticle in Aftenposten calling for Norwegian occupation of Spitsbergen. Thiswould help protect wildlife and settle the archipelago’s legal status. Staxrudwas particularly concerned about the merciless hunting of the island’s distinc-tive breed of reindeer. Isachsen was preoccupied with Spitsbergen’s historicties to Norway, and he supported the historians who believed that NorwegiansIcelanders had been there first. In 1907, Norway initiated its political strategyby contacting other interested nations, in an attempt to establish an interna-tional treaty regarding Spitsbergen.

In the summer of 1907, Isachsen concluded his collaboration with PrinceAlbert involving a new Spitsbergen expedition. In 1908, the geologists AdolfHoel and Gunnar Holmsen (1880–1976) completed a smaller expedition,focusing on both science and economics which was typical of the times. Inaddition to performing university-funded geological mapping, Hoel was alsoto secure, with an eye to commercial exploitation, a coalfield that he had disco-vered the year before at Heerfjellet in Grønfjorden. Botanist Hanna Marie


Dieset (Resvoll-Holmsen) (1873–1943), who had been on Isachsen’s 1907expedition, pursued independent fieldwork at Svalbard that summer, but colla-borated with Holmsen and Hoel on transportation and provisions.

While Hoel and Holmsen explored the wilds of Spitsbergen in the spiritof entrepreneurial geology, Isachsen spent his time arranging funding for a largerexpedition during the 1909–10 season. Even though it was not explicitly stated,the latter expedition may justifiably be viewed as an attempt to enter into compe-tition with massive Swedish research efforts. Isachsen did not hide the fact thatNorway’s scientific work in the region was exceedingly modest compared withSweden’s.

A more ambitious program of Norwegian research would weaken Swedisharguments that its scientific record of long-term polar research on the archi-pelago gave the country a unique position on the islands.

In Isachsen’s view, the economic situation also called for a significant up-grading of research efforts. Norwegian commercial interests on Spitsbergenincluded whaling, fishing, hunting, sealing, tourism, and coal mining. Develop-ing adequate charts and topographic and geological maps for land and sea wouldfacilitate more efficient exploitation of natural resources. These factors were alsoemphasised most by the Ministry and in the budget committee.

The ongoing discussion about Spitsbergen’s political status was only men-tioned in passing when the allocation of 25,000 kroner was unanimously ap-proved. In addition, the naval vessel Farm was placed at the expedition’s disposalin both 1909 and 1910. This pattern repeated itself again and again afterwards,until Spitsbergen was brought under Norwegian sovereignty in the 1920s.Generally speaking, appropriations for research expeditions to Spitsbergen wereapproved without extensive discussion. But at the same time, it was importantfor the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to tread carefully. For example, in the springof 1910, the Ministry was intent on acquiring the fields in Bellsund forNorwegian subjects. At the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, plans were circulatedfor ‘secret disbursements’ in support of Norwegian annexation of coalfields,partly to keep them from falling within largely Swedish control. At the sametime, the Ministry was careful to emphasise that the Norwegian state couldnot occupy the fields; nor could state-supported research expeditions.

The Foreign Ministry standpoint can be explained.The government did notwant to provoke any of the participants in the 1910 Spitsbergen conference inChristiania, which took place a few weeks after the Farm and Isachsen’s expedi-tion set out for Spitsbergen. This anxiety about creating a provocation also ledthe Prime Minister to disagree openly with the historian Julius Fredrik MacodyLund. During the Spitsbergen conference, Macody Lund had published anarticle maintaining that Spitsbergen was an old, Norwegian territory, and thatthe authorities should not abandon this position during negotiations. On behalf


Norwegian cartographers on Forlandssletta,

in Northwest Spitsbergen, in 1909. From left

to right: J. Laurantzon, Gunnar Isachsen and

Hjalmar Johansen.

of the top people in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Fridtjof Nansen tried toexplain that Lund’s views did not reflect those of the Norwegian government,but he did not help matters by admitting that he himself agreed with Lund.

Hoel takes charge

The 1910 expedition would mark Isachsen’s last act as a Spitsbergen researcher.His leading role in Norwegian exploration of the archipelago passed to AdolfHoel. As the son of a railway man who came to Christiania in the 1890s, hegraduated from the gymnasium in 1897, and began pursuing an academic career.His career culminated in his wartime term as president of the country’s onlyuniversity. Though it may sound like a successful career, in the end it was not;as Hoel was ultimately convicted of treason.

In 1911, Hoel and Staxrud applied for funds for a two-year expedition tocomplete work they had begun during Isachsen’s expeditions. The applicationfocused particularly on exploring the volcanic regions which Hoel had previous-ly discovered and cataloguing the rich coalfields in Isfjord. Appended to the appli-cation were recommendations from the Norwegian Society of Surveyors, theNorwegian Geographical Society, and professors Nansen, Helland, and Kiær.Hoel and Staxrud requested 20,000 kroner, or 15,000 for 1911 and 1912.Without any debate, the Norwegian Parliament granted 15,000 kroner.

The expedition, however, was not particularly successful. The problemsbegan in Tromsø. The master of the ship that was supposed to take them toSpitsbergen was hoisted on board before departure, ‘drunk as a skunk’. Justnorth of Bear Island, they encountered ice and were forced westward. To topit all off, a fire broke out in the hold. ‘A hole was made in the deck and waterpoured down.’ The captain stood on the bridge and kept screaming, ‘Pour thewater down (to the hold)! Pour the water down!’ The problems continued inSpitsbergen. Ice, lice, fog, and snow plagued the expedition leader all summer,and Hoel sometimes felt both ‘spiritually and physically ill’ as a result of allthe waiting on board. ‘What a life! What an existence!’ Fortunately, they couldcomfort themselves and one another with a little nightcap before bedtime: ‘Firstwe drank a toddy in a miserable mood.’

Owing to ice and weather conditions, the fieldwork did not provide a solidenough foundation for the topographical, hydrographical, and geological mapsthe government had expected in 1911. Therefore, additional appropriationswere requested in 1912. For budgetary reasons, the Ministry advised rejec-tion, but the budget committee recommended approval after Hoel and Staxrudwrote letters directly to the Parliament. In the application, emphasis was placedon the mapping of coalfields and the drawing up of charts for the west coast


and especially Forland Sound. There was also work to be done on explorationof the volcanoes and hot springs at Bockfjorden.

During the Parliamentary debate, the expedition was described as focusingon the mapping of an area ‘of great interest to Norway’, both economicallyand politically. Nor did it harm the explorers’ case that news of Amundsen’sconquest of the South Pole came on March 8th, while their application was beingconsidered by Parliament committees. Parliament representatives rose to theirfeet in honour of Amundsen’s, when the news of his feat was announced.National enthusiasm about polar exploration had hardly subsided whenParliament voted later that month (with only three members opposed) to provi-de 10,000 kroner for the 1912 Spitsbergen expedition. However, it was notedthat this would be its final contribution to the effort.

Interpreting these signals from Parliament as a challenge, Hoel and Staxrudput together a ‘Plan for aTen-Year Norwegian Expedition to Spitsbergen’, whichthey sent first to the Foreign Ministry and then attached to the applicationfor state support for 1913. The plan emphasised that even though Norwayhad ‘without comparison’ the most compelling interests in Spitsbergen, Norwaywas sadly lacking in having acquired ‘familiarity with the area’. The plan listedseveral hydrographical, topographical, and geological explorations that re-mained to be conducted. Throughout the entire ten-year plan, research projectswere closely linked with the economic potential which these areas represented,from coal mining to tourism. What was paramount was to secure resources ‘forNorwegian capital’.

Hoel received funding for 1913, but the government would not commititself to a program covering several years. In 1914, he came up with an ideafor a three-year project, which was evaluated by professors Brøgger, Mohn,and Kiær prior to its being proposed to Parliament. The professors wrote thatthe project would be of great importance to Norway, both scientifically andpractically. They wrote that the tasks proposed ‘were intimately linked toNorwegian interests and ought to be taken on by Norwegians’.The ParliamentaryBudget Committee accepted this argument, affirming that Spitsbergen researchdeserved the ‘greatest possible interest on the part of the institutions of govern-ment’. The committee assumed, nonetheless, that this would be Parliament’slast such appropriation.

No scientific expedition to Spitsbergen was conducted in 1915. Hoel didpay a visit there in connection with the Norwegian attempt to gain control ofAmerican coalfields. The 1916 expedition was made without state support.During these years, Hoel received state funds solely for the purpose of develop-ing and editing his material and publishing. Not until 1917, in response to aproposed five-year research plan, did he make another funding breakthrough.The aim of this five-year plan was nearly identical to that of the 1913 ten-year


plan: simply to map resources and secure them for Norway. Hoel drew expli-cit connections between Norwegian political interests and the expeditions,which would ‘strengthen Norway’s interests on Spitsbergen from an interna-tional perspective. [...] We must gradually bring the country under Norwegianadministration, and [...] introduce a Norwegian police force and justice system,and so forth. Our expeditions are part of this kind of Norwegianisation ofSpitsbergen.’ Justifiably, Hoel did not devote a great deal of time and ink toexplaining to politicians the purely scientific benefits that this work could yield.For politicians, Norwegian research activity was more important than volumesof research reports.

During this period, government motives for funding Spitsbergen expedi-tions show a clear correlation between the degree of government focus on thesovereignty issue and the scale of financial support for expeditions (see figure2). There was significant state involvement in 1909 and 1910; but not until1918 did the state become the major funding source. Appropriations rose signi-ficantly starting in 1920, and remained at high levels until Norway formallyassumed administration of Svalbard in August 1925.

Figure 2: Overview of state appropriations, lottery funds, and contributions from private sponsors

and foundations. In money of the day. Expeditions to Svalbard, Franz Josef Land, and Eastern

Greenland from 1906 to 1932.

Source: The National Archive in Tromsø.

Norwegian stateappropriationsLottery fundsContributions fromprivate sponsorsand foundationsAl

locationinkroner

Year


The final play for Spitsbergen

From 1910 to 1914, three international conferences were held for the pur-pose of agreeing to an international administration and judiciary policy forSpitsbergen. As far as sovereignty was concerned, it was treated as a no-man’s-land (terra nullius). Norway proposed two law-enforcement alternatives; eitherNorway would take upon itself this responsibility, or a system of joint controlby interested powers would be established. Sweden proposed joint control byRussia, Sweden, and Norway, which the U.S.A. would accept on the condi-tion that other nations were granted strong veto powers. Germany proposedcontrol by all interested parties. However, negotiators failed to reach an agree-ment before the outbreak of World War I.

World War I (1914–18) put the Spitsbergen question in a new light.Activities on the archipelago changed during the war. Since 1910, Norwayhad superseded Sweden in her leading role in scientific activity on Spitsbergen.During the war, Norwegian companies took over most of the archipelago’scoal production. Norwegian hunters and whalers had also assumed a totallydominant role. In Norway’s case, the archipelago’s economic significance grew,especially for Northern Norway. In the autumn of 1918, newspapers inNorthern Norway campaigned for Norwegian sovereignty over Spitsbergen.

The peace settlement brought with it a number of territorial changes, innorthern Europe as elsewhere. It also offered the possibility of resolving theSpitsbergen question once and for all.Two of the major interested parties, Russiaand Germany, were no longer in the running. Furthermore, Norway’s war-time loss of sailors and ships had won it a degree of sympathy that could beexploited in reasoning that Norway should assume sovereignty over Spitsbergen.

The day after the guns had been silenced on the western front, ForeignMinister Ihlen met with Norwegian ship-owners to discuss what demandsNorway should make at the coming peace conference, especially with regardto compensation for the Norwegian tonnage lost during the war.The Spitsbergenquestion was a key topic of discussion, which led Norway to speak openly aboutits intent during the next several months. The Norwegian delegate in Paris,Fredrik Wedel Jarlsberg, had a mandate; Norway wanted to assume responsi-bility for Spitsbergen. Norway was no longer satisfied with administering andmaintaining law and order on behalf of the international community. Norwaydemanded full control.

The unmasking of Norway in 1918–19 was the natural outcome of a processthat had been going on ever since the 1890s; but it would take on a more nation-alistic quality between the two World Wars. During this period, Norway hadstrengthened its position and presence in the Arctic, Svalbard included.Nationalistic self-assertion was a key motive for increasing political interest in


the Arctic. Just as Northern Norway was to be modernised, Norwegianised, andconsolidated in Norwegian hands, so too were the territorial waters and newland areas in the Arctic to be secured for the nation, one way or another. Theentire territory was to be opened up and utilized by Norwegian citizens.

The Norwegian government asked Gunnar Isachsen to travel to Paris, wherefinal negotiations regarding Spitsbergen were in progress. Along with otherscientists, he would assist Wedel Jarlsberg in documenting Norwegian businessactivity and scientific work on Spitsbergen. The result of the Paris negotia-tions was the Svalbard Treaty, which was signed in Paris on February 9th, 1920.It granted Norway sovereignty over the archipelago, with certain limitations oneconomic activity, taxation, and military activity. However, five whole yearselapsed before Norway could formally assume responsibility for Spitsbergen.First, the treaty had to be approved by Parliament, and then regulations formining had to be developed. Additionally, the approval of Germany and Russiahad to be secured.

Norwegian political ambitions in the far north seem to have expandedproportionally with economic and scientific activity. What role did science playin this process? In the contest to win Svalbard, Norwegian authorities deliber-ately used research results and research activity as justification that Spitsbergenwas Norwegian. Also, Spitsbergen researchers worked systematically towardsa Norwegian conquest of the archipelago, economic and cultural at first, butultimately political.They operated both independently and in cooperation withthe government.

For Adolf Hoel personally, the years from 1919 to 1925 were the ‘seven goodyears’ for the exploration of Spitsbergen. In 1919, Parliament granted him apersonal lectureship in geology with responsibility for the scientific developmentof material collected from Spitsbergen. During the three seasons from 1923through 1925, Hoel led the largest and most costly Spitsbergen expeditions todate. Again, the naval vessel Farm, with a crew of 30, was placed at Hoel’s dispo-sal. Additionally, he had between 30 and 60 scientists and their assistants workingfor him during these three years. It cost the treasury between 260,000 and360,000 kroner per annum. This was no small sum, and it represented approx-imately one-tenth of the entire university budget for those years. Then, sudden-ly, it all stopped. No major state-funded expeditions were equipped in either1926 or 1927, and only a few individual researchers did a little field work.

Hoel had hardly anticipated this development quite the contrary. As didmany others, Hoel doubtlessly felt that he and his scientific expeditions hadplayed a significant role in making possible the ceremony at Longyearbyen onAugust 14th, 1925, at which cabinet minister Paal Berg could declare Svalbarda part of Norway. Besides, Hoel had great plans for Norwegian contributionsin the ‘polar regions’.


Expeditions and actions to secure Norwegian

interests in the polar regions called for pain-

stakingplanning. AdolfHoel inhisoffice in 1924,

where the annexation sign from Spitsbergen

adorns the wall.

Norwegian explorations of Svalbard and the Arctic Ocean

Hoel had plans for a permanent institution for the exploration and study ofSvalbard and for a Svalbard Council. It would cost the state about 60,000kroner, plus expenses for field expeditions. With Svalbard subject to Norway,‘the obligation to do further exploratory work in the area’ could not be shirked.

Bjørn Helland-Hansen of the Geophysical Institute in Bergen gave Hoel’splans his full support. But it would take more time to convince the authori-ties. Chairman of Parliament’s Foreign Affairs Committee, Carl JoachimHambro, was not the only one who wanted to think twice and get an overviewof Norwegian contributions as well as its stakes in the Arctic, before makingnew financial commitments. Hoel did not adjust his ambitions to the govern-ment’s hesitancy; on the contrary. Around the end of 1926 and beginning of 1927,he presented a plan for a polar research institute that would be responsible forthe Arctic:The Norwegian Institute for the Exploration of Svalbard and the ArcticOcean (NSIU) and a corresponding council, the Norwegian Council for Svalbardand the Arctic Ocean (NSIR). He later proposed that the areas of responsibilityfor the two institutions should also include the Antarctic.

Hoel had utilized his time summarize the status of the scientific work thathad already been done. It had in fact been quite extensive. On the 21 expedi-tions that took place from 1906 to 1926, most of the participants had been geolo-gists (58), hydrographical engineers (29) and topographers (30); but botanistsand zoologists had also participated. Moreover, many others had contributedto science, based on the material gathered. However, after Hoel became thedriving force for Spitsbergen expeditions from 1911 and onward, little effort wasplaced on publication of the results of the scientific work. While the findingsof Isachsen’s expeditions were published in beautifully bound volumes, there wasno systematic publication of the findings of post-1910 expeditions, until 1922.

Scientific efforts had primarily concentrated on investigating Svalbard’seconomic potential, not on conducting basic research. For example, in the planhe sent to the authorities in February 1927, Hoel had omitted one of his ownspecial interests, glacier measurements. The focus remained on useful items,like coal and minerals.

Hoel had always emphasised the political aspects of Norway’s Arcticresearch, but not until the establishment of NSIU did he present a carefullyprepared polar geopolitical and research policy program. This politicisation wasan attempt on Hoel’s part to mobilise all the country’s efforts, including thoseof scientists, in a struggle for Norway’s Arctic interests. Norway’s position as apolar nation was in fact challenged by many others during the 1920s.

In 1921, the Soviet Union had expanded its fishing limits to 120 km andexcluded Norwegians from the fishing grounds in the White Sea; and that same


year, Denmark expanded its sovereignty to include all of Greenland. In 1926,the Soviet Union demanded all of the territory in the triangle between the NorthPole and the country’s easternmost and westernmost points on the continent,applying the so-called ‘sector principle’. This sector included Franz Josef Land,where Norwegians had long been engaged in polar hunting and fishing. Theyear before, Canada had applied the sector principle to its own part of the Arctic.

This territorial expansion by the other ‘polar nations’ was deliberatelyexploited in the debate that called for a Norwegian polar institute. The Russiansin the east and the Danes in the west were trying to squeeze us out, accordingto Hoel. Norwegian claims to the ‘polar regions’ were justified historically, butNorwegian commercial and research activity that had begun at the end of the19th century was viewed as even more important. Hoel seemed to know exact-ly what role science could play in this context: ‘Almost invariably, science orscience-based exploration precede state annexation of new land areas, be itpolitical or economic sovereignty.’ Scientific activity formed the basis forsovereignty claims or for ‘exploitation of the country or the people’. And afternew territories were conquered, ‘great effort is always placed in scientific explo-ration of this land area.’ It was also the case that those countries with the mostknowledge of an area always fared the best in any conflicts of interest and subse-quent negotiations. To illustrate this close connection between science andpolitics in the polar areas, Hoel referred to examples of English occupation inAntarctica. The basis for these occupations relied on prior English expeditionsand discoveries. He also pointed out how the Danish intentionally used theirscientific work in Greenland as support for Danish sovereignty claims.

Hoel got what he wanted – almost. In the summer of 1927, Parliamentgranted 250,000 kroner for Svalbard research. However, the formal decisionto establish a new institution and a corresponding Svalbard Council for theperiod up through 1932 was only made on March 7th, 1928. Yet, the cheersin Parliament were not as unrestrained as they had been prior to 1925, eventhough the resolution establishing the Norwegian Institute for the Explorationof Svalbard and the Arctic Ocean (NSIU) and the Norwegian Council forSvalbard and the Arctic Ocean (NSIR) were passed unanimously.

Both the Norwegian Institute for the Exploration of Svalbard and the ArcticOcean and the Norwegian Council for Svalbard and the Arctic Ocean wouldbe under the auspices of the Ministry of Commerce, which would make furtherdecisions about their organisation and spheres of activity and would haveaccounting authority and control functions. The NSIR would be an advisorybody reporting on Arctic matters to the Norwegian government. The NSIUwould administer funds placed at its disposal, map, and conduct practical andscientific explorations of Svalbard and the Arctic Ocean, with the exceptionof meteorological observations and exploration of fisheries. Additionally, it


would publish Skrifter om Svalbard og Ishavet (Records of Svalbard and the Arctic),express opinions about, and suggest, geographical names for the region, andadvise foreign expeditions.

It can be argued reasonably that founding the new institution only involveda change of names. What was officially known before 1927 as The NorwegianGovernment-Supported Spitsbergen Expeditions, became The NorwegianInstitute for the Exploration of Svalbard and the Arctic Ocean. The institu-tion was popularly called the Svalbard Office both before and after 1927. Thenumber of employees did not change, nor was the office moved. Professional staffremained in place; and of course, Hoel was the obvious director. At the same time,however, it is clear that the NSIU took a new view on the question of whichareas of the Arctic now required the attention of Norwegian researchers. Thismade the institution controversial from the outset.

Franz Josef Land

As early as September 1928, the NSIU presented a plan and budgeted for scien-tific expeditions to Svalbard, Greenland, and Franz Josef Land in the summerof 1929. At first, the plan was apparently well received in the corridors of power.Prime Minister and Foreign Minister Johan Ludwig Mowinckel wanted to ensurethat ‘the plan under consideration (was) put into effect, in so far as funds can beobtained for it,’ and he emphasised the significance and principles involved.

But as usual, Hoel’s ambitious plans caused financial headaches in theministries. Even worse, his lobbying methods eventually proved irritating, andstrained his relationship with several key cabinet members. This was especiallytrue of Liberal-Left Party politicians, who held power during three electionperiods, between 1924 and 1935.

NSIU’s expanded field of interest was debated by the Parliament in Marchof 1929. During the debate, it became clear that issues beyond financial ques-tions were at stake. These were burning issues regarding Norway’s domestic andforeign policy. Mowinckel was extremely annoyed by ‘the polar activists’, withinand outside Parliament. He perceived deliberate agitation aimed at discreditinggovernment efforts, in order to further ‘our Arctic interests’.

Chairman of the Foreign Affairs Committee, C.J. Hambro, believed thatNorway had every reason to protest ‘as energetically as humanly possible’ againstthe ‘Arctic imperialism’ our neighbouring countries exhibited. At the same time,he could not help welcoming the activists as latecomers. A few years before that,he had wasted his own breath upholding Norwegian interests in the ‘polarregions’. Now he thought it appropriate to warn the newly converted: ‘Let’s notfoster a mood that forces us to lose sight of land … .’


It was not without reason that both Hambro and Mowinckel called for alittle sobriety. Barely a month after the debate in Parliament, Mowinckel hadtaken Hoel to task for publicly criticizing the government’s failure to upholdNorway’s polar interests.

But this did not put a damper on Hoel’s efforts to realise expedition plansfor the summer of 1929. He was still impatient. Even if he had to curb histongue in public, he still believed that the government’s prudent line damagedNorway’s interests. Something had to be done. Above all, there was an urgentneed to do something in the east.

The Soviet Union’s proclamation of the sector principle on April 15th, 1926,led to hectic activity in the Foreign Ministry, which then requested that theMinistry of Commerce inquire ‘as soon as possible’ into how Norwegian fishingand whaling interests would be affected by these territorial claims. The Ministryturned this task over to the NSIU when that institute was founded in 1928.Adolf Hoel immersed himself in the work. ‘At once, I took steps to try to protectour interests.’ By September, plans for Franz Josef Land were ready. The reasonwas obvious. Place obstacles in the path of the Russians, who planned toestablish a geophysical station there. A move like that with Russian scientificmapping of the area, would bring the archipelago ‘under Russian sovereignty’,regardless of whether the sector principle was recognised. This had to beprevented at any cost, because Norway would stand to lose extremely impor-tant fishing and hunting grounds. This might be avoided by sending a scientificexpedition there.

Hoel asked one of his employees, Gunnar Horn, to prepare a historicalaccount that would demonstrate that the country was a Norwegian sphere ofinterest. Horn left no doubt as to what the Norwegian policy had to be. Norwaywas the only country which had had commercial interests there. If Norwaydid not assert its rights, the fishing and hunting grounds would be lost forever.Norway had to make ‘an absolute demand that Franz Josef Land continuedto be regarded as a no-man’s-land; or should the archipelago be placed underany country’s sovereignty, then it should be Norway’s.’

Norway should assert its rights in Franz Josef Land by sending a scientificexpedition ‘over there’. In accordance with the September 1928 plan, the expedi-tion would consist of a topographer, a geologist, a hydrographer, and a botanist.Hoel worked closely with polar scientists in Ålesund and Tromsø. The ÅlesundShippers’ Association’s Sealers’ Group proposed sending a combined scientificexpedition and sealing expedition. They were to establish sealing stations andbuild a radio transmission station.

At the time, funding appeared difficult to obtain. The Ministry thereforechose to prioritise Svalbard, followed by Greenland, in its report to Parliament.The expedition to Franz Josef Land was omitted, but Hoel did not take ‘no’


for an answer. He worked his contacts in Parliament, wrote his memos, andrevised his plans. The upshot of Parliamentary deliberations was that permis-sion was granted to spend the appropriation on an expedition to Franz JosefLand, if the NSIU considered it useful.

Sealing and science were not enough. Hoel also wanted the planned 1929expedition to undertake an occupation on behalf of Norway, within the areaRussia had proclaimed as its own sector. He believed that Victoria Island wassuited to this kind of demonstration of Norway’s Arctic interests. Accordingto Hoel, the island, situated between Svalbard and Franz Josef Land, had beendiscovered and named by Norwegians. It was within the Russian sector, butRussia had not made a specific demand for the island, as it had with FranzJosef Land.

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was opposed to the kind of officially sanc-tioned occupation that Hoel supported, but had nothing against a privateoccupation. The task of conducting that operation was given to the master ofthe Directorate of Fisheries vessel, which was exploring fisheries in those watersthat summer.

All the planning and efforts, however, were in vain. Unyielding weatherconditions were more difficult to surmount than meagre state funding andobstinate working partners. Difficult ice conditions prevented Norwegianexpeditions from reaching the coast. The NSIU expedition that was supposedto travel to Franz Josef Land had to be satisfied with a few seals and 29 polarbears, including seven live cubs.

Things went better for the Russians. Thanks to a modern icebreaker, theymanaged to force their way through the ice and reach land.They built a geophy-sical station and a radio station. As in the case of the Russian achievementsduring the expeditions to rescue Nobile and his men the previous year, thisserved as a warning to Norway that the country faced a challenge to its logis-tics capabilities and its ability to promote its Arctic interests.

The situation improved somewhat for the NSIU in 1930. The seal-huntingvessel M/S Bratvaag from Ålesund managed to moor both at Victoria Islandand Franz Josef Land. Like the expedition the year before, this one combinedsealing with science: geology, botany, and zoology were all represented. VictoriaIsland was then occupied in the name of the owner and master of the Bratvaag.

This expedition was Norway’s last attempt to get a foothold on Franz JosefLand, despite Hoel’s and the NSIU’s efforts to obtain financing for an expedi-tion the following year. Focus had shifted westward, toward the Danes onGreenland, as the temperature rose several degrees, in the debate on NorwegianArctic policy. Once again, the NSIU and Adolf Hoel were in the middle ofthe action.


Greenland

Early on the afternoon of June 26th, 1931, Carl Marstrander, the Norwegianprofessor and expert in Celtic language and culture, dictated the followingtelegram from the Gothenburg telegraph office. ‘The gospel is proclaimed acrossthe city of Oslo. Pastor Dahl.’This rather cryptic message was directed at a smallcircle of Greenland activists in Oslo who planned a private occupation of easternGreenland. Marstrander had gone to Gothenburg to send a telegram to HallvardDevold, head of a Norwegian hunting expedition in Greenland, with ordersto occupy. Even though the telegram was in code, he did not take a chance,sending it from Oslo. And to be on the safe side, he travelled under the covername Pastor Jonas Dahl. The conspiratorial nature of all this suggests that thestruggle for Norwegian interests in the Arctic had entered a new phase.

Ever since 1921, Norway and Denmark were in open conflict with regardto the sovereignty of Greenland. Denmark had raised the issue with Norwayduring the 1919 Paris peace negotiations and had received verbal assurancesfrom Foreign Minister Ihlen that Norway would not oppose Denmark’s expan-sion of sovereignty to include all of Greenland, a move for which Ihlen had wonfull support both from the government and in the Committee on ForeignAffairs. However, when the Danes requested written confirmation of Norway’sposition in January 1921, Norway responded that an extension of Danishsovereignty would be accepted only if Norwegian fishing, whaling, sealing, andhunting rights on Greenland were maintained. Danish authorities did not agreeto Norway’s demand, and decided to regard Ihlen’s 1919 verbal declaration assufficient. In May 1921, they extended their sovereignty to include all ofGreenland; and in June, Greenland was closed to all ships, Danish or ‘foreign’.This meant that the monopoly as practiced in Western Greenland would nowalso apply in Eastern Greenland. Subsequently, Norwegian hunters and fisher-men risked being denied access to their fishing and sealing grounds. Norwayprotested in a note in November of 1921, reiterating its position as of January.As long as Norwegians were excluded from fishing and sealing grounds, Norwaycould not accept Danish sovereignty.

Though the dispute began as a commercial conflict, Danish measures ledto a nationwide wave of ill will toward Denmark. Patriotic feelings were easilystirred up because many Norwegians believed that Norway suffered a historicinjustice when they broke off from Denmark in 1814, at which time a small clausein the Kiel Treaty had deprived Norway of its former maritime possessions tothe west, among them Greenland. Hence, when the negotiations with Denmarkbegan in 1923, Norwegian negotiators had to deal with more than just econo-mic interests. The entire affair was becoming a domestic-policy ‘hot potato’.

The Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs did actually manage to negoti-


ate a deal regarding Eastern Greenland in 1924, but this was merely a kind ofceasefire, a practical and commercial arrangement. Who had sovereignty overEastern Greenland, which was the Gordian knot of the dispute, remainedunresolved. Many Norwegians were dissatisfied with the agreement on nation-alistic grounds, but those who placed the greatest emphasis on the economicaspects of the case were not satisfied either, including those who had businessinterests in Western Greenland but who were not included in the agreement.

In the summer of 1927, Gustav Smedal, a lawyer who was the head ofThe Greenland Association of Norway, invited Adolf Hoel to discuss theGreenland issue. The two men met during the New Year, in 1928, and werehenceforth bound by their shared interests and a common destiny that wouldlast the rest of their lives.

Hoel had kept himself well informed about developments on Greenland,but had not had the time to contribute actively, owing to his involvement inSvalbard research and in the founding of the NSIU. Before long, however, Hoelhad also got quite involved in the Greenland issue.

Hallvard Devold, who in 1928 had returned home from Greenland aftera two-year stay, was convinced that the Danes were working systematically todrive Norwegians out of Eastern Greenland, and that Norway had to resist.As far as Devold was concerned, no one stood a better chance of persuadingthe Norwegian government to do this than the head of the NSIU. So Devoldwrote a report to the NSIU about ‘Norway’s current position in EasternGreenland’. He felt land areas should be occupied through a systematic develop-ment of fishing, whaling, and sealing grounds with primary bases and secon-dary stations.This was to prevent the loss of key areas for both sealers and winterhunters and fishermen. This effort would not be served if it were dependenton random, private expeditions; somebody had to take charge, and a coordin-ated program had to be formulated. Last but not least, the effort had to enjoythe solid support of the Norwegian state.

Hoel communicated these views and conveyed them to the Ministry ofTrade and Commerce. He emphasised that there should be a much greaterconcentration on the systematic development of the infrastructure forNorwegian winter fishermen and hunters. Therefore, a combined scientific andfishing expedition had to be sent in 1929. Scientific work would be comprisedof charting, taking soundings, and conducting oceanographic, meteorological,and geological exploration, as well as carrying out zoological and botanicalstudies. The expedition would take possession of as ‘much as possible of thecoastline, between the Norwegian developed areas at Myggbukta and ScoresbySound’, and would aide Norwegian fishermen by building cabins and annexingland from ‘Shannon Island and northward to Danmarkhamna [DenmarkHarbour].’ The objective was ‘to keep Denmark from securing sovereignty over


Eastern Greenland, and to bring the country under Norwegian sovereignty’,according to Hoel’s plans.

Hoel took the opportunity to explain to the authorities just how to go aboutacquiring sovereignty over an unclaimed territory. Polar imperialism’s basic princi-ples were quite simple. ‘1. The first thing to do is to send out research expediti-ons, and thereby acquire (among other things) the requisite knowledge of thecountry’s natural environment and economic potential. 2. Then, establish scien-tific and social installations, such as meteorological stations, seismographic sta-tions, churches, etc. 3.Then, encourage and support business and economic activi-ty. 4. Create propaganda domestically and internationally to promote one’sobjectives. Make much of the work and results already achieved.’

Escalation of Norwegian activity was still not just dependent upon the state.Hoel proposed establishment of a private hunting and fishing company dedica-ted to operations in Eastern Greenland, and that the firm coordinate and workclosely with NSIU scientific expeditions. At the end of June 1929, ArcticCommercial Enterprise (known as A/S Arktisk Næringsdrift) was founded forthe purpose of conducting ‘hunting, fishing and mining operations in Arcticareas and anything else associated therewith.’ The company was clearly a paral-lel entity to Denmark’s Nanok A/S, which had been founded a month earlier.Both firms had the same objective: to strengthen their respective countries’claims of sovereignty in Eastern Greenland.

Thanks to state appropriations and private funding, the D/S Veslekari wasable to cast off from the quay at Ålesund in the early hours of July 14th, 1929,bound for Eastern Greenland. Ten trappers, led by Hallvard Devold, and nineresearchers from the NSIU, under the supervision of geologist Anders K. Orvin,were on board. The trapping expedition would last until the summer of 1931,but the researchers would return home in the autumn of 1929. The scientificstudies in the summer of 1929, according to Adolf Hoel, were a success bothfrom a practical and a scientific perspective. But it was Hallvard Devold and hisfellow trappers who would make the history books.

Only words of praise were heard about all this in Parliament.The Universityand Technical College Committee unreservedly commended Hoel’s ‘unstintingand competent work in the northern Arctic regions,’ and Cabinet MinisterOftedal concurred. However, this idyl would not last long.

Erik Raude’s Land

In 1930, Danish Prime Minister Stauning released plans for a three-year-longscientific expedition to Eastern Greenland. In response, Hoel and Smedalswitched strategy. Until then, the focus had been on maximizing Norwegian


activity in Eastern Greenland, both commercial activity and scientific mapping.But the immense Danish research effort would overshadow Norway’s activityand would strengthen Denmark’s position in any international legal dispute.Therefore, Norway would have to react. If the Danish did not heed Norway’sobjections, the Norwegian authorities would have to consider an official occupa-tion of Greenland.

Scientific efforts in Greenland had until now been of a general exploratorynature; and now it was necessary to progress to a broad range of more detailedwork. According to the NSIU’s plan, a new expedition would consist of eightresearchers and 12 assistants in fields such as topography, hydrography, geology,botany, zoology, and archeology. NSIU applied for a total of about 250,000kroner in support, a full 25 % increase over the previous year’s allocation. It wasan ambitious budget, compared with the university’s total expense budget thatyear of slightly less than three million kroner. But then the NSIU reaped thestorm.

First, the Norwegian government asked Denmark to change its plans forthe three-year expedition so that it would not conflict with the interests ofNorwegian fishermen, whalers, and sealers and the agreement on EasternGreenland. When Denmark stood firm, maintaining that its expedition planswere consistent with the agreement, the Norwegian government announcedin early March that it would consider taking the conflict to the InternationalCourt of Justice in The Hague. The political temperature was rising. This wascertainly true of the relationship with Denmark, but no less on the domesticfront.Tension first surfaced in another matter: the NSIU appropriations.Thingswere looking promising as they had the previous year. The government hadapproved the budget, including an expedition to eastern Svalbard/Franz JosefLand and to Greenland.

However, March 5th, the newspaper TidensTegn reported: ‘The Conservativeand Labour Parties in the Committee on Foreign Affairs are cancelling one thirdof the institution’s budget.’ This was a demonstration against the NSIU, pureand simple; but the newspaper said nothing about the fact that Hoel had madea considerable upward adjustment in the budget. As was his habit when hisopponents in Parliament began to tighten the purse strings, he immediatelymobilised his extensive network of supporters. Hoel happily allowed himselfto be interviewed, and left little doubt about the consequences of budget cuts:redundancies among professional staff, disruption of projects, and so forth.Tidens Tegn followed this up with an editorial attacking the ‘demonstrativeslashing’ of the budget by the Committee on Foreign Affairs. Other newspa-per editorials agreed; the NSIU’s budget must not be touched.

The same newspapers believed that the budget had been ‘sabotaged’ inParliament because the discussion process had dragged on too long. Hoel poured


oil on the fire by publicly saying that the reason for this was ‘sheer obstinacy’.The Greenland activists had already proven that they had many allies amongthe press. They had also demonstrated that they could maximally exploit thepolitical power of public opinion, to the annoyance of many Parliamentmembers. Their argument that Norway, under international law, was justifiedin occupying Greenland also enjoyed the solid support of professionals in thefield. It was even supported by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ own interna-tional legal advisor Frede Castberg, as well as other experts both within theadministration and at the university. The problem was that neither pressurefrom within nor from without seemed capable of budging the Norwegiangovernment from its course of negotiation.

To force the government’s hand, the Norwegian Council of Arctic andAntarctic Administration (hereafter called the Arctic Council), of which Smedaland Hoel were leading members, made public on May 26th, 1931, a letter tothe government calling for immediate occupation of Eastern Greenland. Therewere strong reactions to this move. Many Parliamentary representatives believedthe letter represented an attempt to alter Norwegian foreign policy, calling it‘a foreign policy line of its own’. And ‘a shadow political body, indeed one mightalmost say above that of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the government, andParliament.’ The government was not particularly enthusiastic, either. On thecontrary, Prime Minister Kolstad stated that the Arctic Council, ‘through itsunwarranted intrusion into our foreign policy’, had hindered government effortson behalf of Norwegian interests in Eastern Greenland. The publication ofthe letter did not lead the government to support the occupation line, despitethe fact that key members of the administration and experts on internationallaw had unanimously advised an occupation. Something different had to bedone.

Therefore, in a conversation with Hoel, Smedal proposed that they encour-age Norwegian hunters to undertake a private occupation, which in its turnwould compel Norwegian authorities to order an official occupation. The ideawas discussed with legal academics, like Frede Castberg and Jon Skeie. The headof the Arctic Office at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Assistant Secretary FredrikMarstrander, and Minister of Justice Lindboe were informed of the plans. Noneof them believed that such action would motive the government into takingaction.

Nonetheless, Smedal had made up his mind. With Professor Marstrander,editors Jonas Schanche Jonasen and RolfThommessen at TidensTegn, and AdolfHoel and Johan Braastad of the NSIU, Smedal composed a telegram to HallvardDevold. In that message, he asked Devold to occupy all the territory between71° 3’ N and 75° 4’ N, and call it Erik Raude’s Land (Erik the Red Land).

It was important to ensure that this looked like a spontaneous action; not


In Norway, it was considered important to be involved inmapping Eastern Greenland. Here, Eystein

Lundbom is at work during a 1931 NSIU expedition.

one staged by the NSIU and the Arctic Council. The telegram was thereforesigned ‘Your friends’. In the early hours of June 26th, the wording of the telegramwas polished a final time at Hoel’s office, and Marstrander put it in his insidepocket with these words: ‘There is no man on earth who can take this fromme now.’ When a flight to Gothenburg took off from the seaplane airport atGressholmen the next morning, he was on board. In Gothenburg, he checkedinto his hotel as Pastor Jonas Dahl.

When Norwegians heard about Devold’s occupation, some conservativenewspapers put intense pressure on the government to sanction the occupation.Meanwhile the socialist press firmly distanced itself from this position.

On July 10th, 1931, the Norwegian government made the occupationofficial. The next day, the Danish government brought the case before theInternational Court of Justice in The Hague.

The lawsuit in The Hague

Adolf Hoel celebrated the Norwegian occupation aboard the M/S Polarbjørn,far out in the Norwegian Sea, en route to Eastern Greenland. When word ofit was received on Saturday, July 11th, everyone was called up on deck and‘Professor Hoel read the telegram amid great enthusiasm’. Three weeks after thevessel had forced its way through the pack ice belt, it dropped anchor inMyggbukta (Mosquito Bay), and the celebration continued. Hoel and his menwere joined there by Hallvard Devold and his fellow occupiers, who offeredeveryone a real ‘polar party’: ‘I put a case of whiskey on board,’ Devold laterwrote. ‘It was really a tremendous party.’ Despite the whiskey, Hoel and histeam of scientists got straight to work on more serious business.

During the next two years, Hoel and the NSIU did not have much timeto celebrate. From that time onward, the institution would serve as a line ofcommunication, reporting directly to the Norwegian delegation in The Hague.Scientific exploration in Greenland, which since the very first expedition in1929 had played a key role in Norway’s status in Eastern Greenland, nowbecame a means of winning the case in The Hague, as well. Hoel had barelymanaged to unpack on his return from the Greenland expedition in 1931, whenhe was appointed expert member of the Norwegian delegation that was assist-ing the Norwegian legal team which was in turn preparing its case. In addi-tion to Hoel and Smedal, the delegation consisted of lawyers and a historian.The country’s most competent authorities on international law prepared thecase for Norway. Every one of them was unanimous in maintaining that anofficial occupation of parts of Greenland would strengthen Norway’s position.

Objections to Norwegian occupation primarily came from key politicians


in the Conservative and Liberal-Left parties, such as Hambro and Mowinckel.Not least of all, the Labour Party was opposed to occupation. At the Ministryof Foreign Affairs, foreign policy counsellor Esmarch was against state occupa-tion, while the director of the Ministry’s Arctic Office, Fredrik Marstrander,supported occupation.

Some sources maintain that King Haakon was very uneasy about theoccupation, while others imply that he supported government policy complete-ly. In a discussion with Per Rygh, one of the case lawyers in May of 1932, theKing claimed that he had taken the matter up with his father, the King ofDenmark, Frederik VIII, back in 1906. ‘In 1905 Norway made a settlementwith Sweden. Norway will, no doubt, come to an agreement with Denmarkon the territories, especially Greenland.’ King Haakon believed that a Danishinitiative would have made a good impression on Norwegians and helpedmoderate the antagonism between the two countries. More sensational,however, are the notes in Per Rygh’s diary indicating that the King was extreme-ly satisfied with the stance taken by the Norwegian government since the winterof 1931. The government had followed the King’s advice. ‘It was his policy; itwas he who had formulated it and pushed it through.’ Rygh’s information isconfirmed in Smedal’s diary.

As long as the dispute over Greenland continued, criticism of the NSIUquieted down. Even if Hoel’s proposals had to go a few rounds with the Ministryof Trade and Commerce, and he had to tolerate some trimming where Svalbardwas concerned, the NSIU’s budget proposals sailed smoothly throughParliament in both 1932 and 1933. Even Hambro kept quiet.

In addition to state appropriations, Hoel managed to acquire private financ-ing for his proposals. As a result, the institution was able to send out no fewerthan five expeditions in the summer of 1932: three to Greenland, one toSvalbard, and one to the coastal waters around Bear Island. The expeditionsto Greenland were directly linked to the ongoing case in The Hague, both byHoel and by those who financed them.

In 1932, 27 scientists and assistants were working actively in southeastand northeast Greenland (Erik Raude’s Land). A total of 64 persons in all tookpart in activities, including the crews of the expedition vessels, journalists, acouple of telegraphers, and a landscape painter. The next year an expeditionto Greenland was staffed with nine scientists and ten assistants. In 1932, theNSIU used airplanes and aerial photography for the first time in its topograp-hic mapmaking program; and about 30,000 square kilometres were photo-graphed from the air.

Both Hoel and the Ministry believed that the expeditions were necessary,partly ‘on account of the tasks that had to be conducted in connection withthe Greenland case.’ There were probably differences in opinion about the


Eastern Greenland is to be mapped from the air.

This is from the expedition to Myggbukta in 1932.

Whaling ship-owner Lars Christensen of Sandefjord

has lent the plane to the expedition.

amount of money to be spent on scientific mapping of Eastern Greenland,and the impact this would have on the verdict in The Hague. But the govern-ment and the Greenland delegation both considered it vital for Norwegianscientists to continue their work in the field. Hoel used the opportunity toemphasise, yet again, how intimately the NSIU was involved in Norway’sforeign policy and economic interests. ‘The work that this institution is doingis of interest, first and foremost, in connection with our foreign policy in the‘polar regions’ [...] Additionally, our work is relevant in connection with ourcommercial activity in the same areas.’

Despite all efforts to the contrary, the verdict inThe Hague was not in Hoel’sfavour. The court handed down its verdict on April 5th 1933, which wouldremain one of the darkest days of Hoel’s life. Norway lost on all counts. Whatwas worse than Hoel’s personal disappointment was the fact that this defeat alsothreatened his life’s work, the NSIU.

A month before the court decision was announced, Johan Ludwig Mowinckelhad formed his third government. As a result, the two most prominent opponentsof the occupation policy, Prime Minister Mowinckel and Parliamentary Presidentand Chairman of the Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs, C.J. Hambro, wereobliged to take responsibility for the property settlement after the Greenland case.The white paper on the subject was reviewed by both the Standing Committeeon Foreign Affairs and Constitutional Affairs, as well as the ProtocolCommittee.

Hambro requested that the highly critical report be approved withoutdebate out of respect for ‘the country’s international position’ and to preservethe ‘dignity of Parliament.’ In the report by the Standing Committee on ForeignAffairs and Constitutional Affairs, Hoel and his colleagues on the Arctic Counciland in the Greenland delegation were accused of having conducting activities‘partly in concert with government officials and partly behind their backs’.Theseactivities were led by a ‘small group of constitutionally irresponsible men who,through an intense propaganda campaign – which was disloyal to the govern-ment and Parliament – in the press, had attempted to convey to the generalpublic ideas that were incorrect.’

The criticism was extremely crass, especially considering that those indivi-duals could not be held politically responsible for their actions. The main artil-lery was trained on the so-called activists, especially Hoel and Smedal. It wasalso directed at the Arctic Council, the Greenland delegation, the experts ininternational law who had been involved in this case, and the expert members.The report sought to show how badly things could turn out when activists,academics, and the mass media took a case ‘out of the politicians’ hands’. Therecommendation was approved by a vote of 114 to 29.

Being a government employee and director of the NSIU, Hoel recognised


that he was sitting in a glass house. This is probably why, in his statementabout his role in the Greenland case, he did not take responsibility for thefamous telegram to Devold that had been fine-tuned in his office two yearsbefore. He understood the prevailing mood in Parliament and knew that hehad played for high stakes. Not only was he risking his position as head of theNSIU; the institution itself was being threatened.

True to form, Hoel went on the offensive with great conviction when thestorm was at its worst. Certainly his enrolment in the National Socialist Party(known as Nasjonal Samling or NS), founded by Vidkun Quisling in 1933, andhis running for election for the party was particularly ill-advised, as far as theNSIU’s future was concerned. Hoel’s attraction to a party influenced byNational Socialism reflected his frustration with the role Norwegian politici-ans had played in the entire Hague episode and other matters touching onNorwegian interests in the Arctic. Ignorance and indifference regarding Arcticissues were characteristic of the political environment and those who were ‘incharge of governing us.’ The nation lacked a ‘polar policy’. Quisling asked Hoelto put himself at the disposal of NS in order to work for Norway’s polar inter-ests. Hoel stipulated that the polar question be included in the party’s program;and this was done in January of 1934. ‘Norwegian interests in the ‘polar regions’will be asserted with strength and vigilance.’ In the meantime Hoel had parti-cipated in the election campaign and run as the party’s number two candida-te from Oslo. His name appeared on the NS list of candidates right after thatof Vidkun Quisling himself. Hoel was also made use of in the party’s effortsto educate its own members; and he participated in party forums around thecountry, and toured with a lecture on Norwegian foreign policy and polar policy,or, more correctly, the lack of it. He had little praise for the nation’s leaders. ‘Welacked a firm national willpower in our handling of these matters.’

Hoel’s involvement in the NS did not improve his reputation among hiscritics in Parliament. He knew very well that his opponents would not onlyattack the NSIU’s budgets, but would also propose reorganizing it or evenshutting it down. He therefore placed great emphasis on showing how neces-sary it was to ‘have all the work in scientific and applied scientific fields relatingto our polar interests under the umbrella of one institution.’ In the proposed1934 budget, Hoel wisely stressed a significant escalation of work on Svalbardand in the waters around the archipelago. He nonetheless had to tolerate thatParliament cut heavily into the budget that year and the next.

Hoel managed to ride out the storm. Moreover, in the years just beforethe war, he enjoyed two personal victories. In 1938 he was made a Knight ofthe Order of St. Olav for his work on behalf of Norwegian interests in the ‘polarregions’. More importantly, he was awarded a decisive role in the process thatresulted in the extension of Norwegian sovereignty to Queen Maud Land in


Antarctica in 1939. In December 1938, he was in Berlin to prepare for an inter-national polar exhibition and conference that was scheduled to take place inBergen in 1940. During this stay, he happened to obtain confirmation of some-thing he had suspected for some time; the Germans planned to occupy Antarctica.

A few weeks prior to that, Hoel received a visit at the NSIU from a Germandiplomat who was looking for materials about Antarctica and the sector princi-ple. Hoel thought it appropriate to inform the Ministry of Foreign Affairs ofthis, and also to submit a report on how important it was for Norway to havesovereignty over parts of Antarctica.

During his stay in Berlin, Hoel visited German Minister of PropagandaJoseph Goebbels. While in Goebbels’ office, Hoel overhead a telephone conver-sation that increased his concern. After doing some checking around, he wasable to confirm that a large German expedition was on its way to Antarctica.Hoel also learned that it was headed for the same part of Antarctica that Norwayplanned to annex. He immediately notified the Norwegian Legation in Berlin;and on the way back home, he contacted the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Things happened quickly after that. Hoel was asked to write a report aboutexploration of the sector that Norway had designs on. On January 5th, Hoelparticipated in a meeting with Foreign Minister Koth, people from severalministries, representatives of the whaling business, experts in internationallaw, and researchers. The meeting was chaired by Prime Minister Nygaardsvold.As a result of the meeting, the government prepared to announce an annexa-tion that officially took control of the territory on January 14th, 1939, just afew days before the German expedition arrived in that area.

Polar research during the German occupation

Early in June 1940, Hoel and Gustav Smedal had a confidential conversationwith the chairman of the Administrative Council, Regional Commissioner I.E.Christensen, to discuss the status of Norway’s polar interests after the arrivalof German occupying forces. The Administrative Council, which had beenestablished by the Supreme Court, was in charge of civil administration in theoccupied part of Norway from April 15th to September 25th, 1940. Hoel andSmedal were worried about supplies for the Norwegian hunting and meteo-rological stations in Eastern Greenland. They wanted to prepare for a newexpedition to send fresh men and provisions at once. This would also send animportant political signal; that even in these dark times, Norway meant touphold its interests in Greenland.

The Administrative Council appropriated the necessary funds. With thepermission of the German occupational authorities, the D/S Veslekari and M/K


Ringsel left Tromsø on August 2nd. The head of the expedition aboard theVeslekari was NSIU secretary John Giæver, who was also a journalist, author,and hunter from Tromsø. The Ringsel returned to Norway on September 19th

after having performed its duties without incident. However, the Veslekari wasseized by Allied forces.

Hoel and Smedal were preoccupied with the territorial reorganisation thatwould be part of the post-war peace settlement. They were concerned about theArctic and Antarctica, but especially about Greenland. No nation was asdependent on the ‘polar regions’ as Norway was. It was Norway’s only naturalarea of expansion. ’These regions of the earth are in the truest sense Norwegianliving space (i.e. lebensraum).’ They went to Quisling with a request that theNS play a historic role in the struggle for Norwegian polar interests. They beganby expressing disappointment that the party had not formed a new Ministryfor Polar Affairs. However, if this had taken a long time, it was reasoned thatit was because of the incompetence of pre-war ‘party politicians’, the absenceof nationalism, and the lack of Norwegian self-assertiveness. In accordance withthe ‘responsibility and leadership principle’ on which the NS was founded, Hoeland Smedal suggested that the country’s polar interests be safeguarded by thecreation of a cabinet position to be filled by a polar expert. They also believedthis could help solve the NS’s greatest political problem, its lack of publicsupport. ‘Great international issues are far more likely to unite a divided peoplethan domestic ones. [...] The establishment of a Ministry of Polar Affairs wouldbe a national achievement that would greatly hasten the unification of theNorwegian people under your (Quisling’s) leadership.’

The Ministry of Polar Affairs never materialised. Smedal and Hoel choserather to take a step back; and in February 1941, they asked Minister ofEducation Ragnar Skancke to establish up a Polar Council of the kind theyhad first requested of the Administrative Council. Eventually they got a respon-se. In March 1941, Ragnar Skancke asked Adolf Hoel and Gustav Smedal toform an Arctic Committee, for which they received a broad mandate.They wereto reply to inquiries from the Ministry, and could themselves take up issues andquestions. And so they acquired a professional political forum in which theycould pursue their efforts to protect Norwegian polar interests. The first subjectthey turned to was the Greenland expedition in the autumn of 1941.

Had Norwegian military and civil authorities in Great Britain and theU.S.A. expressed any surprise when the Veslekari was seized in 1940, they werecertainly no less astonished when one more expedition from Norway was detec-ted and arrested in the autumn of 1941. In September, the Norwegian Arcticvessel Buskøy from Ålesund was on its way south along the northeastern coastof Greenland, when it was intercepted just north of Myggbukta by the U.S.Coastguard ship Northland.


A 1936 campaign poster for Quisling’s ‘Nasjonal Samling’ (The National Socialist Party). The

partyprogram called for Norway to expand into the polar areas.

On board, they found an expedition led by Hallvard Devold. The mis-sion was the same as that of the Veslekari the year before: to land hunters, deliversupplies, and replace the crews at the Norwegian stations. Most attention wasdrawn to the fact that the vessel also had a radio transmitter and a Norwegiancrew member who was working for the Germans, and whose job it was to sendweather observations to the occupation forces in Norway. Both Devold andHoel firmly maintained that they were totally unaware that German militaryauthorities had decided to take advantage of this opportunity to establish astation in Eastern Greenland. When Hoel was tried for treason after the war,the public prosecutor investigated this episode thoroughly, and decided notto include it among the charges.

There is no doubt that Hoel’s hectic activity during the first year of occupa-tion was an expression of his deep concern with regard to the Norwegianhunting and weather stations in Eastern Greenland. At the same time he sawnew political opportunities on the near horizon. It was a matter importanceto consolidate and strengthen Norway’s foreign policy position and interestsin the ‘polar regions’, especially in Eastern Greenland. The Arctic Committeealso attempted to persuade Quisling to raise the subject of Greenland again,and prior to any post-war peace conference. Naturally, this effort required colla-boration, or in any case mutual understanding, with the authorities of theoccupying power. Hoel or Smedal did not seem to have any objections to aNorwegian offensive in Greenland having to advance under the cover ofGerman bayonets.

Norwegian Lebensraum

In his wartime writings and lectures about Norway’s position in the Arctic, AdolfHoel began to use the word livsrom, or ‘living space’, known in English by theGerman term Lebensraum. For many observers, this appeared linked to histies with the NS and Nazism. The Lebensraum ideology was a way of legitimis-ing Nazi expansionism; but its roots reached further back than that and mustbe viewed in the light of the history of geographical science.

German geographer Friedrich Ratzel (1844–1904) is considered thefounder of modern political geography. His theories about the organicallygrowing state, to which the concept of Lebensraum was central, were charac-terised by concepts in biology that were typical of the late 19th century. Histheories were perpetuated and developed by Swedish political scientist RudolphKjellén (1864–1922), who believed, as did Ratzel, that states should be regard-ed as analogous to biological organisms. They had to grow and expand or theywould die. As a geographer, Adolf Hoel was clearly the product of a solid profes-


sional tradition when he made his pronouncements on history, economics, andpolitics.

The notion of the Arctic as Norwegian Lebensraum can be traced in Hoel’searly ideas regarding polar policy. Like numerous turn-of-the-century geogra-phers, he was influenced by natural determinism. Every nation bore the imprintof the physical conditions under which its people lived, and people developeddistinctive means of surviving these conditions. As far as the Arctic was concerned,Norwegians occupied a special position. ‘No other people are as qualified tomake something out of the polar regions as the Norwegians are’. Norwegians’distinctive natural qualities had been shaped by the struggle against the naturalforces of the Arctic that surrounded them.

Ratzel also developed his own theory of emigration. In brief, it stated thatthose organisms that managed to subdue nature in a given physical space wouldhave a tendency to emigrate to new surroundings, where a new process ofhabituation would take place. This inherent inclination to expand into otherareas was decisive for a people’s survival skills. According to Ratzel, this naturalmigratory impulse was also the most important cause of cultural change.

Adolf Hoel placed special emphasis on emigration and migration in hisdescriptions of Norwegian history, too. Emigration and the occupation of newland, in his view, were distinctively ‘Norwegian’ crisis strategies, developed underharsh natural and climatic conditions. Norwegians lived, to a large extent, onthe frontiers of what was possible, in terms of existence. A minor worseningof the climate could bring about famine. ‘Throughout history, many of ourpeople have had to look abroad in order to subsist, for example by emigratingto countries overseas.’

The innate drive to migrate, according to Ratzel, was found not only inindividuals but also in societies and states. Adolf Hoel’s analyses of Norwegianhistory are influenced by similar concepts. He saw a clear connection betweennational and political vitality and the ability to expand to the north. Duringthe period of Norwegian decline in the Late Middle Ages, Norway did notmanage to maintain economic activity in the ‘polar regions’ or retain sovereign-ty there. Instead, other powers exploited the tremendous riches of the Arctic.‘But as soon as we begin to awaken from our long hibernation, we turn our gazeonce more to the North.’ Hoel then pointed out how Norwegians had con-quered the Arctic in economic terms during the 19th century. Furthermore,he showed how Norway had scientifically ‘conquered’ the ‘polar regions’,through generations of discoveries made by fishermen, polar expeditions suchas Nansen’s, Sverdrup’s and Amundsen’s, as well as the Spitsbergen expeditions.At last, the politicians’ awareness of Norway’s ‘political right’ to Svalbard hadbeen awakened; and in the end Norway acquired sovereignty over Svalbard, ‘thekey to the European Arctic’. Moreover, Norway had not only a historic, but a


The Norwegianization of no man’s land. In the early 20th century there were more than enough

glaciers andmountain peaks that hadnot yet beennamed.Thismapwasdrawnafter Isachsen’s

1909 and 1910 expeditions.

‘natural’ right to expand northward. It was the only direction in which thecountry could expand, and ‘also the direction most natural for our people’;because Norwegians, over the centuries, had accommodated themselves tosimilar landscapes and climates.

Since Hoel’s plans for a Norwegian offensive in Eastern Greenland had to beshelved, activity at the NSIU during the remainder of the war was fairly limited.NSIU scientists spent most of their time re-working pre-war material. Besides,Hoel had enough other obligations. When the German occupation authoritiesremoved Didrik Arup Seip from the presidency of the University of Oslo in1941, Hoel was named vice-president, and then president.

Hoel and the NSIU managed nonetheless to complete one of the tasks heand Gunnar Isachsen had initiated in 1906–07; he was able to ensure system-atisation of place names on Svalbard. Gunnar Isachsen’s cartographic studiesof Spitsbergen through 1910 yielded a small-scale topographical map, whichthey had planned to publish in the British Geographic Journal in 1914.The map,however, had caused consternation among the editors; and it led to a heatedcorrespondence between the editor J. Scott Keltie, the Scottish polar researcherWilliam Speirs Bruce, the Svalbard expert Martin Conway, and Isachsen. Theeditor suggested a compromise. He would publish the map, but with a noteexplaining that many of the names differed from those on British maps. Therewas little doubt as to what Keltie would have preferred. It would have been best,he sighed in a letter to Conway, for the map never to have been printed. Whatwas it that had so upset the Englishmen and the Scotsmen?

Isachsen’s colleague from the 1906–07 Spitsbergen expedition, W. S. Bruce,who had then led the Scottish contingent, was particularly furious. The mapviolated his agreement with Isachsen, that he and Bruce had, which was thatBruce would be in charge of mapping Prins Karls Forland. It also broke withthe naming principles Bruce swore by, and that Scandinavians so often sinnedagainst. Bruce wanted to keep all the old 17th and 18th century names, andwanted any new names to be those of people who had connections to the placesin question, preferably the people who had first discovered them. These weregenerally speaking, the 17th and 18th century British and Dutch whalers.

Bruce was also strongly provoked by Isachsen’s use of the term NorwegianSea for the stretch of water bounded by Norway, Iceland, and Svalbard. Thename had first been proposed by Henrik Mohn, a key figure in the first and,so far, largest maritime research expedition by Norwegians, the North SeaExpedition of the 1870s. The name seems to have been accepted internation-ally as early as the 1880s. The 1884 edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannicaincluded an article on the ‘Norwegian Sea’ which stated that the name givenby Mohn had now been generally accepted. However, even 30 years later, not


everybody was equally familiar with the name. Bruce certainly was not pleasedthat Scandinavians were following Isachsen’s lead in using it.

In 1942, the NSIU published the standard work on the subject, The PlaceNames of Svalbard. The work was a continuation of the project that Norwegianauthorities had begun, systematizing the largely chaotic christening situationthat predominated when Norway assumed sovereignty. Some locations hadseveral names; old names had been shifted to new places; names had been trans-lated, corrupted, and often misunderstood; old names had been changedwithout good reason; and so on. The work, which involved a number of profes-sionals both in Norway and abroad, would determine which source materialthe naming would be based upon and which methods and principles shouldbe employed in deciding names. All recorded names would be traced, theirmeanings explained, and reasons given for the ultimate choice of names.

As a result of this work, 6,500 unclear and conflicting names were elimin-ated out of a total of about 10,000. In addition to a substantial reduction inthe number of names, all the names were now given a Norwegian linguisticform and conjugation. This represented a Norwegianisation of the namingmaterial, of course; but it also reflected a desire to take the archipelago’s inter-national history seriously.

One of the most powerful examples of the cultural conquest of the Arcticwas the name change that occurred when Norway formally took overSpitsbergen in 1925. At that time a new name was given to the entire archi-pelago: Svalbard. Those who changed the name were, in doing so, taking aposition on a disputed theory, advanced by such historians as Gustav Storm andAlexander Bugge, arguing that it was Icelandic-Norwegian seafarers who haddiscovered the islands in the north in 1194, and not Dutchmen in 1596. Thename change tied the country more strongly to Norway and to Norwegianhistory. It was also thought that it might ease the disappointment of Norwegianswho were troubled by the limitations that the Svalbard Treaty had placed onNorwegian sovereignty.

The research on place names that was conducted under the auspices ofthe NSIU, and that in 1942 resulted in The Place Names of Svalbard, demon-strated, in a way, Hoel’s main concern. It was important to place a Norwegianimprint on the Arctic, in this case, simply by giving Norwegian names tomountains and seas, plains and glaciers. But, as we have seen, other researchcontributed to this process of Norwegianisation. The land of cold seacoastsseems today much more Norwegian than when Hoel first glimpsed Svalbard’smountains from the deck of the Princesse Alice in the summer of 1907.

Attempts to Norwegianise the ‘polar regions’ in the north through scientificactivity were not at all sensational or particularly Norwegian. On the contra-


ry, men like of Hoel, Isachsen, and the other Norwegian scientists preoccu-pied with the Arctic, were a part of a long tradition with their scientific col-leagues throughout the West. In Canada, mapping by natural scientists playeda decisive role in the construction of a new nation and the development of anational identity. And in the U.S.A., the ‘West’ was won and incorporatedinto the nation; it was Americanised through geographical and geologicalmapmaking. In Scandinavia, polar research and other related research in northernSweden contributed to the national self-assertiveness and reorientation that couldbe observed in Sweden during the second half of the 19th century. The sciences,particularly the natural sciences, also contributed in vital ways to the growingunderstanding of the Arctic. It was ‘through the lenses of science that the portraitof the north emerged.’

In that era, science played an integral and vital role in the consolidationof the Norwegian state and in attempts to bring new land under Norwegiancontrol. It made little sense to speak of the use and misuse of science in the nameof nationalism or imperialism. History tells us that scientific exploration wasa main pillar of Western cultural conquest, from pole to pole, and in East andWest. The incorporation of Svalbard into Norway and the unsuccessful attemptto win Eastern Greenland in the 1930s are Norwegian examples of this process.

The Place Names of Svalbard is a book that has been in demand

ever since it was first published in 1942. This is the 2003 edition.


A POLAR COMMUNITY

World War II revealed the military significance of the ‘polar

regions’. Then the Cold War increased the need for a better

understanding of these icy territories.

Positive economic developments combined with ruthless

exploitation of natural resources gave way to a decline in fish

stocks and other marine resources, and led to increased

pressure from environmentalists. Eventually, the demand that

vulnerable natural resources should be managed better led

to new limitations on commercial activity. Meanwhile, the

struggle for national sovereignty was gradually replaced by

international collaboration in research, and by a growing

awareness that the polar ecosystems affect us all.

World War II altered the military significance of the Arctic. In terms of securi-ty, it became one of the most important areas in the world as far as the East-West conflict was concerned. Antarctica, which during the war had lackedmilitary significance, also became an increasingly more important factor ininternational and political tensions. Rapid development of military techno-logy continued, and gathered momentum during the Korean War. Long-rangebombers, intercontinental missiles, nuclear-powered submarines, andnumerous new kinds of communication technology contributed to escala-ting tensions in the north. The next war would be fought in, on, and underthe Arctic. As time went by, the Americans also feared that the Soviets hadplans to use Antarctica and the Antarctic Ocean for secret nuclear-weapon testsand as bases from which to threaten Western interests from the south.Naturally, Norwegian polar interests were not unaffected by these develop-ments.

Scientific exploration of the polar areas became a strategically importantelement in American and Soviet defence policy. To survive under extremeconditions and to plan attacks and defence on and under the ice and in theair, it was necessary to know more about basic physical and environmentalconditions in the ‘polar regions’. It became particularly necessary to study indepth such topics as the polar basin sea floor conditions, Arctic Ocean currentsand their special characteristics, polar meteorology, the upper layers of theearth’s atmosphere above the poles, and the Northern Lights. Polar geophysicswas essential to improve radio communication, to know more about conditionsin the airspace through which rockets would fly, and to understand physicalproperties of the ice and glaciers where air bases, radar installations, and milita-ry equipment would be located. The strategic value of basic research on suchtopics encouraged commitment to massive research projects and the foundation

p l a y i n g w i t h t h e b i g b o y s 319

PLAYING WITH THE BIG BOYS

of major academic institutions, especially in the U.S.A and Soviet Union.Advanced research under extreme polar conditions was dependent on expensiveinstruments and technological logistics; money and new kinds of knowledgecompeted with polar experience and tradition for primacy in the polar regions.

The generally escalating tension created problems for Norwegian polarpolicy. Polar research, which had always had political significance, became asteadily more important factor in Norwegian politics. However, constantly oscil-lating relationships between the superpowers made it difficult to maintain astable line, especially because there were also conflicting views within the govern-ment, from time to time. And that had its consequences.

One example of this is Norway’s involvement in the Antarctic in the 1950s;another is the establishment of the Norwegian Polar Institute, and the discus-sions about what kind of institution, and how ambitious an institution, it shouldbe.

But the Norwegian polar effort was also a question of resources: econo-mic and human. Perhaps the real mystery is not so much that Norway was nolonger in the forefront, but just how Norwegians were still able to make majorcontributions to huge international research operations.

Jumping the gun after World War II

In May 1945, most Norwegians had far more important things to think aboutthan Norway’s resumption of polar activities. For obvious reasons, the occupa-tion and destruction of Norwegian installations on Svalbard drew less attentionthan the material and psychological damage on the mainland. Even so, Norwayhad a foothold in the Arctic under the Svalbard Treaty and in the Antarcticby virtue of its territorial claims to Dronning Maud Land, which was a largeclaim dating from 1939. Yet the Norwegian Institute for the Exploration ofSvalbard and the Arctic Ocean (NSIU), whose purpose was to protect andadvance Norwegian polar interests, had virtually fallen apart, because its formerleader, Adolf Hoel, had been a member of the National Socialist Party duringWorld War II. In what was obviously an uncertain and difficult situation, AndersOrvin, who had worked as a geologist for many years at the NSIU, took onthe directorship. In the summer of 1945, he was anxious to send Norwegiansback to Svalbard. No matter what the immediate future might bring, it wasnecessary to rebuild the infrastructure on Svalbard, like the radio, lighthouses,and other navigational equipment; it was important for business activity tocontinue, especially at Store Norske’s coal mining operations. Even thoughOrvin recognised the Arctic’s enhanced international significance and wishedto make changes in the institution’s activities, others with a more global perspec-

320 a p o l a r c o m m u n i t y

tive understood that a new era was dawning. It was an era in which Norwegianpolar operations would have to be more extensive and more responsible.

Hans Wilhelmson Ahlmann (1889–1974) was the driving force behind thisactivity. He was a Swedish glaciologist and professor of geography in Stockholm.He had close contacts within political, business, and scientific circles in Norway,and managed to form a coalition of politicians and scientists with the sharedgoal of strengthening Norway’s polar presence.

Early in his career, Ahlmann had spent a lot of time in Norway. In 1919,he married Lillemor Harloff of Bergen and became acquainted with the eliteamong that city’s scientific community: Bjørn Helland-Hansen, VilhelmBjerknes, and Harald Ulrik Sverdrup. On research and field trips in theNorwegian mountain wilds in the early 1920s, he was accompanied by youngHalvard Lange, a contact that would figure prominently in later years, whenLange became foreign minister. Ahlmann organised joint Swedish-Norwegianexpeditions to Svalbard; first to the Nordaustland in 1931, then with Sverdrupto western Svalbard i 1934. His wartime contact with the resistance movementand with Norwegians abroad strengthened his ties to the country and wonhim respect and confidence of Norwegians. In 1950 he was appointed Swedishambassador to Norway.

During the war, Ahlmann had discussed the possibility of organising jointpost-war expeditions to Greenland and/or Antarctica with British, Danish,Icelandic, and Norwegian polar researchers. He realised that Sweden couldnot carry out polar research on its own. He also made a virtue of necessity whenhe joined his efforts to Sweden’s new national ideology: international cooper-ation among small nations. Ahlmann’s original plan for scientific collaborationwas to have great political significance. But after the war the order was reversed;the scientific agenda came to be affected by the political threat.

Ahlmann’s glacial studies during the 1920s and 30s in Norway, northernSweden, and parts of Svalbard, Greenland, and Iceland had yielded fascinat-ing results. The glaciers had become smaller, which suggested that the overallclimate had grown warmer. If this was so, scientists should seek to understandthe causes and potential effects of such a change. Ahlmann used the expression‘climate improvement’, reflecting a Scandinavian appreciation of milder wintersand longer growing seasons; even though he also indicated that a change likethat could be problematic in other parts of the world.

Ahlmann originally selected Graham Land as the destination for a jointAntarctic expedition, because he felt it might please the British. Argentina andChile, which were demanding hegemony on the long, thin peninsula, wereopposed to Great Britain’s territorial claims to it. For the Swedes, too, this wasan appealing first choice, as Otto Nordenskjöld had been there in 1901–03.But toward the end of the war, when Ahlmann got access to photographs of


Two friends andNordic polar strategists in the field.

HaraldU. Sverdrup andHansWilhelmssonAhlmann

during a 1934 expedition to Svalbard.

unexplored parts of Dronning Maud Land, taken by German reconnaissancemissions in 1939, and he saw mountain tops sticking up through massive layersof glacial ice, he realised that it was more important to organise an expeditionto this far more inaccessible region. Perhaps the same glaciers could be photo-graphed again, to see if they, too, had shrunk? If that were the case, then it wouldprove that there was global warming.

When peace arrived in Europe, Ahlmann carefully followed events inNorway, especially with regard to the ‘polar regions’. He hoped the speedyestablishment of a new institute might help involve Norway in a multinationalAntarctic expedition and stimulate more Nordic collaboration in the Arctic.

In late June 1945, Ahlmann and four other Swedish scientists were invitedto Moscow at short notice to commemorate the 200th anniversary of theRussian Academy of Sciences and celebrate the victory over fascism. What hesaw disturbed him. At the enormous victory parades, which he watched fromreviewing stands in the company of Stalin, Molotov, and Kalinin, he was sur-prised by the extent of Soviet scientific activity and investment in research; ‘TheRussian investment in science is so huge that if Western Europe and even theU.S.A. are not to fall behind, all forces must be mobilised.’ In particular, thehuge scale of Soviet polar research aroused fear and concern. The Norwegianembassy in Moscow asked him to investigate all this.

Stalin had begun to invest heavily in polar research and exploration duringthe 1930s, with an eye to exploiting the far north economically and forging aheroic Soviet identity that would overcome polar challenges. At the centre ofall this was the Arctic Research Institute in Leningrad, then the world’s largestsuch institution, with 250 scientific and technical employees.

Visiting the institute, Ahlmann was impressed but became unsettled by thescale of Soviet activities. He was also worried about American assertion of powerin the Arctic, as evinced by their bases in Greenland and Iceland. Were theNordic countries being pushed out of the Arctic?

Norwegian polar policy – ‘a damned mess’

Ahlmann came to Norway at the end of July 1945 and contacted his old colleaguesto discuss Norwegian participation in multinational polar expeditions and theNSIU’s future.

He also met with Prime Minister Einar Gerhardsen, who was ‘disorientedby the whole question and referred him to [Foreign Minister Trygve] Lie’.Ahlmann then visited Lie at home, and while Lie sat in his shirtsleeves eatingpea soup, they discussed the necessity of establishing an institution that couldhelp the Norwegian government withstand external challenges. ‘He fully under-


stood my conclusion, which was that “the whole thing is a damned mess,” andhe promised to look into the issue. We parted on very good terms.’

Lie knew better than many others just what a ‘mess’ Svalbard was. Thewar had suddenly brought an end to Svalbard’s demilitarised status, which hadbeen established in the Svalbard Treaty. Svalbard’s significance grew afterGermany attacked the Soviet Union in June 1941, and the Western powersbegan sending supply convoys to northwestern Russia. Neither Germany northe Allies respected Svalbard’s demilitarised status.Trygve Lie was shocked whenhe met Soviet Foreign Minister Vjatsjeslav Molotov at the Kremlin in November1944. Molotov proposed annulling the SvalbardTreaty. Molotov suggested thatSvalbard be shared between the Soviet Union and Norway. Norway was tocede control of Bjørnøya, because it had previously always been Russian. PrimeMinister Nygaardsvold had had strong reservations about Lie going to Moscow,because the trip might lead to disconcerting surprises, but the desire to contin-ue a good collaborative relationship compelled Lie to make the trip.

The situation was tense. The Soviet Union had just accepted a cease-firein Finland; Russian troops had already liberated eastern Finnmark; but wouldthey remain there? The government in exile chose neither to ignore the threatnor to call in its Western allies, whose consent was required for the 1920 treatyto be annulled. Norway agreed to negotiate an agreement and then seek inter-national approval.That is how Norway was drawn into negotiations from whichit was difficult to withdraw. The situation became no easier after the war. Bythe summer of 1945, Lie certainly recognized that no matter what strategyGerhardsen’s government adopted in response to the Soviet demands (and therewere big differences of opinion about the matter), the government needed anefficient, respected polar institute.

When Ahlmann shared his ideas with colleagues in Oslo, he mentionedHarald Ulrik Sverdrup as a candidate for institute director. Sverdrup had earnedan international reputation for being unusually industrious and gifted. Manyexperts regarded the scientific results of the Maud expedition, at least in the areaof geophysics, to be the most valuable material collected on any polar expedi-tion ever undertaken. They set new standards for precision of observationsand scientific sophistication of data analysis.

In 1936, however, Sverdrup accepted the directorship of the ScrippsInstitution at the University of California, which conducted research in physi-cal oceanography. The success that Sverdrup eventually enjoyed there can inmany ways be interpretted as a victory for the Norwegian school of geophysi-cal research and for the Nansen-Amundsen approach to leadership of polarexpeditions. Sverdrup used his knowledge and experience to change Scrippsfrom an inconsistent, uninspired local institution into a first-class, internation-ally prominent enterprise.


When war began in Europe, Sverdrup knew he would have to extend hisstay in the U.S.A. In collaboration with three younger colleagues, he wrote anoceanography textbook of more than 1000 pages that would serve as the bibleof that science for several decades. He organised excellent research teams thatcontributed to the war effort, taught many new oceanographers, and set inmotion research programs to support the Allied military strategy. Sverdrupand his student Walther Munk also arrived at methods for calculating swellsand breakers, which would prove important when troops were landed in severaldecisive military operations. After the war, the U.S.A. Navy awarded Sverdrupthe highest distinction a civilian could receive.

Confusing birth

Ahlmann’s attempt to resurrect Norway as a polar power resulted in more thanhe had bargained for; Norway was willing to participate in the planned Antarcticexpedition, but wanted to run it. The Norwegian flag and Norwegian vesselswere not just desirable, but necessary. Halvard Lange, the new Foreign Minister,insisted on these conditions, doubtless because he considered it vital to demon-strate Norway’s willingness to explore and invest in its 1939 territorial claims,which were still widely disputed among key nations. Some powerful interestsin Norway had long sought to limit British participation, since the U.K. wasconsidered a competitor in the whaling industry. What began as a plan for aSwedish-British and then a Swedish-British-Norwegian expedition seemed nowto have become primarily a Norwegian expedition.

For Lange, it was clear that a new polar institute was needed to coordinateand administer Norwegian interests in the North and the South. Lange under-stood that scientific activity could help win acceptance for Norway’s territorialdemands. Now, Lange had more than sufficient reason to call Sverdrup home assoon as possible to manage the new institute and to plan and run the expedition.

It was clear from the very beginning that there were differing viewpoints onhow to organise the new institute. Amongst the old guard at NSIU, there wasopposition to any change in its research profile. Anders Orvin shared AdolfHoel’s view that a polar organisation should concern itself primarily withconducting geological and topological exploration and with providing logisti-cal knowledge and equipment to others who were in Svalbard for economicor scientific reasons. The Ministry of Trade and Commerce was not interestedin an institute that placed great emphasis on its research profile, either. Sverdrup,on the other hand, wanted a scientifically advanced polar institute. He proposedan institute comprised of three departments: 1) research, 2) surveys and map-


making, and 3) expeditions and practical work. The institute director shouldpreferably be a scientist, who heads up the research department, and shouldhave a permanent staff of scientists and a large number of researchers oncontract, with stipends and grants from other institutions.

In 1947 and early 1948, it looked as if Norway was ready and willing tomake a major investment and to act quickly and decisively. At least on paper,the new institute would amount to an expansion of the NSIU as far as researchand geographic coverage was concerned. The organization would be comprisedof six departments: administrative, topographical, hydrographical, geological,geophysical, and biological; and would focus activities on both poles. Thedirector would be a scientist with a part-time faculty position as full professorat the university.The Norwegian Polar Institute mission was to retain its leadingrole in European polar research.

Sverdrup returned home on April 2nd, 1948. As he recalled some yearslater, ‘On April 17th, I was asked to develop a new plan [for the Antarctic expedi-tion]; a month later a new plan was submitted: and before a month had goneby it was considered by Parliament, and the first appropriation was allocated!My impression was that in Norway things were getting done faster than inAmerica; but I learned otherwise soon enough.’ However in 1948, it was firstand foremost the planning of a hitherto unprecedented multinational expedi-tion to Antarctica which dominated work.

The Maudheim expedition

The Norwegian-British-Swedish expedition (NBSX) to Dronning Maud Landis usually only given a passing mention in chronicles of Antarctica, but thisapparently routine enterprise played a very important role in post-war research.It was a significant precursor to the expensive Norwegian and multinationalAntarctic expeditions during the International Geophysical Year in 1957–58.It was also of major political significance.

The Antarctic might seem far removed from the northern hemisphere’spolitical tensions, but this had not kept it from being drawn into World WarII. German naval forces seized a Norwegian whale factory ship and otherwhaling vessels, because the Germans needed the natural resources in theAntarctic Ocean. What was more significant was that German submarines couldattack Allied navy ships in the South Pacific and South Atlantic. Americanstrategists and scientists kept their eyes on the continent to the far south.

U.S. exploration of the Antarctic had begun with Richard Byrd’s firstexpedition of 1928–29, aided by Norwegian pilot Bernt Balchen, whose boldventures, helped yield key scientific and logistical breakthroughs. In the post-


Three flags were to wave side by side for two

Antarctic winters. A multinational expedition on

the scale of theNorwegian-British-Swedish enter-

prise in DronningMaud Landwas a ‘first’ in polar

research.

war era, the Americans returned in force. To begin with, the more importantdestination for its armadas was the Arctic. The U.S. military wanted to establisha strategic front all across the Arctic in order to resist ‘the Red Menace to theNorth’. But if there were to be combat in the north, they needed a better under-standing of how people and equipment would hold out in the extreme cold.So in the autumn and winter of 1945–46, the American Navy organised‘Operation Frostbite’, a convoy of ships to the Davis Strait west of Greenland.However, the operation was not considered a good enough test, because condi-tions had not proven sufficiently rigorous. Moreover, these kinds of exercisesmade the Russians apprehensive; continued construction of bases and instal-lations, coupled with large-scale military training operations tended to makethe Russians feel threatened. Large military training operations probably notonly incited Soviet accusations of hostile American intervention in the Arctic,but also triggered Soviet countermeasures.

All this led to ‘Operation Highjump’ (1946–47), in which no fewer than13 ships converged on Antarctica from the Atlantic and Pacific, taking withthem the newest landing craft and Snowcats, several planes, and over a thousandmen. The main base was near the Ross Sea, but operations took place across thecontinent, and in most sectors. Even though its chief objective was to acquireexperience in the polar environment, test equipment, and prepare for the useof defensive and offensive tactics in an Arctic confrontation, potentially withthe Russians, the operation also made countries with Antarctic sector claimsuneasy and apprehensive.

The American State Department recommended that the continent becomeinternational territory, instead of being split into national sectors. ‘OperationWindmill’ in 1947–48 was the next move; and it utilized helicopters to map coastalareas not previously charted. The American operations moved into territoriespreviously claimed by France, Great Britain, Chile, Argentina, New Zealand,Australia, and Norway. Meanwhile, diplomatic bickering between Great Britainand Argentina reached new heights. The U.S. State Department decided topursue the recommendation made by the late Franklin D. Roosevelt; end thetension by negotiating an internationalisation of Antarctica.

Most of the countries that had claims in Antarctica rejected this proposalimmediately. In addition and quite surprisingly, the Soviet Union – seeming-ly unaffected by sector claims – declared that its own historic rights, based onearly 19th century journeys and on current whaling activities, entitled the SovietUnion to participate in all negotiations about the future of Antarctica. In replyto American opposition to pre-existing national claims, France sent an expedi-tion to its small sector, Terre Adélie. This constituted the first such French initi-ative since Dumont D’Urvilles had discovered the coast in 1840. France claimedthe region as French territory.


To the rest of the world, the Norwegian-British-Swedish expedition seemedto have been undertaken in accordance with the goals of scientific research.Ahlmann’s increasingly frequent comments on indications of global warmingdrew attention. When the New York Times wrote about his findings in 1947and about the planned expedition to Antarctica to investigate whether thephenomenon was truly global, U.S. military strategists reacted at once. It seemsthat the first discussion of global warming in history took place shortly after-wards, in the inner circles of the Pentagon, at a time when the U.S.A. soughtto strengthen its position in Greenland and when the Canadian Arctic was inthe process of being militarised. If U.S. military strategy required glacier landingcapabilities for large transport planes, conducting tank attacks on snow and ice,and building bases, radar stations, and other installations on Arctic islands(whether they be land or drift ice), climate change would raise serious tacticalissues. In the future, the superpowers would need to know more about thefundamental nature of the polar regions.

But before this enormous research effort got underway, a medium-sizedship carrying a group of Norwegian, British, and Swedish polar researchershelped set the stage for the next act.

Two winters in the Antarctic

Mapmaking figured prominently in the NBS expedition, as it did in the large-scale American expeditions. But the NSB expedition was also to involve system-atically planned research. Having scientists and technical personnel from threecountries working closely alongside one another in cramped, isolated livingquarters, in unfamiliar and inhospitable surroundings was a major challenge,especially given Antarctica’s history of international competition for honourand territory.

The expedition leader, John Giæver, had long experience in the Arctic.Between the wars, he had worked for the NSIU in Eastern Greenland andSvalbard. When the war ended, he returned home from Canada and becamedepartment manager at NSIU/NP, where he was to use his practical expertisewhen the need arose. He threatened to go back to North America, where hispolar experience could be put to better use. Even though Sverdrup needed aright-hand man at home, he understood that there were few others in Norwaywho could head the expedition. And a Swedish or British leader would havebeen politically unacceptable.

The expedition vessel, a new sealing ship called the Norsel, was just aboutloaded to the gills, and there was quite simply no room for one of the expedi-tion’s three Swedish prefabricated units. As the amount of equipment for the


expedition continued to increase, a decision was made to utilize the whale facto-ry ship Thorshøvdi, in order to ship some of the equipment, together with 60dogs, three heavy-duty snow vehicles known as Snowcats, one special drillingmachine, and five of the team.

The Norsel was nonetheless filled to the brim when it left Oslo on November17th, 1949. When the other participants and provisions from Sweden and GreatBritain, including two small British Royal Air Force Auster planes, came aboard,it seemed that the vessel might have trouble staying afloat on the high seas.The dogs took up most of the space on deck, in addition to equipment, a plane,prefabricated buildings and sundry cumbersome objects. As was the case withprevious expeditions, the way to Antarctica, of course, lay through the broilingtropics. So, provisions began to rot, dogs got sick, and people started gettingused to living in discomfort and with unpleasant odours.

Fortunately, a polar expedition does not need to be stylish. As the Norselfinally neared Dronning Maud Land, the parts of the deck that were notcrowded with howling dogs were covered in blood and stinking, oily lumpsof whale meat; until new food supplies arrived a year later, the dogs’ only dietwas comprised of fresh whale meat from the Thorshøvdi.

The expedition, which was behind schedule, had to find a place to moorquickly. It soon became obvious that the ice and currents were far more problem-atic than previously received reports had indicated. Exhibiting first-rate seaman-ship, Captain Guttorm Jakobsen manoeuvred the Norsel through the outer packice, but the sludgy brash-ice was like frozen porridge. Approaching the coast,the expedition encountered a seemingly endless ice barrier 20 to 40 meters high.The small reconnaissance planes were set down on the water and took off totry to find a safe haven. If the expedition did not reach ‘land’ within a very shorttime, the expedition would have to turn around, head north to South Africa,and wait until the next summer. Under no circumstances could they take thechance that winter might close in before the camp was completely set up; andthey had to be sure the Norsel did not run the risk of becoming icebound.

One of the planes reported news of a small, relatively well protected baynear Cape Norvegia, where the ice conditions made it possible to unload.Unloading was rapidly begun. Nobody knew exactly what an autumn on thecoast of Dronning Maud Land would involve; that daytime temperatures rapid-ly could drop to –20 C; and that chances of frequent storms and near-zero visibi-lity meant that work might be interrupted and provisions could be buried insnowdrifts before everything was in place. And of course the long polar nightswere a factor, even if they were only at 70° S. After hectic, sometimes round-the-clock work, everything had been unloaded and transported to a point 2.2kilometres from the coast, hopefully far enough from the water so none of thebase camp ice broke loose and drifted out to sea.


Maudheim consisted of two houses, both of them four meters high mea-sured from their pitched roofs and with floor surfaces measuring eight by eightmeters. The supplies were packed in identical crates, stacked in such a way asto create a system of corridors and rooms between and around the houses. Wheneverything was covered with tarpaulins, the whole base was one single entitythat was soon buried in snow. It was possible to move between the buildingsto fetch equipment and supplies or to get to the radio room, laboratories, ordiesel generators. A tall mast was installed for making meteorological obser-vations; and regular weather reports began on February 22nd, 1950. As only twoof the three originally planned housing units had been taken and erected, thecamp was rather cramped for 25 men. Even though each of them had a smallspace entirely to himself, there were no doors and little privacy. At the end ofApril, the relatively good weather gave way to a storm. The men soon noticedthat the wind whipped the fine snow into dense clouds of ice particles thatreduced visibility to a few meters or less. It could be disastrous to go outsideto check the daily radiosondes (these are comprised of a large instrument-carry-ing weather balloon that rose into the atmosphere while transmitting databack to the ground) or the meteorological and magnetic instruments, eventhough this equipment was only a short distance from the base. After a fewmonths, the roof was covered by a half a meter of snow. The men became cavedwellers.

Other surprises lay in wait. When the Antarctic winter was over, and prepa-rations could begin for the summer expeditions to the mountains inland, itbecame clear that Maudheim’s apparently secure location was, in reality, nothingof the kind. The base had been built on the very edge of a glacier that had begunto float. Even though it was attached to the ice further inland, the expanse ofice moved up and down with the tides.

During the winter, the expedition members fine-tuned their research plans,tested equipment, and built up mutual trust. When the winter was over, scien-tific work began. In September they used the dog teams and found a site for a‘departure depot’ about 75 kilometres east of Maudheim. Then they broughtin their snow caterpillar equipment, ‘weasels’, with transportation sleds in orderto place about 12 tons of provisions and equipment. In October and November,they explored with dog sleds to find a more secure route to Advanced Base,located about 300 kilometres south of Maudheim, marking the route with smallflags. In early December, three Snowcats transported 15 tons of supplies toAdvanced Base, and from there the field parties with dog teams would leavefor the mountains to do geological, topographical, and glaciological fieldwork.Swedish mechanic Bertil Ekström maintained the weasels, even though they wereapparently used way beyond their limitations. In mid December, when it ismidsummer in Antarctica, the scientists and their assistants finally got to work.


The men did not miss an opportunity to celebrate, and music always raised their spirits.

Lorentzen plays a homemade percussion instrument. Rogstad plays the accordion, and Robin,

the flute.

Two four-man teams left Advanced Base with 50 dogs. One of the teamswas led by Ahlmann’s student, glaciologist Valter Schytt, the other by Canadiangeologist Ernest Frederick Roots. One group found its way to two mountainsthat were jutting up out of the ice.These two 180-meter-high mountains turnedout to have been mapped by the Germans, with their seaplanes, as being 800meters high. Once again, it became obvious that accurate maps could not bebased solely on aerial observations. But a much greater surprise was in store.Theynoticed that the mountain surface was covered by lichens of various colours.Green moss, almost two centimetres thick, illuminated the scene. As Schyttwrote, ‘For men who had not seen anything other than white wilderness foralmost a year, this was like a luxuriant tropical jungle.’ Because the lichen grewall the way down to the snow, it appeared as if there was no sign that the icehad receded in recent years, at least not here. In the Arctic and sub-Arctic,there were vegetation-free belts of rocks where the ice had just receded. Couldit be that polar warming was not universal? The geology team also discoverednew lichen species, – and more. While they were noting figures from their obser-vation equipment, Dr. Ove Wilson picked up a rock and saw a small mitecrawling rapidly across it. Through his magnifying glass, he discerned twospider-like creatures: one of them red and active, the other brown and motion-less. How had they got there? The summits of these mountains had been buriedunder ice for millions of years. Had the mites been frozen hard into a state ofhibernation, or had it been carried by the wind from somewhere else whenthe ice withdrew? The geologists also noted distinctive geological layers in someof the mountains that were reminiscent of mountains on the other side of thecontinent. Were these two mountain chains connected under the ice and acrossthe great, unexplored interior?

After almost five and a half months, the geological party finally returnedto base. Winter was approaching, and in Maudheim, Giæver and the otherswere furious. It had not been possible to make radio contact with the resear-chers, but Maudheim had communicated with the outside world, especiallywith the Norwegian Polar Institute, where Sverdrup waited nervously. Giæverfinally sent out a search party, but after just a few days, both the search partyand the researchers were back safe and sound. They had with them over a tonof rock samples. Thanks to solid logistical preparations, with sufficient foodsupplies at well spaced depots and carefully checked equipment, everyonehad returned without serious injury.

In Maudheim, however, the situation was very uncomfortable. The intensesolar radiation did not melt the surface snow, but penetrated it and was absor-bed by any object beneath it, so that the snow surrounding and covering thehouses and tarpaulins began to melt or evaporate. Water dripped from the roofsand walls, froze and created pillars of ice that rose up from the floor. Even worse,


the base now became locked inside an ice mass that impeded ventilation. Whenthe walkways had to be covered during the many big snowstorms that summer,those who didn’t go outside to make meteorological observations had to breat-he smoke and carbon monoxide all day. However, there were even more seriousdifficulties.

After the fatiguing work of setting up Advanced Base, Swedish mechanicBertil Ekström spent a great deal of time repairing the Snowcats. On the nightof February 23rd–24th, 1951, he and three other men took one of them on atest drive toward the ‘harbour’, which was now being called Norselbukta (NorselBay). That night the fog suddenly came rolling in from the sea and reducedvisibility to nearly zero. Even though they were following a much-travelledroute, they lost their way; drove over a gently sloping, four-meter-high ridge,and they plummeted into the sea. One of the men, Hallgren, managed toclamber up on to an ice floe. The others clung to the icewall, but did not reali-se that the sea had eroded a grotto beneath the ice. The swells carried theminto that grotto, and they drowned. Meanwhile, back at Maudheim, the radiooperator, Rogstad, realised that the Snowcat had been gone too long. He follow-ed its tracks on his skis to the place three kilometres away, where the vehicle hadfallen into the sea. He heard Hallgren’s cry for help. In the drama that fol-lowed, he hurried back to base and put together a rescue team that dug theexpedition’s two dories out of the snow, dragged the heavy fishing boats on sledsto the site of the accident, and managed to launch one of them. Hallgren wassaved.

There was another serious incident, this one a medical emergency. Whilechiselling rock to take samples during his field trip in the mountains, geolo-gist Alan Reece had got a rock splinter in one eye. He gradually lost his sightin that eye, but later in the winter he discovered that the other eye had becomeinfected; and he faced the prospect of going completely blind. The expedition’syoung doctor, Ove Wilson, made radio contact with one of his medical profes-sors in Lund, who insisted that the damaged eye must be removed if the othereye was to be saved. Wilson had not performed, or even observed, this typeof surgery before. Reece was kept in the dark about what was going on, whileWilson received instructions from Lund about how to perform the operation.The instruments were homemade, fashioned out of thick steel wire that hadbeen filed and polished; the handles were taken from dental instruments, theoxygen mask made of spare parts from the Snowcats. Secret training of assist-ants was arranged late in the evening in the radio room. Reece was informedin mid July. He took the news calmly, and the operation began. Roots assisted,Schytt acted as nurse, Hallgren was anesthetist, and Rogstad and Liljequistmonitored the patient’s blood pressure and pulse. The eye was removed in alittle under three hours. Their efforts were rewarded. Reece retained his sight.


How could an inexperienced doctor remove an eye in the isolated Antarctic, with homemade

instruments and medically unskilled operating assistants?

How thick is the ice?

The next summer, the geologists and glaciologists went out into the field, wherethey tried out new exploratory techniques. Exactly how thick was the ice, andwhat was the land like beneath it? Ahlmann had provided the expedition witha two-ton pressure drill from the Rockefeller Foundation, which was inter-ested in supporting Ahlmann’s global warming studies. After much trial anderror, they obtained the first ice cores from the Antarctic by boring over 100meters down into the ice around Maudheim. The study of this ice could pro-vide insight into the processes that convert snow into glaciers, as well as intothe climate of earlier epochs. The heavy boring machine could not be trans-ported into the interior, but other techniques were available.

The Australian physicist, Gordon Robin, used oil exploration methods withseismic soundings. In principle, one could set off explosions near the surfaceand record the echoes from the sound waves when they bounced back up fromthe mountains beneath the ice. The ice thickness could be calculated from thetime interval between the explosion and the echo. Attempts made during Byrd’ssecond expedition showed the ice in Marie Byrd Land to be between 300 and600 meters thick. But not much more than this was known. Some scientistsand explorers claimed, in fact, that Eastern and Western Antarctica were sepa-rated by a canal linking the Weddell and Ross seas. Were the mountaintops thatpoked up out of the ice several hundred or several thousand meters high? Itwas time to replace guesswork with fact.

Yet another party headed inland. Seismic sounding showed that under anapparently shallow valley of ice, there was hidden an enormous inlet surround-ed by massive mountains; not unlike a Norwegian fjord. As they moved higherand higher up, it became harder and harder to hear any echoes. One soundingindicated a thickness of 2,000 meters, which they thought was wrong, since thethickest ice that had been discovered on Byrd’s expedition had been only 700meters thick. Soon they reached a central plateau, at an elevation of more than2,000 meters above sea level, where they heard no echoes. Robin decided to staythere and experiment instead of pushing on in unknown terrain. After six daysof frustration and trying every conceivable means of detonating explosives – over,on, and under the snow – he used a Snowcat to compress the snow, which oftencollapsed after an explosion and caused vibrations that interfered with the echoes.It worked. Now, after setting off charges more than ten meters beneath the sur-face, they were able to record echoes. After 48 detonations at the same location,they ascertained that the ice was an unbelievable 2,400 meters thick, and thatthe land surface was 300 meters above sea level. These were the first reliable andsystematic seismic tests of ice thickness in Antarctica. Further tests on the wayback to Maudheim revealed a total of five ‘fjords’ under Dronning Maud Land.


Back in Maudheim, the Norsel had come to take them home. But also onboard the ship were men from the Swedish Air Force who, under the commandof Captain Reinhold von Essen, initiated an extensive program of aerial photo-graphy. Their photographs supplemented the surveying work that had beendone during two summers by men travelling by dog team and Snowcat. Thecombination of coordinated surveying on the ground and photography fromthe air provided the most reliable foundation for dependable maps of the region,and could help support Norway’s claim to Dronning Maud Land.

The Norsel left Antartica on January 15th, 1952, carrying the expeditionmembers and a small mountain of geological materials, piles pf notebooks fullof meteorological, magnetic, and other scientific observations, plus a sealedbox in the ship’s cold-storage room that contained a moss-covered rock swarmingwith the newly discovered species of mite.The daily meteorological observationsshowed that the maximum temperature at Maudheim was only +0.1 C, whilethe lowest registered temperatures were – 46.0 C in July 1950 and –47.0 C in1951. A wind velocity of over 30 m/s was recorded a few times, but more striking,or frightening, was that the storms and hurricanes lasted for days and weekson end. Despite the tragic accident, the expedition was so far counted a success.

An expedition, however, is only the first stage in a scientific process. Thedata and experiences gathered have to be analysed, worked up, written up,published, and made available to other researchers before they can be considereda contribution to science. In that respect, Norway’s record for this expeditionwas a modest one.

Participants in the NBS expedition began to work on their scientific results.Preliminary articles appeared in Polar Record and in scientific journals for geolo-gical, biological, and geophysical studies. Reports were issued detailing thingsthat had been learned about logistics, clothing, and what it was like to live inAntarctica for two years. But not much came from Norway. Five years afterthe expedition returned, two of the British geologists from the expedition im-plored the Norwegian Polar Institute to publish the long-awaited maps of theregion. It was no secret that Norway’s polar science community and the Institutehad failed to fulfill its declared objective: to create Europe’s leading polar researchestablishment.

Modified ambitions

The Polar Research Institute was far too understaffed and under-resourced tofollow up on the NBS expedition properly. It was the foreign participants whomade most of the scientific contributions, in the form of studies and publica-tions. Norwegian contributions based on the expedition emerged little by little,


When the Norsel arrived with new supplies in

January 1951 it had also transported two planes

for reconnaissance and mapping purposes.

many years later. For quite some time, Sverdrup had realised that Norway’simmediate polar prospects did not look promising. He understood long beforethe Antarctic expedition that it would not be easy to obtain money for adynamic new institute, and that an expansion of the scientific staff would nottake place in the foreseeable future. Nor was it easy to obtain funding forresearch, in excess of the Polar Research Institute’s budget. Its limited staff wasfully occupied preparing and conducting practical work and field studies forthe short, intense summer expeditions to Svalbard. There was far too littletime and too few resources to analyse scientific observations. The salaries werenot very competitive, and the place was run more like a ministerial bureau-cracy than a scientific institution.

Sverdrup’s attempts to get the government to make changes came up, timeand time again; and met a wall of resistance.The Polar Research Institute provid-ed logistical support for Svalbard expeditions to researchers at other instituti-ons and to foreign enterprises. While scientists from Great Britain, scientificgroups from Poland and other nations made high-profile contributions on Svalbardand to polar research generally, Norway trailed behind. Certainly, Norwegianscontinued to make interesting fossil finds, to map geological discoveries, and torecord a number of new biological species, but none of these contributionscan be seen as trail-blazing or particularly noteworthy in comparison with thecontemporaneous accomplishments of other countries in the field of polarresearch. The polar institute’s low budget made it unthinkable to gamble onfuture efforts in the Antarctic. What had gone wrong?

Ahlmann’s plans, Sverdrup’s hopes and the government’s enthusiastic initialsupport were founded on the belief that Norway needed to act largely alonein order to defend its polar territories. The government’s 1946 declaration thatthe new institute would lead the way in European polar research was basedon the expectation that extensive polar activity would be necessary, that relatedcommercial and scientific activity in the region would expand, and that it wouldprovide the Ministry of Foreign Affairs with support in negotiations with othercountries. In the course of a few years, however, the entire political landscapehad changed; Norway entered NATO. Furthermore, the Soviet Union silent-ly abandoned its demand to renegotiate the Svalbard Treaty, and to establish ajoint defence for the territory. The death of Stalin in 1953 raised hopes thattensions between East and West might be further reduced, in the Arctic aselsewhere. The U.S.A. and NATO, however, were not far away; there werealready many high-tech military bases on Greenland and Iceland, in Alaska andin northern Canada. In the early and mid 1950s, the Norwegian state did notconsider it necessary to spend more than a minimal amount to keep the PolarInstitute and Svalbard up and running.

In many ways it was Orvin’s point of view that prevailed, not politically,


but de facto – through economic necessity. Unlike other countries’ polar insti-tutes, which could rejoice in their close relationships with universities and whichenjoyed the prestige that goes with being a scientific institution, the NorwegianPolar Institute was part of the Ministry of Industry, and thus far from the centerof the action, as far as Norwegian scientific research was concerned. The PolarInstitute was, however, able to boast researchers like Olav Liestøl, the country’sforemost glaciologist, and Torgny Vinje, its leading researcher specializing inoceanic ice.

Orvin and his staff continued their work on Svalbard and in the Arctic.With their years of experience, they knew everything about planning andconducting the annual trips to Svalbard and Jan Mayen. They coordinated theiractivities logistically with those of other organisations, continued seeking outnatural resources that might be worth exploiting, and mapped out all the seaand land areas in the vicinity. They furthermore had responsibility for anexpanding communication infrastructure (for example, with lighthouses) and,until the late 1950s, for various tasks relating to Norwegian activities in north-eastern Greenland. Most of the Polar Institute efforts were expended on map-making, on land and at sea.

The International Geophysical Year

A dinner party in Silver Springs Maryland, in 1950, marked the beginning ofwhat would be the largest international scientific project ever, and one thatcreated unprecedented problems for Norwegian polar policy. Sydney Chapman,the veteran British geophysicist, had been invited to the home of the physicistJames van Allen. One of the guests, Lloyd Berkner, suggested that the timehad come to organise a third international polar year. The first polar year, in1882–83, had seen an international collaborative effort to set up stations forsimultaneous weather observations, geomagnetism, and the Northern Lights,and it inspired a second try.The second international polar year, in 1932–33, hadexpanded scientific and geophysical horizons, though the worldwide economicdepression limited its scope. Berkner, a polar and ionosphere researcher withstrong political connections in Washington, D.C., suggested that a third inter-national year should be expanded into a large-scale collaboration, exploring theentire globe, and more: the earth’s crust, sea, air, upper atmosphere, the innerreaches of outer space, and the sun. The rapid development of advancedenvironmental and transportation technology during and after the war led tothe hope of achieving a revolution in human understanding of the planet.Rockets had already begun probing the upper atmosphere; other new logisticdevices put great ocean sea depths and previously inaccessible ‘polar regions’


within reach. Berkner, who expected further such progress, placed particularemphasis on the Antarctic and the electronically charged layer of the upperatmosphere – the ionosphere – as well as conditions in the layers of outer spaceclosest to earth.

Earlier in the century, an international council for organising scientific colla-boration had been established. It included high-level committees and an intri-cate system of commissions devoted to various scientific disciplines, withinwhich specialists from member nations could plan joint projects and exchangedata. Every country had its own national committee and sent representativesto the international commissions. Berkner and many of his colleagues onnational and international research councils worked energetically for the newcause, and within a year the International Council of Scientific Unions issueda proposal for an International Geophysical Year (IGY). This ‘year’ would last18 months, from July 1957 to December 1958, a major reason for this being,that a maximum number of sunspots were expected during this period. Nationson every continent took part in the planning. When IGY began, 68 countrieshad established scientific programs that included about 60,000 participants, alltold.

Many believed the IGY rhetoric that was broadcast around the world; thiswas pure science, and not politics. Even in the midst of the Cold War, the publicwas told that science and scientists could rise above political differences and,in the name of knowledge, work together in the interests of humanity. Butthe situation was really much more complicated than that, both politicallyand strategically. U.S. President Eisenhower was especially eager to support IGY,partly to encourage the commitment of his nation’s human resources to scien-tific ends, which, he saw, was vital if America wished to retain world leadership;America’s IGY plans involved massive coordination of schools and media withthe goal of nurturing young people’s fascination with science. But Eisenhowerand his advisors also understood that Soviet activity in the Arctic and Antarcticrequired careful monitoring and containment, to which the IGY could contri-bute in various ways.

Norway also began to plan for the IGY. A committee of leading Norwegianspecialists was established, but at first neither Sverdrup nor other representa-tives of the Polar Institute were members. In cooperation with the internation-al commissions, the committee set up a tentative list of projects and proposalsfor observation stations, which would be discussed at a meeting in Rome inOctober 1954.


New Antarctic expedition?

On October 25th, 1954, Robert N. Magill, an attaché at the U.S. Embassy inOslo, paid a visit to Gustav Heiberg, Assistant Secretary at the NorwegianMinistry of Foreign Affairs. He had something on his mind. At the IGY meetingin Rome, Antarctica had turned out to be a particular problem. During the IGYprogram, no fewer than 21 scientific stations were envisioned in Antarctica, buteven so there would be many gaps between them, areas where it would be especi-ally useful to collect data, but to which no country had yet planned to sendan expedition. In Rome, the Soviet Union had unexpectedly stated that it wouldparticipate in the IGY. But to what extent and with what level of resources? TheU.S.A. felt forced to enlist its allies in counter-efforts.

Magill asked Heiberg what plans Norway had for establishing bases inAntarctica during the IGY. Heiberg didn’t know. Shortly afterwards, Heibergasked Sverdrup whether Norway had any IGY plans for Antarctica. Sverdrupjust said ‘no’. Norwegian scientists had attempted to do the impossible onextremely limited funding. Other reasons aside, cost efficiency alone made itnecessary to focus on Svalbard. Heiberg grew uneasy. ‘Our sovereignty claimsin Antarctica are so weak that we should do what we can to strengthen them.This is especially the case if the Soviet Union is thinking of doing somethingthere, since it will likely only be the precursor to larger-scale activities aimedat establishing a Soviet presence.’ Heiberg contacted the two leaders of Norway’sIGY committee. He and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs soon received anothersurprise when Professor of Theoretical Meteorology Halvor Solberg, one ofthe leaders of Norway’s IGY committee, came in for a briefing.

Solberg had good contacts with American and Soviet scientists, many ofwhom had strong ties to their national security agencies. Solberg wrote a memoabout Soviet activities in the Arctic, about the American fear that Norway wasnot tending to its territorial claims assiduously enough, and about the possi-bility of obtaining American assistance in establishing Arctic weather stations,as well as about other nations’ interests in Antarctica. Despite the obviousimportance of these matters to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the memo ga-thered dust somewhere in the Ministry of Education and Church Affairs. TheMinistry of Foreign Affairs was alarmed. Heiberg circulated Solberg’s memoaround the Ministry, and wrote his comment on it. ‘It looks as if the periodsurrounding the International Geophysical Year of 1957–58 can be extremelycritical for our Arctic and Antarctic posesssions.’

Solberg summed up recent developments regarding Norway’s IGY activi-ties. The plan for the IGY was that participating nations should make obser-vations along three degrees of longitude from pole to pole and two degrees oflatitude around the entire earth. From stations on or near these lines and other


spots, various observations of a geophysical nature were to take place at givenpoints in time. The longitudinal sections were to pass through America, Asia,Australia and Europe and Africa along 10° E. Polar stations in the north andsouth along these sectors were especially prioritised. Norway and otherScandinavian countries were assigned the special task of recording observationsalong the 10° E longitude line southward from Svalbard. In Antarctica, theywere to study the area from 10° E (Dronning Maud Land and Bouvet Island)up to and including Peter I Island on the other side of the continent, at 90° W.

At its inception in 1953, Norway’s IGY committee decided that spendingenormous sums on expeditions that required basic investments would be a wasteof research funds. By definition, then, an expedition to Antarctica was ruledout. No matter what was left of the Maudheim camp after the NBS expedi-tion, it would be unusable by 1957. In the committee’s view, the limited sumthat could be spent on the IGY by Norway should go to the enlargement ofexisting facilities on the mainland and in the Arctic. The committee seemsnot to have been particularly enthusiastic about Arctic stations, but soon recog-nized that political considerations had to be incorporated into their plans.

As early as in 1953, Lloyd Berkner had urged the Norwegian committeeto evaluate the stations at Svalbard, Jan Mayen, and Bjørnøya. When he heardthat Norway would probably not manage all three, he began to seek out colla-borative partners, such as the Canadian Defence Research Institute, whichwas interested in Jan Mayen. Bjørnøya was far more problematic. The islandwas relatively unimportant for Norway where weather forecasts were concerned,since most weather systems come to Norway from the southwest, reachingmainland Norway and Bjørnøya more or less simultaneously. But for Sovietweather forecasts, the island was extremely important. Berkner was still in closecontact with U.S. politicians who were preoccupied with national security,and Berkner was of the opinion that Norway had to set up a station.

The question on everyone’s mind was: What was the Soviet Union planningto do? A diplomat at the Soviet Embassy, in numerous discussions, had enlight-ened Solberg about something that Norwegian meteorologists had noticed inSoviet telegrams about weather. Invariably, at the end of these Soviet telegrams,there was undecipherable material that, Solberg now learned, consisted of codedobservations from the drifting ice floes ‘North Pole III’ and ‘“North Pole IV’.At IGY meetings, American scientists told Solberg that the Russians had setup stations for sending up radio-transmitting weather balloons (radiosonde)and airbases on ‘North Pole III’ and ‘North Pole IV’ to investigate the prospectsfor future aviation in the region.The Americans also suspected that the Russiansplanned to stockpile military equipment, perhaps even atomic weapons, inthe Arctic. Why had the Russians recently set up a radiosonde station outsideBarentsburg? Were they going to build an airstrip on one of the nearby glaciers?


Was there anything in the rumours that Soviet coal transports were heavieron the way north than on the way back? Had they begun to store weaponsand military equipment in the mines?

After receiving Solberg’s report, the Foreign Ministry called in representa-tives of the Ministries of Education and Church Affairs, Justice, Finance, andDefence, plus Sverdrup and Solberg, to discuss the problems the IGY posedfor Norway’s polar territories.

The IGY and Norwegian interests

On December 17th, 1954, foreign advisor Skylstad met with Sverdrup and Solberg,amongst others, for an initial general discussion of Norway’s IGY policy. All agreedthat Norway needed to participate actively in its Arctic territories: Bjørnøya, JanMayen, and especially Cape Linné, near Soviet activity in the vicinity ofBarentsburg. The Antarctic posed larger problems. In any case, two Norwegiansshould take part in a proposed South African expedition to Bouvet Island; andperhaps they could set up a station there. An expedition to Dronning Maud Landwas absolutely necessary, but to which part of this huge territory?

It turned out that Norway could not afford to send more than one expedi-tion to Antarctica, and even that proved extremely expensive for the Norwegiangovernment. But should the station be at 11° W, near Maudheim, or at 10°E? If a place was chosen near Maudheim, far to the west in the territory Norwayclaimed, the project would be cheaper, the landing probably easier, and theobservations more readily comparable to data from the NBS expedition, so thatthe scientific value of both would be greater. But this seemingly good choicecould also be more problematic. If Norway chose a place near Maudheim, thearea around the 10° E longitude would be easy prey for a foreign power, suchas the Soviet Union. A foreign power, no matter what its long-term inten-tions, could use the IGY to justify an occupation of Norway’s territory, be-cause the place lay within the prioritised observation area.

These and other questions about the Arctic were discussed at a Ministryof Foreign Affairs meeting on January 18th, 1955, attended by representativesof the Ministries of Foreign Affairs, Education and Church Affairs, Industry,Finance, and Defence, plus Professor Solberg. The Ministry of Foreign Affairsstressed the need to establish a Bjørnøya station as soon as possible, even beforethe IGY began, in order to deny the Russians a pretext for doing so. TheMinistry of Foreign Affairs also emphasised that, unlike Norway’s official IGYcommittee, it took a serious view of the international agreement to establishstations along the 10° E longitude, and that included Norway’s Antarctic terri-tories. Heiberg reported on his meeting with U.S. attaché Magill, who had


Planes and snowcats not withstanding

dog teams remained important Antarctic

map-making expeditions.

pointed out the five ‘gaps’ in Antarctica that had to be filled before the Russiansstepped in. Of these, Prinsesse Astrid Coast was one of the most important forNorway. Heiberg made it clear that if the Russians decided to send an expedi-tion to Antarctica, they would likely pick Dronning Maud Land, not only be-cause of its favourable location with regard to IGY objectives, ‘but also becauseNorway is the weakest of the countries with possessions there.’

Foreign Minister Lange declared that Norway had to take this opportuni-ty of participating. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs understood very well howimportant it was for Norway to take part in Antarctic research and at interna-tional conferences that coordinated such research. Not everyone shared thisview. At a staff meeting at the Ministry in May 1955, Foreign Minister Langeonce again rejected the pleas of Norwegian scientists to devote all of Norway’sIGY resources to strengthen its Arctic efforts. No less a personage than astro-physicist Svein Rosseland, a leading member of the Norwegian Academy ofSciences, with his irrefutable political and research stature, argued that it wasalso necessary for practical reasons to focus on the Arctic; Scandinavian Airlineswas about to open its new routes over the North Pole and needed more reliableweather forecasts. Also, the IGY would study sunspots, which because of theirexpected intensity would cause major Arctic storms and have geophysical conse-quences, which in turn would have repercussions for which Norway shouldbe prepared. Lange then made it clear that he considered ‘a Norwegian expedi-tion to Antarctica to be of such great importance to foreign policy that we shouldtry to get it going.’ But it was easier said than done.

How would an expedition be transported to Queen Maud Land? Whalingship-owner Lars Christensen said none of his vessels was available. Christensenwas willing to pay some expedition expenses and would transport participantsas far as South Georgia. But after the factory ship took it to South Georgia, howwould the expedition travel the rest of the way to Dronning Maud Land? Langedeclared that Sverdrup should immediately settle this question, and adjust thebudget accordingly; and he, himself, would bring up the matter with the govern-ment as soon as possible. If Norway could announce its official plans forDronning Maud Land soon, it would lower political pressure from without,as well as speculation at home. All discussions were still ‘strictly confidential’.

No peace of mind in sight

Sverdrup provided a dizzying estimate for an IGY-related Antarctic expedition:over four million kroner. But this included 340,000 kroner for a topographicalproject that – if the base was set up on the Prime Meridian – could travel asfar as to 15° E and map the region photographed by the German Schwabenland


expedition in 1939. Such maps might prove very important in any future terri-torial dispute, and would make it possible to give Norwegian names to landformations in the area. Sverdrup maintained that if Norway could ‘collaborate’with other countries, receive supplies from other countries’ stations after thefirst winter, and bring its expedition home in January of 1959, the savings wouldamount to 700,000 kroner. Might the U.K. or Argentina, both of whichplanned stations in the Weddell Sea, west of Dronning Maud Land, possiblycontribute such assistance?

The various considerations regarding where to send an expedition is areminder of just how sensitive Norway’s Antarctic policy was half a century ago.Great Britain and Argentina had reached deadlock in a territorial dispute thatbordered on armed conflict at times. Did Argentina have ambitions in DronningMaud Land? Even though the Norwegian sector was probably too far to theeast of Argentina’s territorial claims to be dragged into a sovereignty dispute,nothing could be certain. What if Great Britain won the conflict over its terri-torial claims? Would a potential loss like that lead Argentina to demand moreterritory farther east, including parts of Dronning Maud Land? Could Norwaybe sure that if it allowed for a collaborative effort where Argentina visited theNorwegian station, that Argentina might not capitalize on this at some futuredate, as the basis for a territorial claim? Everything would be so much simplerif the Ministry of Foreign Affairs could persuade the British to help Norway.

The IGY planning meetings in Paris caused Oslo more headaches. It turnedout that only eleven countries (the U.S.A., France, Great Britain, Australia, NewZealand, Chile, Argentina, Norway, South Africa, Belgium, and the SovietUnion) planned expeditions to Antarctica. When it became clear that there werestill large holes in the Antarctic network, some countries offered to set up sta-tions to fill the holes, and the Soviet Union announced that it would help bysending at least one substantial expedition to Antartica, either to Knox Coastin the Australian sector or to Prinsesse Astrid Coast in the Norwegian sector.This was precisely what the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had always feared wouldhappen if Norway did not send an expedition to 10° E longitude. The Sovietannouncement caused three other countries to declare, shortly thereafter, theirwillingness to take responsibility for a station on Knox Coast. Now it seemedthat the Soviet Union had only one choice when it came to realizing its histor-ic right to Antarctic territory.

The year 1955 looked as if it would turn into a long, hot polar summerfor the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Then problems suddenly emerged in theArctic. The Swedes decided to pull out of a cooperative venture with Norwayon Cape Linné. Instead, they would join Finnish scientists in setting up a sta-tion in Nordaustlandet. Officially, the Swedes claimed that research at CapeLinné was affected by magnetic disturbances from Isfjord Radio. But rumours


and private messages from Swedish scientists seemed to suggest that the realreason was that the Swedish Ministry of Foreign Affairs believed that a largestation at Cape Linné was much too close to the Russian outpost on Svalbard.Now the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs had to struggle to secure morefunding and get the difficult construction work completed as quickly as possible.An indication of how tense the political situation had become regarding Russianambitions in the North and the South was news from a Nordic archaeologicaldig on Svalbard that caused the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to intervene.

Scientists from Tromsø Museum took part in the Nordic expedition toRussekeila in Bellsund on Svalbard. Their summer’s work proved very fruit-ful. Having dug 60 cm down and uncovered three layers of settlements, theexpedition sent back a large trove of archaeological finds from Russian activi-ty in the 18th century. But amongst the excavated objects there seemed to befinds from earlier periods, including flint tools that some believed might dateback to the Stone Age.The news and rumours led the Ministry of Foreign Affairsto write a memo expressing a fear that the Russians might use these finds againstNorway. Even though such arguments, based on earlier settlements, wouldnot have strictly legal relevance, the Ministry was preoccupied with the fact thatunder certain circumstance the find could influence public opinion, especial-ly in the Soviet Union. The archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs containsclippings that include an Aftenposten newspaper article dated August 24th, 1955,entitled ‘Rich archeological finds at Svalbard’ and a memo contributed byHeiberg, in which he writes: ‘I fear there is a danger that these explorationswill bring to light too many traces of Russian activity in early times.’ As to thequestion of whether the archeological dig should be continued, the Ministryof Foreign Affairs believed that the dig should continue on as broad a scale aspossible. That way Norway could ‘keep tabs on what is found’ in as much asthis was possible and ‘so that the Russians could not beat us to it.’

It was never easy to guess what the Russians were thinking. In late August,the Norwegian embassy in Moscow sent a synopsis of the latest news. Sovietnewspapers had suddenly ceased their sharp attacks on U.S. and Westernmilitary plans in the Antarctic. The Russians looked forward to collaboratingin the name of science with the U.S.A. and other countries that sought toadvance knowledge. The news that a purely scientific Soviet expedition wouldstart out a year before the IGY’s formal beginning did not come as a surprise,but the people at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs certainly breathed a collectivesigh of relief when it became publicly known that the large Soviet expedition,with its many planes, helicopters, Snowcats, and dog sleds, would not go toDronning Maud Land but to Knox Coast.

Even though further logistical and political problems cropped up in theplanning and implementation of Norway’s IGY effort, the worst was over. But


nobody at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs could then foresee that the same politi-cised scientific activity that caused so much tension and cost so much moneywould later pave the way for a solution to Norway’s problems in Antarctica.

The Norway Station expedition

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs concluded that Norway needed to send yetanother expedition to the Antarctic mainland. The government proposed it,the Parliament adopted it, and the Norwegian Polar Institute had to organiseit. Sverdrup took on the organisation, hoping that meteorologist Nils JørgenSchumacher could lead the expedition. Schumacher had been Norway’s topscientist on the NBS expedition in 1949–52. During two winters in Antarctica,he had gained practical knowledge of how to operate, on the micro and macrolevels, under difficult conditions. He was also able to achieve the most satis-factory scientific results with very modest resources. But Schumacher was onloan from the Norwegian Meteorological Institute, and it was not possible toget him transferred full-time to the Polar Institute at the same salary. As a signthat the era of heroic polar expeditions was essentially over, Schumacher pointedout that he had already spent two years in polar isolation and was now a familyman. Norway’s expedition, like all expeditions to Antarctica, would entail risk,discomfort, and hard work under harsh weather conditions. Furthermore, nofame and renown, or even scientific recognition, would necessarily ensue.Schumacher was willing to take part in and even lead the expedition, but herefused to accept a pay cut. In the end, participants were recruited from theNorwegian Polar Institute and elsewhere.

On November 10th, 1956, the two Norwegian sealing vessels Polarsirkel andPolarbjørn left Oslo with an expedition team of 14 led by the geodesist SigurdHelle of the Norwegian Polar Institute. The team consisted of two meteoro-logists, a glaciologist, and three scientific assistants, plus mechanics, a militarydoctor, a radio operator, a chief steward, and a dog-sled driver. They took withthem two Snowcats, 44 huskies, and two years’ worth of provisions. The stationwould be operative from about January of 1957 to January of 1959.

The ships reached the ice front at Dronning Maud Land in the vicinityof 10° E on December 26th. One ship turned east, the other west, to find a placeto land and set up a station 30–40 kilometres inland. The Polarbjørn found alanding site at about 70° S 2° W, and on January 7th, the men found a suitablespot for the station. Bad weather delayed work for a week, and whereas manyother countries used helicopters, the Norwegians transported tons of equip-ment, building materials, and supplies by Snowcat forty kilometres inland,where they set up Norway Station.


Winter has settled over Norway Station. It was one

of the smallest stations in the Antarctic during the

1957–58 International Geophysical Year.

They got to work collecting observations and data on meteorology, ozone,geomagnetism, glaciology, the Northern Lights, tides, and biology. A distinc-tive device at Norway Station was a specially constructed radiosonde shack witha detachable roof that made it easier to send up the expensive balloons, whichwas the expedition’s most important task. Experience from the NBS expeditionindicated that it had been difficult to release the balloons and ensure that theyrose in a storm or hurricane. A lack of funds, equipment, and personnel preventedmeasurements of the ionosphere or advanced glaciological and geological work.

Even though it was not a part of the IGY program, Helle led a small fieldparty with two Snowcats and two dog teams to about 8° E to supplement thegeodetic and topographical work that the expedition had begun.This field workwas not only of scientific but also of political significance, because it madepossible the production of a detailed regional map. The only major mishapon the trip was that one of the Snowcats fell into a glacial crevasse far inlandwhile driving in a heavy snowstorm, and it could not be recovered. The crewset up a base camp and used dogsleds to do the major field work in the nearbymountains.

Norway and Great Britain agreed to work together. The Norwegian PolarInstitute and the Royal Society jointly hired a Norwegian ship, the Tottan, topay a relief visit to its stations in November 1957. Three members of the teamthat stayed for the winter were replaced by a new doctor, mechanic, and chiefsteward.

The Norwegian expedition made a modest but solid contribution. It wasas honourable an attempt as one could hope for under such basic conditions.Norway Station was one of the smallest of more than fifty stations in Antarctica.Norway still had polar experience that other nations lacked. Late-comers toIGY planning, both Japan and Belgium decided to ask Norway for permis-sion to send expeditions to the eastern parts of Dronning Maud Land. Bothcountries needed technical advice and logistical assistance. Japan made it clearthat it did not need scientific help of any kind; both countries sent larger andscientifically more advanced expeditions than Norway. But it was the Americansand Soviets that won the media competition and the attention for scientificaccomplishments. The U.S.A. used heavy cargo planes to set up a large stationin the eastern interior, which had been the most inaccessible part of the conti-nent. America’s many stations, and its huge investment in logistics, scientificequipment, advanced research programs, and veritable armies of scientists andengineers, aided by significant contributions from Great Britain, France,Australia, and others, yielded the first detailed picture of Antarctica’s physicalenvironment. It introduced a new era in polar science.

In other countries around the world, equally exciting scientific work andsystematic data collection under the IGY program laid the groundwork for


Was theheroic imageof polar researchers on the

wane? Odd Gjeruldsen, Niels S. Nergaard, and

Bjørn Grytøyr hard at work at Norway Station.

revolutionary new scientific theories about the earth, sea, air, and space. Threeworld data centres collected veritable mountains of material from around theworld. It served for decades as a repository of knowledge that could be visitedby scientists of all nations. Equally open borders were maintained during theIGY itself; scientists from one nation had the right to visit any other nation’sinstallation.This ability to run a massive collaborative undertaking in the middleof the Cold War in the name of humanity and science was in itself big news.

But nothing could match the sensation when the Soviet Union humili-ated the U.S. by launching the world’s first satellite, Sputnik, into orbit andsent a dog into space. The U.S.A. had announced its plans to put a satelliteinto orbit during the IGY, and this was a major priority of President Eisenhower.But even if the start of America’s space program was less than spectacular, itcreated a sensation, at least in the scientific community. Rockets carrying ad-vanced instruments beyond the outer atmosphere revealed that the earth wassurrounded by massive belts of energy-rich electrically charged particles, latercalled the Van Allen belt. This raised questions in the media about the extremedanger of manned space trips; but even more important, it broadened under-standing about how the sun affects the earth. New advanced theories aboutthe Northern Lights and magnetic polar storms followed. Other major IGYdevelopments included the arrival of American submarines at the North Pole,the arrival of cargo planes with provisions for U.S. and Soviet scientists workingon the islands of drift ice, and the U.S. experimental studies of artificial NorthernLights during atomic-weapon tests over remote stretches of ocean.

Equally overwhelming for every other nation that hoped to remain at theforefront of polar research, geophysical science generally, was that both the SovietUnion and the U.S.A. began to spend large sums of money on laboratories,research centres, and especially on training immense numbers of new scientists.

What would the future be in Antarctica?

Even before the IGY formally began, rumours circulating among participat-ing countries sent a chilling gust of polar wind through the Norwegian Ministryof Foreign Affairs. The U.S.A. wished to extend IGY by a year. Arguing thatsuch an extension would better recoup the enormous investments in theestablishment of scientific stations, the U.S.A. sent just such a proposal for anextension to the international commission. The Americans also called for a newinternational commission that would plan, coordinate, and administer futurescientific work in Antarctica. Norway’s first reaction was decidedly negative.

The Norwegian Polar Institute and Ministry of Foreign Affairs were inagreement. In their view, a year-long extension of Norway’s activities at Norway


Station would not be in the country’s best interests. Sverdrup and Heibergagreed that if all the other countries involved decided to stay an extra year,Norway would be obliged to acquiesce for political reasons. The proposedcommission was reminiscent of America’s first attempt to internationalise theAntarctic continent, back in 1948. Even if Norway preferred not establishingsuch a commission, it did not want to be viewed as hostile to the idea in caseit proved successful. Therefore, Norway neither actively supported the proposalnor openly opposed it.

It was no secret that the extension of many of the countries’ scientificprograms for a year, and then for an additional unspecified period, might leadto the conversion of their stations into military bases. A Ministry of ForeignAffairs diplomat observed that even if science was the dominant motive forthe enormous activity planned for Antarctica, it would be ‘starry-eyed to be-lieve that everything that happens is dictated by purely scientific considerationsand needs.’ In all, the conflict between Great Britain and South America, therivalry between the superpowers, and Japan’s sudden massive investment inDronning Maud Land made it necessary for Norway to ‘keep an eye on whatthe various countries are up to, there.’

The International Research Council invited nations with large Antarcticstations to send delegates to a special ad hoc planning meeting in Stockholmin September 1957. Two ‘hot potatoes’ dominated the agenda: America’s pro-posal to extend the IGY and the founding of a new commission to administerscientific activity in Antarctica once the IGY was over. Sverdrup was to takepart, and in consultation with the Ministry he agreed that he would seek tothwart a resolution on the extension of the IGY.115 But Sverdrup died sudden-ly, and in his place the Ministry sent Halvor Solberg, who shared the Ministry’sdeep suspicions about the U.S. initiative. In their view, it was only one moreAmerican attempt to internationalise Antarctica. Fortunately for Norway, forthe Antarctic continent, for science, and even for world peace, the scale of theRed Menace brought about an entirely different result than the one the Ministryof Foreign Affairs originally had hoped for.

Privately, the U.S. representative sought to convince several delegates, includ-ing Solberg, that it would be easier to monitor Soviet operations if scientificactivity were coordinated by a new international organisation, in which inspec-tion teams and guest researchers were an integral part. Just as with the IGY,all scientific stations would function openly and all data be made public. Hebelieved U.S. intelligence reports indicated that no matter what the interna-tional committee decided, the Soviets wished to continue activity at their sta-tions and build new ones. But was this information reliable? Disagreement atthe meeting ended when the Soviet representative arrived late and confirmedthe American warnings: The Soviet Union did indeed plan to step up research,


on land and at sea.The U.S. proposals offered the only opportunities of counter-balancing and monitoring the Soviets’ threatening proximity. Norway and otheropponents changed their stance. But the vote was only advisory; official resolu-tions by the entire international IGY committee were several months off.

Heiberg, in Oslo, realised what this would mean for Norway. ‘Because ofcurrent developments in Antarctic issues, we will have to consider revising our“nationalistic” Antarctic policy and begin to think about an internationalisationin some form or other.’ New international agreements about the administrationof Antarctica were about to be formulated; a commission would be establishedin one form or another to administer the continent. Would some delegates insiston eliminating all earlier territorial claims? Would a new means of redistributingold and new tensions completely alter the political landscape? Would the conti-nent be redivided on the basis of superpower dominance? Nothing was certain,other than that if Norway wanted to have any say in the fate of Dronning MaudLand, it must be solidly represented on the new commission. Was a stationduring the IGY enough? Heiberg and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs couldnot risk marginalizing Norway from the outset, and called for a year’s extensionof the work at Norway Station.

A new expedition would have to be sent, and would have to include planes,to complete the mapping of Dronning Maud Land, and get a head start oninternational manoeuvres. These maps, photographs, and measurements wouldbe the cards Norway had up its sleeve when playing the new Antarctic gameof territorial claims, or when participating in working out terms for the conti-nent’s internationalisation.

New developments were taking place. On September 17th, 1957, at whatlater proved to be an historic meeting, the International Council of ScientificUnions (ICSU) formed a new commission to coordinate scientific research inAntarctica after the IGY. Though there would be further discussions aboutpolitical framework, the new panel was already viewed as essential to the conti-nent’s future management. Each of the twelve active IGY countries in Antarcticawas asked to appoint a scientist to represent it on the new Special Committeeon Antarctic Research (SCAR). Because of its IGY activity at Norway Station,Norway was invited to participate. The invitation, however, was sent to theNorwegian Academy of Science and Letters in Oslo. Since the Academy hadnot been briefed by the government, and since many leading Norwegian scien-tists were not interested in Antarctic research and considered it a waste of money,nothing happened. The Academy failed to appoint a Norwegian delegate. Thedate of the first meeting was set, but Norway had still not replied to the invita-tion. When the Ministry of Foreign Affairs got wind of this, it was shocked.The Academy, confronted with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ political needfor a delegate on SCAR, agreed to name any candidate the Ministry wanted.


The Ministry made inquiries. With so little support from scientists, the Ministryrealised that despite the supposedly apolitical nature of the committee, it wouldhave to pay its delegate’s expenses and ‘camouflage’ the funding source.

Leiv Harang represented Norway at the SCAR meeting in The Hague inFebruary. He reported back to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs on the majoractivities planned by other countries. The plans suggested that Antarctic sciencewas changing in character; expeditions were being replaced by semi-permanentbases. Harang’s comments underscored how lamentable Norway’s position hadbecome. Money was only one of the obstacles to success. Norway had no polarresearchers to run and use Norway Station. If Norway chose to spend large sumsto continue its Antarctic efforts, it would also have to spend large amounts ofmoney nurturing a group of polar researchers. Expeditions from other countrieswere led by internationally renowned scientists, and were organised throughscientific institutions of recognized high quality. Norway was not in the sameleague. Norway was also the only country that had not said it would maintainits station after the IGY was over.

The Antarctic Treaty

In the midst of deliberations as to how Norway should respond to the newAntarctic initiatives, Foreign Minister Halvard Lange informed Parliament’sCommittee on Foreign Affairs in March 1958 of Norway’s need to reassess itspriorities. In his remarks, we can glimpse the shape of a new national polarpolicy and can grasp why it was necessary to make some hard choices.

Lange discussed the need to reverse Norway’s previous rejection of theplanned internationalisation of Antarctica. In 1948, when the U.S.A. hadproposed a demilitarised Antarctic with an eye to international scientific colla-boration, Norway had expressed interest in the general principle, but had deci-sively rejected the idea of international governance. ‘Norway [can] for nationaland political reasons not [...] surrender its exclusive sovereignty over what isNorwegian territory.’ Now, the new initiative represented pretty much the sameconcept.The Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the government called for a changein Norway’s position.

In the context of developments in global politics, the proposed Antarcticainitiative would be a worthwhile experiment in international cooperation withina geographical region. But did the government have good reasons for ‘such aradical alteration of Norwegian policy’? In reply, Lange explained the basis forthe current policy. In the beginning, he said, policies had been directed mainlyby national whaling interests, but it had also reflected a desire to cling toNorway’s ‘reputation as one of the leading nations in polar research’. Eventually,


A view of America’s McMurdo Station in the

early 1960s. At the end of the ‘main street’

is the chapel. Norwegian polar expeditions

seemed modest by comparison.

however, whaling techniques and vessels changed; Norwegian whaling inter-ests now owned enormous factory ships that operated far off the coast, and thusno longer needed land bases for their operations. Few representatives of thewhaling business were ready to sacrifice a great deal just to maintain Norway’sprestige as a polar nation. Lange admitted that the main purpose of Norway’sscientific work ‘in Antarctica recently, had been to strengthen our sovereigntyclaims’; purely scientific interests had been secondary. Even if Norway decidedto continue pursuing an active policy, there would still be a question of whetherit had the financial means or personnel to administer it. If Norway resumedits active policy in Antarctica, it must be prepared to work continuously on thatcontinent for many years. But was it worth the financial costs when (1) contin-ued minimal operation of the Norwegian station was of low scientific value;(2) Norway’s territorial claims were of doubtful significance to whalers; and(3) there was hope that an international agreement could be negotiated thatdid not ensure any nations’ rights to sovereignty?

Lange informed the Committee on foreign Affairs that the government hadrealised that it was time for a thorough re-evaluation of polar policy in thelight of ‘what we can manage to do and what we really need to maintain forgenuine business or foreign-policy reasons’. In his own opinion, he conclud-ed that a closer examination of these problems ‘must lead to our awardingSvalbard and the operations there highest priority of all our polar activities.’

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs eventually decided that Norway’s mostimportant polar commitment was to Svalbard and that support should be in-creased for the Norwegian Polar Institute’s work there; but that work shouldbe coordinated with other institutions, so that scientific efforts of importanceto national interests could be intensified. Nonetheless, the Ministry of ForeignAffairs also emphasised that it was important to obtain funding as soon aspossible to finish mapping Dronning Maud Land, so as to protect Norway’sfuture rights there.

In the end, Norway’s salvation came in the form of negotiations thatdragged out over sixty meetings lasting a year, and brought together diplo-mats, scientists, lawyers, and others. Norway was invited to take part. Thecountries that were active in Antarctica during the IGY were to agree upon atreaty when the current ‘truce’ ended. The two arch-rivals, the U.S.A. and theUSSR, basically agreed that the continent should be internationalised. Themajor threat came from Argentina, Chile, and France, which opposed freezingall territorial claims for an indefinite period.

The treaty that ultimately emerged from these negotiations affirmed thestatus quo: no pre-existing claims would be rejected, no new claims permit-ted. Antarctica would be demilitarised, would be free of atomic weapons, andwould be run by SCAR for the sake of humanity and science. The last formal


conference was held from October 15th to December 1st, 1959, when the twelvecountries signed the Antarctic Treaty. The Norwegian representatives had tobite their tongues several times during the long negotiations, but ultimatelysigned.

‘There’s no use turning up with Nansen’s skis’

On August 21st, 1957, Harald U. Sverdrup’s heart suddenly stopped. The manwho many believed would become the world’s leading oceanographer, andwhose American students were now at the forefront of exciting and dramaticnew developments in the field, was the director of an institute that did not carryout any kind of oceanographic research, and, in reality, hardly conducted anyresearch at all.The dream of renewing the polar tradition of Nansen, Amundsen,and Otto Sverdrup, a tradition to which he himself belonged, proved to be anightmare of disappointment and frustration.The Polar Institute budget duringits first decade could not even be maintained. Instead, it showed a real declinein funding for operations, and, quite clearly, no sign of determination to realisethe dream that it would become Europe’s leading polar research institution.

Although ready to retire, Anders Orvin quickly took up the reins as theinstitute’s director. He stuck with the classic NSIU vision of the institute. Inthe meantime, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs began to consider what quali-ties a new director should have, a question that was indissolubly associated withthe Ministry’s understanding of the Polar Institute’s role regarding foreign policy.

After a long and difficult process in which there were various sharplyopposing interests,Tore Gjelsvik was given the position, but not without opposi-tion from some officials in the Ministry of Industry and from Orvin, as wellas other members of NPIs ‘old guard’. Gjelsvik turned out to be a leader ofrare talent. He took up the Norwegian Polar Institute’s cause, and did not hesi-tate to make his voice heard to advance Norway’s polar interests when he feltit was necessary.

Gjelsvik went to work at the Norwegian Polar Institute with all his energy.Every bit of this was needed to keep Norway from lagging even further behindas a polar nation. In 1960, when Gjelsvik was named director, there were oftenfour times as many foreign expeditions to Svalbard than Norwegian ones.Denmark’s Arctic research overshadowed Norway’s in size and scope; suchfacts were thought to be best obscured. But it was impossible to keep silentabout other activities.

Just when Gjelsvik started what would be a continuous struggle to improveworking conditions and strengthen the Norwegian Polar Institute, an almostexplosive growth in foreign activity on Svalbard began. There had long been


rumours of onshore and offshore oil deposits in and around the archipelago.Foreigners embarked on geological surveys and oil exploration, which theSvalbard Treaty could not prevent. The American oil company, Caltex, sent asmall army of geologists, petroleum geophysicists, engineers, and technicians.The Soviet Union suddenly jumped on the bandwagon, too, and sent largenumbers of scientists and technicians and huge amounts of equipment, and‘who knows what else’. In 1962, 150 Soviets, of which fifty were scientists, wentto Svalbard to look for oil. Private Norwegian interests also began sendingexpeditions and applied for permission to build an airstrip. This massive U.S.and Soviet activity shocked the guardians of Norwegian polar interests. Nowthat the government saw how serious the crisis was, Gjelsvik did what he couldto increase the number of Norwegian geologists and topographers, securedbetter pay scales for those working at the Polar Institute so that the institute couldretain its expertise, and sounded the alarm more generally about Norway’s needto coordinate and strengthen its polar policy and research. Gjelsvik fought foryears to get an icebreaker and a helicopter. Even though Norwegian expedi-tions frequently had to be satisfied with boots and backpacks while Americansand Russians got around in a more mechanised fashion, the Polar Institute’speople tended to be more familiar with the area and more comfortable in theterrain.This, however, did not eliminate the fear that foreigners, who were greaterin numbers and enjoyed a significant logistical advantage, would be able toundertake geological and topographical surveys, map, and then claim the rightto exploit Svalbard’s oil and mineral wealth commercially. Norway might riskbeing in the unenviable position of playing the caretaker’s role on Svalbard,unable to claim mineral resources or even to tax foreign enterprises.

Moreover, as a result of other events far from Norway’s borders, such asthe shooting down of the American U2 spy plane over the Soviet Union, theBerlin question, and the Cuban Missile Crisis, new tensions arose between Eastand West after the relatively short break in the Cold War. Soviet suspicionsthat Norway was assisting U.S.A.’s espionage activities did not make Svalbardpolicy any easier. Suspicions and questions were raised about what all thoseRussians on Svalbard were really up to, and what the Soviets were doing lookingfor oil and minerals there.

A 1964 incident made Gjelsvik realise what most people thought of thePolar Institute. He took a cab to the old observatory building where the Institutestill had its overcrowded, rundown headquarters. The cab driver wondered whoworked in that old building. When Gjelsvik told him that the NorwegianPolar Institute was located there, the driver said: ‘Oh, yeah; they’re the ones wholet the Russians take all of Svalbard.’

Gjelsvik was soon successful in achieving a major upgrade. Parliamentaryappropriations rose from around 1.1 million kroner in 1961 to around 3.9 mil-


lion kroner in 1970, and to 7.6 million kroner in 1975. The Polar Institute staffgrew from 22 permanent scientific and commercial employees in 1960 to 32in 1970, and to 34 in 1975. This also meant increased activity on Svalbard. Thenumber of participants in the Norwegian Polar Institute expeditions rose fromapproximately 20 in 1960 to roughly 60 in 1966; but during this period therewas also a considerable increase in foreign expeditions, both scientific andcommercial.

Gjelsvik clearly recognized that the Norwegian government, through itsfunding decisions, determined what the institute could and could not achieve.Beginning in 1961, he produced a long series of newspaper articles, inter-views, and many lecture series, emphasizing why Norway had to invest in logis-tic support of the Polar Institute, and in better salaries for staff. ‘The rules arethe same in polar research as they are in winter sports. It’s not difficult to winall the medals when you’re alone in the arena. Today we’re no longer alone inthe polar regions.’ Other countries were investing enormous sums in polarresearch and were technologically superior; even countries with no geographicalor historical relationship to the Arctic or Antarctic now overshadowed Norway.Gjelsvik followed up the sports analogy: ‘There’s no use turning up withNansen’s equipment at today’s Olympic skiing championships.’

Gjelsvik was most successful at stepping up research with obvious econo-mic significance. Though he managed to secure several new Polar Institutepositions in geology, these were all in areas with direct relevance to commer-cial activity. During this period, international geology underwent its biggestand most exciting theoretical revolution in more than a century, triggered bythe definitive proof of continental drift, or plate tectonics. In this time of intel-lectual fermentation, understanding Svalbard’s and Antarctica’s geology wasof great importance. Norway, however, did not play any prominent part inthis scientific adventure.

Norway managed to keep one foot inside this steadily accelerating andexpanding area of international activity. However, where Antarctica was con-cerned it would be more correct to say ‘a toe inside’. Norway no longer sentwinter expeditions to Antarctica. After the IGY, neither Norwegian scientistsnor the government were particularly interested in expending resources onAntarctic research. But Norway’s reputation as a polar nation with a heroic past,and its favourable political situation as a NATO ally, probably helped maintainits representation on SCAR.

Even though, in the 1960s, Gjelsvik managed to secure funding for someof the personnel that had been promised in 1948, the Polar Institute contin-ued to be largely a practical, service-oriented institution that conducted verylittle independent research. For other Norwegian institutions, it was also impos-sible to compete with the massive investments in Arctic research made by the


What was the future of Norwegian polar research? Jens Angard of the Norwegian Polar Institute

struggling during the spring thaw in Ny-Ålesund.

superpowers and by the larger European and Commonwealth nations. Evenin fields in which Norwegian research had traditionally enjoyed prestige, suchas studies of the Northern Lights, new, well-financed centres, such as theUniversity of Alaska, assumed the lead, facilitating important new insights.In other countries, entire professional societies and academic programs werebeing created that focused on specialised areas of polar research. For the mostpart, Norwegians who did auroral research (which is the study of luminousatmospheric phenomenon near the poles, known more commonly as theNorthern Lights), polar meteorology, or Antarctic oceanography worked inextremely small academic settings. Norwegian researchers who managed to beactive at all on the international front, owed this largely to financial supportfrom American organisations, but also partly to growth in the dynamic networkof European and North American scientists who gathered at NATO-fundedconferences and seminars. This network enabled Norwegians who did basicpolar research to take part in joint projects with colleagues from other NATOcountries. Even though money from the Norwegian Research Council helped,this alone could not pay for the already scanty Norwegian activity in what hadbecome high-cost and technology-intensive fields.

Gjelsvik repeated his warnings constantly. The government had to investmore money and improve coordination among the ministries and other organi-sations involved in polar research. He received only belated and sporadic re-plies, but nonetheless noticed a movement in what he felt was the right direc-tion. Norway’s polar policy was still passive, and was not driven by fresh initiativesor clear visions. ‘Instead events have taken us by surprise, and we’ve tried, inkeeping with our traditions in other areas, to keep active by improvising, byspreading ourselves thin, by being penny-wise and pound-foolish.’ Under suchcircumstances, polar research and other polar activities could not remain un-harmed. Even though the prospects for oil on Svalbard looked bleak in thelate 1960s, leading to a decline in the size and number of Soviet and privateAmerican geological projects, the scale of Soviet activity remained significant.Every single year during the 1970s, the Soviet Union sent at least 10 to 20 scien-tists on glaciological expeditions, in which representatives of other disciplines alsoparticipated. This alone was reason enough to be vigilant, as Gjelsvik noted in1979. ‘It’s hard for me to see that Norway should respond to this research activitywith ordinary goodwill, even if, professionally speaking, it may be of interest.’

At this time, fresh ideas at home and abroad stimulated renewed debateon aspects of Norwegian polar policy. During his entire directorship, Gjelsvikkept reminding the government and the Norwegian public of the need to liveup to the 1947 declaration. ‘The institute should be developed in such a waythat it attains a leading position in European Arctic research.’ Memos fromthe Ministry of Foreign Affairs dating back to 1960, argue that high-ranking


officials should provide support (moral and otherwise) to the Polar Institute.The institute was Norway’s polar face to the world and the bearer of the proudtradition of Nansen and Amundsen; but the rhetoric led only to small budgetincreases. In the 1970s, few in all seriousness dared repeat Orvin’s wordsfrom1946. ‘We Norwegians are more qualified than other people to do polarresearch […] we Norwegians can hold our own in international scientificcompetition and assert that our people, more than any other, are made to meetthe scientific challenges posed by the polar regions.’ However, as was the casewith so many other aspects of Norwegian polar history, surprises kept coming,and unexpected things kept happening.

World health as seen from the Arctic

The late 1960s and early 1970s witnessed a new and growing interest in thehealth and functioning of ecosystems. After many decades of uninterruptedoptimism about development, a fear sprang up that the human race was growingtoo quickly and was on the point of destroying much of the natural environ-ment that sustained mankind. A demand for greater awareness arose regard-ing what ecosystems produced and how their complex processes interacted.Who ate whom, and how could species ‘A’ influence the stock size and produc-tion of species ‘B’? Though these problems gained widespread attention in theearly 1970s as a result of the environmental movement, the story actually beganabout a decade earlier.

In 1959 there was an initiative to launch a large-scale international biolo-gical research program modelled on the International Geophysical Year. Nowit was biology’s turn. The International Biological Program (IBP) was formallyorganised in 1963. Two years later, the Norwegian Academy of Science andLetters formed a main committee chaired by Rolf Vik, Professor of Zoology atthe University of Oslo. Vik requested funding from what was then the NorwegianResearch Council for General Sciences (known as NAVF in Norwegian), andwas allocated a lump sum of two million kroner, which the committee couldspend as it saw fit. This was a large amount of money with few constraints. By1970, the annual appropriation had grown steadily, ultimately reaching five mil-lion kroner. This was ‘big money’ in 1970, but the timing was perfect.

This was the start of the first environmental movement, inspired largelyby concern about population growth. The Ministry of EnvironmentalProtection had just been formed; perhaps one could call it the beginning of ‘thegreening of Norway’. Many, including Vik, believed that after two centuries,the population theorist Robert Malthus (1766–1834) was about to be provencorrect. Vik wrote to the Research Council saying that the current rate of


Why do birds nest in the Arctic?

population growth was threatening the earth, sea, air, and fresh-water suppliesto such an extent and at such a speed that the planet might become uninha-bitable if we did not improve our understanding of the potential damage wewere inflicting and develop countermeasures. Vik also argued for the study ofcold ecosystems, in which all processes occur more slowly, so that developmentsfor better or for worse could be studied in ‘slow motion’.

During the late 1970s and early 80s, as interest in the environment grew,the natural sciences blossomed. In many fields, the work of recording anddescribing was replaced increasingly by process analysis and problem-orientedstudies. Biology’s traditional focus on the systematic mapping of individualphenomena was challenged by a determination to understand the interplaybetween ecosystems. In many ways, modern ecology began in the Arctic inthe late 1920s with the Oxford biologist Charles Elton. Elton’s studies onBjørnøya and other parts of Svalbard on food chains and ecological processeswere sophisticated for his time; but it was not until the early 1980s that polarecosystems became a focus of modern ecological research, with emphasis onunderstanding systems. How is the production of plankton algae in the seadependent on meteorological conditions? How does the solar energy capturedby algae through photosynthesis find its way into cod, seals, polar bears, andhuman beings? Ornithologists asked how and why birds found it worth thetrouble to head north during the nesting season to lay eggs and reproduce underthe harshest conditions in the northern hemisphere. The answer lay in the sea,in a formidable production of fat-rich plankton and small fish that was thefoundation of rapid growth in the ecosystem and compensated for the harshclimate. These discoveries emphasised that Arctic ecosystems could not beviewed in isolation. The narrow strip of green land along the sea coast, forexample, was fertilised largely by birds that found their nourishment at sea.In the screes under bird colonies, the Arctic fox could breed and live well on astable supply of chicks and eggs; and geese, grouse, and reindeer could graze theluxuriant vegetation. The potential for major oil and gas finds in the BarentsSea resulted in extensive environmental studies, which contributed to the inter-disciplinary funding of such studies.

In 1994, heavy metals and fat-soluble organic toxins were studied in afish, a char taken from Ella Lake on Bjørnøya. Although there is a weatherstation on that inhospitable spot midway between the coast of Finnmark andSpitsbergen, it is hard to imagine a place more remote from human influence;nonetheless, repeated analyses revealed improbable levels of many environmen-tal toxins that were even higher than one would expect in an industrial cityon the Rhine. For several summers starting in1996, a number of fish were caughton Bjørnøya, and these findings were confirmed. Ella Lake was extreme, butthe char in other lakes also had higher levels of fat-soluble environmental toxins


than char from the mainland. The reason was that airborne pesticides and othertoxins from the European mainland were falling across the Arctic wilderness.

The improbably high concentrations of toxins at Ella Lake were consis-tent with a long series of observations showing that alarming amounts of toxicsubstances were being transported up through the Arctic food chain. Since thesewere largely fat-soluble environmental toxins, and since Arctic food chains tendto be rich in fat, a strong concentration of toxins took place (and is taking place)on the way from plankton to organisms at the top of the chain: polar seagulls,seals, polar bears – and people. By the early 1990s, research reports were availableindicating that toxicology paradoxically was becoming a key area of researchin the Arctic wilderness.

In 1991, an international body called the Arctic Monitoring and AssessmentProgram (AMAP) was established to oversee the growing influence of humanactivity on ecosystems – and human communities – in the Arctic. AMAP, whichhad a Norwegian secretariat, became important to both national and interna-tional work in this field, and many researchers took fat tissue and blood sampleshome to test them for environmental toxins. In 1997, AMAP issued a reportfor its first project period, 1991–1996. It was a 850-page ‘brick’ that document-ed beyond any doubt that the bodies of many Arctic creatures containeddisquieting levels of environmental toxins. One contributing factor was thelong-distance transportation of toxins by air and sea. Another factor was thefact that Russian rivers such as the Ob and Yenisey flowed into the Arctic Sea,emptying of a wide variety of toxins into the sea, at times in high concentrations.

AMAP’s first report focused dramatically on polar pollution, and wasfollowed by studies showing that polar bears in the most toxic areas, such asthe Svalbard region, were suffering from immune deficiency, increased morta-lity, and reproductive failure. Some polar bears were found to be hermaphro-dites, which received quite some attention. Polar gulls were exhibiting highmortality and ‘anomalous behaviour’, and these were also symptoms that madescientists suspect serious toxin problems.

It was not just a problem that the unsullied Arctic nature was about to disap-pear under a wave of reported toxins affecting Arctic fauna. In the mid 1980sreports from Antarctica indicated a noticeable thinning of ‘the earth’s sunglasses’,the ozone layer in the stratosphere, 20–30 kilometres above the earth’s sur-face. The ozone layer is relatively thin, but thick enough to filter away muchof the damaging short-wave radiation that would otherwise reach the earth’ssurface. Man-made discharges of chloride and bromide compounds weaken theozone layer, but only when extremely low temperatures are combined withsunlight. This combination occurs mostly near the poles, which explains whythe Antarctic became its major victim. There were reports of diminished algaeproduction and its effects on krill, a key organism in Antarctic waters, but there


Research scholar Carolin Amdt in the process of

taking samples of ice fauna north of Svalbard in

May of 2003. Collecting the specimens required

divers,whoused special suction pumps for the job.

was no report of an ‘ecosystem collapse’. Norwegian researchers played a modestrole in studies in the southern hemisphere, but performed many measurementsof the ozone layer over the northern hemisphere. The ozone layer varies great-ly as a result of natural meteorological conditions, but over time it becameclear that the ozone layer was also being weakened in the spring over northernareas, and particularly in the Arctic.

There were even greater threats. Global warming emerged rapidly as a majorenvironmental problem, one with a special relevance for polar areas. Long-term,extensive measurements of drift ice and ice thickness, and satellite readings,all suggested that ice at the North Pole was melting at a dramatic rate. Thegloomiest prognoses suggested that in fifty years the Arctic Ocean would becompletely ice-free in the summer, while the winter ice would hold out into thefollowing century. The Nansen Centre for Remote Sensing in Bergen playeda big part in this work, the conclusions of which were published in major profes-sional journals as well as in the mainstream media. This was dramatic newsfor Arctic ecosystems, and it was a cold comfort that this would increase thepotential for shipping and oil exploration in the northernmost seas. The thick-ness of ice sheets in Arctic waters vary greatly, and extrapolating prognoses fromshort-term observations has always been a risky business. Still, most of Svalbard’sinland glaciers were in rapid retreat, and something also seemed to be happen-ing to the large ice sheets in the north and south. Reduced ice sheets wouldaffect freshwater layers, deep-water formation, currents, oxygen intake, andecology. Smaller layers of snow and ice would also result in reduced terrestrialradiation and hence greater heat retention, resulting in a self-reinforcingfeedback chain whose consequences no one could predict. If the ice in Greenlandand Antarctica were to melt significantly, rising sea levels would threaten coastalcommunities and island nations worldwide. Naturally, these prognoses involveduncertainties, but the consequences were not to be sneezed at. Paradoxically,the alternative disaster scenario for northern areas was precisely the opposite: asignificant cooling down as a result of weakening of the Gulf Stream.

By the end of the century, the global environmental situation had becomea major concern for the ‘polar regions’ and researchers. It is an irony of fatethat the use of agricultural pesticides and the high levels of consumption anduse of vehicular transportation in urban areas seem to have had left a particu-larly devastating ‘footprint’ on the polar regions.

In 1979, the Polar Institute was transferred from the Ministry of Industry tothe Ministry of the Environment. There were several reasons for this change.The new Ministry of the Environment needed some tangible tasks, while theMinistry of Industry already had a heavy workload. The change, however,reflected a symbolic as well as an actual change from economically to environ-


mentally oriented research. Norwegian interests on Svalbard were no longerexclusively focused on coal, but also on research and environmental protection.The move led, moreover, to a change in the Polar Institute’s profile. For theinstitute, the really major changes followed the 1993 Parliamentary resolu-tion that relocated the institute from Oslo to Tromsø.

The white paper on polar research that outlined this move focused on threemain scientific areas of concentration: polar climate, environmental toxins, andbiodiversity. These fields of research would also become important to the PolarInstitute. But though the institute, prior to the 1979 move to the Ministry ofthe Environment, had concentrated its efforts mainly on earth sciences andglaciology, and prioritised mapping of the Arctic and Antarctic, it eventuallymade a major shift toward environmental and biological research. The moveto Tromsø, during which most of the employees were replaced, helped makethis shift possible.

At the end of the 20th century, the institute was not alone in carrying outNorwegian polar research. The universities of Oslo, Bergen, Trondheim, andTromsø, and a number of institutes and research centres, had and have depart-ments with strong traditions in various areas of polar research. Also, the newlyestablished University Studies on Svalbard (UNIS) has in recent years empha-sized original research. Founded in 1993, UNIS was a collaborative effortamong Norwegian mainland universities that emphasized education in Arcticgeology, Arctic geophysics, and Arctic biology.

The concept of ‘Svalbard as research platform’ seems to have come intobeing early in the 1970s. What Norway lacked in heavy logistics was made upfor by the Svalbard Treaty, or, as someone at the Ministry of the Environmentsaid, ‘Perhaps Norway has no icebreakers, but we have Svalbard.’ Until the early1970s, the Norwegian research effort in and around Svalbard was totallydominated by the Norwegian Polar Institute, which was also a key supplier oflogistics for many researchers. This changed after the Longyearbyen airportopened in 1975. Researchers could travel to Svalbard themselves, and wereless dependent on collaboration with the institute. In recent decades, Svalbardhas developed into an international platform for polar research. In 1990, GreatBritain’s Natural Environment Research Council (NERC) rented its own premis-es in Ny-Ålesund, and Germany’s Alfred Wegener Institute opened an allyearresearch station in the restored mining office. Japan’s polar research institutedid the same thing. Both the Germans and the Japanese have been very activein atmospheric research, especially in the development and dynamics of theozone layer. Polish marine biologists have held annual expeditions to Kongs-fjord, and Dutch and French researchers have also been represented in greatnumbers during the summer season. At the turn of the millennium, both theChinese and American authorities showed interest in setting up stations. In


the 1990s, a significant amount of Norwegian investment also took place. Evenso, at the turn of the millennium, research in the world’s northernmost settle-ment was in no way dominated by Norway.

The Norwegian government has never given up its official ambition ofbecoming a leading polar nation. This, despite Norwegian researchers beingpractically absent from Antarctica for several decades; and even though Norway,according to evil rumours, has gradually come to look more like a custodianof Svalbard than a major research nation. The Polar Institute’s directors, ToreGjelsvik and later Olav Orheim, referred constantly to the gap betweenParliament’s generous expressions of sympathy and its grants, which they consi-dered insufficient to meet the nation’s responsibility for polar research andadministration. Only after the polar regions’ vulnerability and environmentalsignificance were documented in the 1990s was there a noticeable increase inresearch funding. When environmental problems became political issues,greater backing for polar research ensued. At the same time, the cold, remoteareas of the globe became more important arenas for high-tech internationalresearch in the natural sciences.


Large scientific research projects often require a multinational effort. Ten nations participated

in the EPICA expedition to the Kohnen Station in Dronning Maud Land in 2003.

What has characterised polar research in recent decades is internationali-sation and instrumentation. Many of the large research programs operatingin polar areas are concerned with global health, and focus on environmentaltoxins transported over long distances, global warming, or basal studies ofbiogeochemical cycles; so that the polar aspect is only one element of a broaderpicture.Typically, research activities located on Svalbard or in Norwegian watersare part of a large regional or global network for monitoring conditions in thesea, on land, or in the air. Many of these activities are so cost-intensive andtechnically sophisticated that an exclusively Norwegian effort along these lineswould be impossible. Collaboration has increased, and it is not only internationalbut also interdisciplinary. Complex questions demand complex approaches.While individual scientists have become increasingly specialised in ever narrow-er fields, they participate in interdisciplinary research consortiums. The globalclimate not only influences the Arctic environment, but is itself influenced toan extraordinary degree by processes in the Arctic Ocean and the air massesabove it. These intricate forces can be understood only through teamworkinvolving people working in oceanography, meteorology, glaciology and biology;and by using hugely expensive research vessels, satellites, measuring devices,analytical devices, and computer equipment – all within an international arena.

The Antarctic welcoming party for the Lance.

The Norwegian hunting of marine mammals, seal, whale and walrus, had beena tale of the decline of one stock after another. When animals grew few andfar between in one area, hunters would simply move to new grounds. Theemerging international cooperation immediately prior to World War II offeredhope that action would be taken to limit the hunt in a way that would allowanimal stocks to reproduce. Sadly, this hope was shattered. Poor managementruns like a leitmotif throughout the history of whaling and sealing, even duringthe post-war years. To be sure, these were also periods of great profit, techno-logical advances, and improved conditions for crews. But there were also tragicaccidents. And over time the hunter-hero would meet opposition from groupsand individuals who considered hunting barbaric.

Before World War II broke out, the hunting of marine mammals was still amajor enterprise in Norway. Ship-owners in Vestfold County brought homeenormous wealth from the Antarctic Ocean, and sealskins and blubber fromthe Arctic Ocean brought financial rewards to Troms and Sunnmøre. But be-tween the 1938–39 season and the first post-war season, the situation for bothwhaling and sealing changed drastically, mainly because during the war muchof the maritime equipment was either out of operation or was lost. When theGerman invasion of Norway took place on April 9, 1940, Norwegian whalersand factory ships were headed home and Germany lost out on enormous quanti-ties of oil that it needed. Instead, the whale oil from Antarctica was taken toGreat Britain, where most of it was bought by the Ministry of Food.Additionally, the 6,000 men who had been engaged in whaling were unableto return to Norway until the war was over. The remainder of the whalingfleet, together with the merchant fleet, joined Norway’s London-basedGovernment’s Nortraship Fleet. Many of the factory ships were used as tankers

a g r e e d y h u n t i n g n a t i o n ? 375

A GREEDY HUNTING NATION?

or for the transportation of war materials. In New York, a Whaling Committeereporting to the fleet administration oversaw the small amount of whaling activi-ty that was still ongoing.

Before the war, seal hunting employed more than seventy vessels, with a totalcrew of approximately 1,150 men per year. By the start of the hunting seasonin 1945 there were only 14 vessels with 177 men, although even this is a substan-tial figure when one considers that this was only a month or so after the warended. During the German occupation, all sealing ceased and boats were putto alternative use. Some of the sealers had been hunting on the other side ofthe Atlantic in April 1940, and like the whalers, they were taken into serviceby the Allies. Others ran freight services for the German occupation forces.

In 1945 expectations ran high. Since there had been no sealing and littlewhaling during the war, everybody hoped that stocks would have improved.But they were to be disappointed.

The emptying of the Antarctic Ocean

When war broke out in September 1939, Great Britain wanted to halt allNorwegian oil exports to Germany. Whale oil was perceived as obvious contra-band, so Great Britain wanted to allow Norway to import only 50,000 tonnesfor its own use. Germany, on the other hand, claimed that neutral Norwayshould be free to decide for itself what to do with the oil. Whale oil was ofsuch importance to Germany that it favoured allowing both the Norwegian andthe British whaling fleets to hunt without interference, so long as the Germanscontinued to receive the lion’s share of the oil, as in peacetime. In February1940, Norway entered trade agreements that covered the sale of whale oil, firstwith Great Britain and later with Germany. Whaling was now being conduct-ed with no concern for any hunting regulations; all that mattered was to getas much oil as one could, as fast as possible. Despite this, wastage was low andin the Antarctic extraction levels measured in oil barrels per BWU (Blue WhaleUnit) continued to be relatively high.

Following its occupation of Norway, Germany tried to keep Norwegianoil production at a low level. In the spring of 1940 the occupation authoritiesalso bought three whaling boats from the Jahre company, Kosmos. In 1940–41four Norwegian factory ships, together with their whaleboats, were raided by theGermans. One of them was the factory ship Kosmos, whose crew was imprisonedin France and not released for over seven months. Another factory ship was blownup by a mine, and two men were killed. The hazards of war, however, were notthe only reason whaling came to a halt in the Antarctic after 1941.

During World War I, whale oil had been of the utmost importance to the


warring nations: politically, militarily, and economically. Yet, it proved to beless important in this new war, as mineral oil had taken its place. Besides, oncethe U.S.A. had joined the war, the whaling fleet could be put to better use fortrans-Atlantic transportation. Four of the whale factories used for such trans-port were torpedoed, and in all 123 people lost their lives. It was not until1944 that another Norwegian whaling expedition would be sent to the Antarctic.Until then, only the shore station in Grytvika, South Georgia, remained inoperation.

Even before the war was over, the Norwegian government in London wasplanning the rebuilding the Norwegian whaling fleet after the war. It felt thatNorway and Great Britain should work together to prevent other nations fromaccessing whaling grounds. Norway presumed the Allies would deny bothGermany and Japan permission to renew their pursuit of pelagic hunting thatdelivered to their factory ships, and also that the Crew Embargo (a Norwegianembargo prohibiting Norwegian crews from hiring themselves out to compa-nies not in operation prior to the war) would keep such expeditions from beingoutfitted. They were mistaken.

In 1945–48 the Norwegian state imposed a cooperative agreement on itswhaling companies in order to get the whaling fleet up and running as swift-ly as possible. Under the agreement, a proportion of the operating profits ofcompanies whose vessels were intact would be spent on the fleet investmentsof those companies that had lost vessels in the war. This co-operation was aprecondition for the release of whaling vessels by the state-run Nortraship.The state paid the companies’ insurance and freight subsidies, and compensa-ted them for the use of vessels during the war, but this was still not enough tocover costs. Additionally, companies were obliged to sell a substantial propor-tion of their production to the domestic market at a low capped rate, to ensurethe availability of cheap margarine. This cooperative agreement resulted inthe swift resumption of whaling and ensured control over the numbers ofexpeditions. From the companies’ viewpoint, however, this agreement delayedmodernising equipment. Several companies were reluctant to sail at all, as invest-ment and operating expenses were high. Yet, it turned out that an increase in pricesensured excellent returns on the catches during those first three post-war years.

After the war, 42 Norwegian whaling boats had been lost and only 79 wereseaworthy, but many of these were in poor condition and did not have parti-cularly powerful engines. Following negotiations, 18 whaling boats were trans-ferred to Norwegian ship-owners, all of which the Germans had built inNorwegian shipyards using money from the Bank of Norway. In 1951, around12 million pounds was invested in whaling boats. Nonetheless, Norway’swhaling fleet was inferior to Great Britain’s in terms of both numbers and effici-ency, and this was reflected in their hunting yields.


In the years between 1946 and 1948, Norway got four new factory ships,bringing the number up to ten, which was the number it had had before WorldWar II. After that, no further concessions were given for factory ships in Norway,in contradistinction to the situation in many other countries. In addition, theTønsberg Whalery resumed operation in Husvik Harbour, South Georgia, andmany Norwegian men were employed at the foreign shore stations in Grytvikaand Leith Harbour, and on foreign pelagic expeditions after the war.

The first conference on post-war whaling industry regulations was held inLondon as early as January 1944. Its purpose was to ensure that regulationsset in 1937 and 1938 would be in operation during the first whaling seasonafter the war. It would be important to ensure the production of as much oilas possible for a world hungry for fat, while at the same time taking whale stocksinto consideration.


On board the Thorshøvdi in 1949. The whales are pulled up on deck, and the crewmen are busy

cutting up the huge animals, and getting pieces ready for the boiler.

Another conference was held in 1945, and a third, in Washington, in 1946.The aim was to come up with a control system that would ensure adequateprotection of whale stocks, discourage nations who wished to begin whaling,and satisfy requirements for fat in Europe. An overall annual quota of 16,000BWU was agreed upon. This figure was chosen fairly randomly. There wasstill comparatively little knowledge about the size and development of thestocks. National quotas were not agreed upon, because it was thought that theprinciples of open seas and free trade should apply. National quotas wouldalso make it impossible for new nations to begin whaling.

In 1946 there was a new international treaty, the International WhalingConvention, which also stipulated the establishment of a council, theInternational Whaling Commission (IWC). The commission was founded ona premise of equality among sovereign states, which meant that throughoutits first 20 years, when the pelagic catches in Antarctica were on the agenda,the majority of its members were not themselves involved in pelagic whaling,but were able to vote down those who were. Over time, eight nations becamethe most active: Great Britain, Norway, Japan, Holland, the Soviet Union, theU.S.A., Australia, and Canada. The last three nations were not themselvesengaged in whaling. Amongst those involved in pelagic issues, the old guard,Great Britain and Norway, were in opposition to the new, Japan, Holland andthe Soviet Union. In theory, the cooperation that had been established bodedwell for the future of whale resources. But taking a close look at the legisla-tion, one can see that the founding countries gave the commission little powerto pursue sensible resource management; in practice, every nation had a veto.The marrying of economic and ecological aims seemed an impossibility. Eachyear, the size of the quota was discussed; everybody agreed that whales werethreatened, but years were to pass before agreements were made to reduce thequota, and then by very modest amounts. Additionally, it was difficult to raisesupport for the retirement of whaling equipment. The Convention maintainedthat any such regulations be based on scientific research, but one cannot helpconcluding that commercial factors were allowed to prevail.

In principle, the formation of the IWC was extremely important in establish-ing international cooperation to prevent the over-exploitation of whale stocks;in practice, however, this cooperation had limited effect. No internationalchecks were put in place to control companies that hunted illegally; each nationmore or less had a veto and could do as it pleased. The overall quota was fixedquite randomly, and it was difficult to secure an agreement to lower it.

In the early post-war years, many nations were interested in entering thewhaling business, whether by using whaling boats that delivered to factory shipsor by using shore stations. Prices were increasing, but there were other obsta-cles. The Norwegian Crew Embargo was designed to keep experts in Norway;


quotas set by the IWC limited potential earnings; and after the war the defeat-ed forces were dependent on the victors’ goodwill. Japan was permitted to restartits programme after the war, but not Germany. Margins were tight, both interms of profit and the risk of depleting the whale stock. Norway’s argumentsbased upon its longstanding rights and traditions no longer held sway, andthe only way it could keep new players from entering the field was by prevent-ing Norwegian whale hunters from hiring their services out to foreign expedi-tions that had not been in operation in the 1938–39 hunting season. Admittedly,exceptions were made to this rule; for example, the German whale factoriesconfiscated by the Allies, so that fat production in Europe could be increased.One of these allies was the Soviet Union, which had received permission toproceed with whaling, on the conditions that it ratified international agree-ments and that its dispensation would only be valid for the 1946– 47 season.

The Norwegian gunners were not happy about the Crew Embargo. Theyexperienced it as limiting their ability to accept the many tempting offers theyreceived from foreign companies. They found and used legal loopholes. Theirservices were among the preconditions in the establishment of Dutch whaling.Also, it became customary for Norwegian gunners to be hired in Cape Town,beyond the reach of Norwegian law.

The period from the late 1940s to the late 1950s proved to be a goldenage for Norwegian whaling. Prices and production were high; in the bumperyear of 1951–52 they were higher than in 1937–38, which had until thenbeen the best year since the crisis of 1932–33. Even though Norway was obligedto compete with Great Britain, Japan, the Soviet Union, and Holland, almosthalf of world production was Norwegian. The price of fat rose, because poorharvests meant that the vegetable oil yield was low, and because consumptionincreased. The currency situation, moreover, made it impossible for Europeancountries to buy fat using U.S. dollars if that option was not included in theMarshall Plan; and this benefited Norwegian whalers.

Though there was more than enough equipment to catch the overall quotaof 16,000 BWU, whale factories were modernised. It proved impossible to keepJapan and other new whaling nations out of the industry. Many whalingmanagers felt that intense competition in the catching and preparation of whalesin the shortest time possible could easily lead to insufficient time being takento find the animals with the highest yield, or to carry out the processing asthoroughly as possible. After fifteen post-war seasons, equipment was twice asefficient, but generally it remained impossible to haul in the total quota, indicat-ing perhaps that it had been set too high in relation to the overall size of whalestocks.

Following a Norwegian initiative, the pelagic companies agreed in 1953to reduce the number of whaling boats. Higher numbers of whaling boats made


Times were often hard on board the whaling

vessels. Badweather was a particular challenge

for the man in the crow’s nest and the gunner

on the bow. Here is the Thorørn in 1963.

expeditions expensive to run and catches less profitable. The advent of new,large Russian, Japanese and Dutch expeditions brought new boats, and compe-tition only grew. Whaling was state-controlled in Russia and government-subsi-dised in Holland, and did not have the same requirements for profitability asin Norway. Japan expanded the most, however, perhaps because it had fasterand more powerful whaling boats, and because it produced meat for consump-tion as much as for oil, and therefore had higher returns. In addition, Japan hada long tradition of coastal fishing and a high level of expertise.

All the same, in 1956–59 new agreements were entered into, which cutthe numbers of whaling boats per nation in order ‘to improve the profitabili-ty of the Arctic expeditions’. Russia, however, did not enter into this agreement.It was soon realised that the quota of 16,000 was set too high, and the IWCcommission lowered it to 15,000 in 1955–56, and then to 14,500 a year later.The scientific committee of the IWC presented evidence showing that thesequotas were much too high; but recognizing that support for large reductionswas unlikely, they bowed to anticipated pressure and proposed more limitedreductions. However, biologists were not successful in getting agreements on theserecommendations either. Quotas were, in fact, increased slightly in 1958–59.

Over the next three years, the overall quota system was ignored, and eachcountry hunted according to its own national quotas, contributing to an in-crease in the overall total haul. For instance, during the 1960–61 season, figuresfor the pelagic catch of Baleen whale reached their highest level since the war.Only in 1962–63 did the IWC determine quotas for each country, reducingthe overall quota drastically over the next few years. But this regulation hadarrived too late. Over the next four seasons, from 1962 to 1966, the world catchin Antarctica measured in BWU fell by about two-thirds, and Norway did notmanage to fill its quota. Too few whales were left for whaling to be profitable;and with the rapid decimation of stocks, the industry had dug its own grave.In 1963 the humpback whale in the Southern Hemisphere officially becamea protected species, followed by the blue whale in 1965.

The depletion of the big whales was accompanied by a decline in prices.With the increase in the use of vegetable oil and synthetic detergents, whaleoil represented a steadily decreasing proportion of the ingredients in margarineand soap production, respectively. Profitability dropped, leading to reductionsin Norwegian whaling. In 1960–61 Norwegian expeditions hauled in only 32percent of world production, and by this time less than a third of the world’swhalers were Norwegian. In the 1962–63 season, the Japanese had taken the lead,and only four Norwegian expeditions were active. British companies experienceda downturn similar to that of the Norwegians after the 1961–62 season, while theRussians and Japanese were to continue hunting for a few more years.

The Norwegian Whaling Association then suggested that Norway withdraw


from the IWC, since the feeling was that the Soviet Union and Japan wereignoring the rules of the game, and Norway ought to compete with them onan equal footing. Naturally, the government could not approve such a move.In 1967–68, Kosmos IV was on the hunting grounds for the last time, whenthe global quota had been set at 3,200 units. A 65-year era of Norwegianhunting of large whales in the Antarctic Ocean was over.

Health and welfare

In the post-war years, improvements were made in conditions on board whalingvessels. The newest boats often had cabins for two, and came with both sinksand showers for the crew. Ship-owners were required to supply linen. On busydays there was not always time for very thorough personal hygiene. The crewmembers just took off their boots and coats, lay on their bunks for a short nap,and then returned to duty. Showers had to wait until it was dark or foggy, orwhen there were no whales in sight. Food became more varied than before; andwith refrigerators and freezers, it became easier to maintain a good, balanced dietthat was similar to the diet available on land. New regulations concerning foodand drink on board Norwegian vessels had been introduced in 1938. Theyincluded strict instructions on daily and weekly rations and on how foods andbeverages should be handled. Stewards, cooks, bakers, and butchers put a greatdeal of work into giving the whalers good meals to look forward to, duringthe often tiring and monotonous working days in the factories. Food was supple-mented with vitamins, and so-called ‘iron cows’ were introduced, which prod-uced milk from butter, milk powder, and water. In a 1949 article in a Norwegianmagazine, the diet is described as follows:

After a simple start of coffee and bread before the working day, the menhave a breakfast of porridge, coffee, and tea, along with a warm dish or someeggs (never fewer than two per man) and always more than enough of allsorts of the best spreads and cold-cuts. The main meal of the day oftenconsists of three courses; but it is, in any case, as full and well prepared asanyone could wish. After dessert there are usually apples, oranges, or othertropical fruits. In the afternoon there is coffee and bread; and at the endof the working day, the men are served a hearty supper. Thus, every day ahot meal is served, usually with potatoes; and in addition to coffee andtea, the men also receive chocolate. On Sundays and holidays, there is alwaysa little extra.

During the final years of factory ships, things had become almost too comfor-


table. The boys in the mess served three to four hot meals a day. There werealso stricter hygiene regulations; starting in 1935 a washing machine or steamerwas obligatory on board when there were more than 50 crew members; andthe men were no longer required to have their own cutlery.

Health care improved, too. The introduction of penicillin and a greateremphasis on hygiene and cleaning ensured that wire cuts and other wounds didnot develop so often into serious boils. Otherwise, skeletal ailments, rheuma-tic pain, and balance problems continued to be common medical afflictionsin the whaling industry during the post-war years, as did skin disorders.Occasionally, people would get facial blisters from the dirt and cold. Brokenlegs and sprains were also commonplace. In addition to a surgery and sickbay,most expeditions now had x-ray equipment and an operating theatre, and severalfactories and shore stations had set up their own small dental surgeries. Still,onboard working environments can only be described as hazardous, and thenumber of accidents and injuries in the industry was too high.

Thanks to more powerful boats and new radio technology, being aboardwhaling boats was also safer. After the war, hunting took place further norththan it had before, and the risk of colliding with icebergs was smaller. Only threewhaling boats sank in Antarctica after the war, none of them Norwegian. Invarious contemporary documents we can find records of other terrible accidents,including tank explosions, men falling into boilers, or men being poisoned while


Whaling was hard work, and the men needed a lot of food. Dinnertime was an important break

from work. At first the meals were not particularly varied. However, they improved gradually,

and these men on board the Kosmos III seem to be enjoying themselves.

cleaning tanks. The latter was the cause of George Moncrieff ’s death, aNewcastle man, who met his end on 26th January 1948. He was buried at sea;at the end of a brief ceremony with British and Norwegian flags at half-mastand a speech by the second mate, he was lowered into the waves. What leftthe greatest impression on one of his Norwegian shipmates was the silence:‘So strange to us. All the things that you associate with a whaling factory inoperation – the work on deck, the ear-piercing noise of the winches, bursts ofsteam, saws going, shouting and talking – and suddenly emptiness; just theoverwhelming silence of several hundred men.’ Early in the 1950s, burials atsea ended: the dead were brought back home.

Mental health was increasingly taken into account after the war. In 1947,the Whaler’s Welfare Council was established to prevent ‘whale sickness’, whichwas a pervasive gloom that the men experienced when the pace slackened inbetween hauls. There was also more leisure time on board the factory ships. TheCouncil provided small shows, skits, songs, music, bridge tournaments, lectureevenings, on-house magazines, sports competitions, exhibitions of craft hobbiessuch as carpet-making, doormat-making, whalebone carving, and model-shipbuilding, ‘inductions’ for the first-time boys on the way south, and celebrationsof the Norwegian national holiday, Constitution Day (May 17th), on the journeyhome. For a new boy on board the factory ship Southern Harvester, a night atthe movies was a very exotic experience. ‘It was really nice to sit in the middleof a coil of rope with a cup of cocoa and a cigarette and watch a film. It wassome experience all right; the film out on deck in a pleasant breeze and theHarvester at full speed through a black tropical night.’

Yet the tempo on board was hardly less frenzied after the war than before.One whaler told of a week when he had hardly been to bed. He just slumpedover onto the dining table after having eaten, and slept there for a while. Agunner remembered standing watch in the same place for a full day and night.At times like these, the men were so exhausted that they looked forward tothe next storm, just so they could get some sleep. Competition was tough,and the working pace became frenzied when there were whales to be caught.

In many ways, a whale factory ship was like a single-faceted, self-suffici-ent little industrial town. Some things were unalterable: working with whalecarcases necessarily involves a working environment filled with blood, innards,and chunks of meat, and working in a polar climate also affects the workingday. March and April are autumn months on the whaling grounds; and whenthe whaleboats sailed in to the factories with the whales, they were almostcompletely covered in ice from the mast down. The crew members were soheavily dressed that they could not hold their arms at their sides. They hadice in their hair and beards, which they let grow to protect their faces fromthe wind and cold.


Whaling culture

The whaling culture cannot be described as anything other than exclusivelymale, though some wives stayed the winter with their husbands at the shorestations, and a female nurse might occasionally be found on board one of thefactory ships. To be a whaler was seen as being a ‘manly sport’. To go whalingwas almost a rite of passage into manhood in many communities in Vestfoldin southeastern Norway, and was something young boys looked forward toexperiencing. In anticipation, they built toy boats or whaling factories and played‘whaling stations’ by catching small fish and boiling them in empty tin cans.

It was not only the whaling companies that chose to underplay the riskyaspects of the work; those who participated in whaling also did so in the talesthey told. When the tanned whale hunters returned home, they had moneyin their pockets and were treated like kings in their local communities. Thoughex-whalers emphasise how hard the work was, and though many of them admitthat they only took the work for money, they also took pride in what they did.There was much rivalry and competition, mostly with other expeditions, butthe day shift would compete with the night shift, too. This led to a team spirit,which, apart from their share of the hunt, must have helped motivate whalersto aim for the highest possible production levels. A strategically placed noticeboard, on which production levels were logged, kept them all on their toes.

Whaling had its own culture, which is manifest in many ways. Whalers hadtheir own slang, not just specialist terminology. This shared language createda sense of belonging. Like fishermen and hunters, whalers had their taboos.For example, no one was allowed to whistle or to speak about horses on board;because that would bring on a storm.

The culture of many Vestfold parishes was strongly influenced by thewhaling industry. Sandefjord was the world’s biggest whaling town, and wasclearly affected by this. The year was divided in two: the whaling season andthe home season.The children were born while the men were away; true ‘whalingkids’ were conceived in the summer and born in February, March or April.

During the hunting season, whaling districts became women’s communi-ties. In wartime this was brought into sharp relief when whalers’ wives andchildren found themselves in a difficult position. It had been customary forwhaling companies to pay a percentage of a whaler’s wages, known as ‘the deduc-tion’, to his family each month. The communication problems created by thewar meant that companies lost contact with ships, and no profit could bemade from them. They therefore earned no revenues from which an advancecould be subtracted, and families were thus left without income. Nor didcompanies know whether a particular seaman was still working on board. Thesituation was resolved when the state stepped in and guaranteed a payment


amounting to 60 percent of any previous advance to families with less than3000 kroner in assets. This was better than nothing, of course; but it was notusually enough for the families to cover their expenses. Women had to pro-vide their families with food and clothes as best they could; many of them beganto grow vegetables, and keep rabbits and chickens.

Following the war, the men were not absent for such long periods as theyhad been in the past; they went to sea in October or November, whereas beforethe war the men would have left in September. During the months of theirabsence, the women had to take care of everything themselves. They raisedthe children, looked after the house and maybe also a farm, filled out tax returnsand handled mortgages, sorted out building permits and organised theworkmen when houses needed building.

Maintaining contact between the men and their families during the whalingseason was no easy matter. Often, before the men set sail, women would goon board and hide little letters for their husbands in their cabins. Otherwise,they had to follow the newspapers to find out when the shipping companieswould be carrying mail on their transports or other ships. Generally, only onspecial occasions, such as the birth of a child, would anyone spend money fora telegram. But come Christmas, both those out at sea and those at home wouldsend telegrams bearing the telephone company’s standard messages, such as:‘The same Christmas star, my dear, lights both our paths; neither a thousanddegrees in latitude nor all the oceans can separate you and me.’ When theTandbergtape recorder arrived, a whaling dad might be lucky enough to receive a recordingof his children preparing for Christmas. A whaler’s daughter from Østfold toldof how her family spent 30 Christmas Eves in a row without her father. Back athome, the wives and children would sometimes go to the cinema to watch a filmedreport from the whaling grounds. Sometimes some of the men might chip inand send a telegram to their local newspaper by way of Bergen Radio. One suchtelegram was sent from the Southern Venture on October 3rd, 1958. ‘Greetingsto our friends and families, from the Equator.’ The moments of greatest excite-ment were naturally in the spring, when the men came home; then mother andchildren would wash and tidy, varnish and paint the house, do the gardening, andspruce themselves up, before going down to the quayside to wait.

Economics, politics, and culture

The whale has to pay for everything. It has to pay the cost of several milli-on kroner for a whale factory ship. It pays for twelve whaleboats and acrew of almost five hundred men. […] The whale must also pay for ahundred oxen, fifty pigs, as many lambs, fifty tonnes of canned food, two


tonnes of jam, a mountain of tinned corned beef, two thousand blocks ofgoat cheese, tens of thousands of eggs – five hundred are needed for break-fast. The whale is supposed to pay for all this and a thousand other things.(Torbjørn Saga)

The value of whale oil represented between 0.5 % and 1.5 % of the gross nation-al product of Norway from 1908–1960, with the exception of the periods 1912–14and 1925–31, when it was higher, peaking at 3.86 % in 1931. The value excee-ded two percent in 1947–49, but then started a steady decline. Such percentagesmight seem small, but the accumulated value of the industry was close to thatgenerated by fishing from 1917 to 1937; and in 1925–28 even exceeded it. Inany case, these are impressive income figures. As a point of comparison, if wewere to add up the nation’s entire income from whaling in 1905–70, it would beequivalent to the Norwegian Petroleum Fund at the start of the new millennium.


Figure 3: Income from fish and whale oil 1905–1967, given in current prices.

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1965196019551950194519401935193019251920191519101905

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Source: SSB.

Whaling had significant economic knock-on effects that are less easy to calcu-late. Many business sectors benefited from whalers returning home with thickwallets. In particular, the shipbuilding industry profited greatly from thewhaling industry. There can be no doubt that the major ship-owners earnedhuge incomes from it, as indicated by the large donations made by ship-ownerslike Anders Jahre and Lars Christensen, and in particular the capital they rein-vested, primarily in the merchant fleet. Jahre became the richest man in Norway.

The whaling industry also brought foreign currency into the country, whichwas important, particularly during the early post-war years. On the whole,the whaling industry was something people were proud of, both in Vestfold andin the country at large; because the perception of the whaler as a NorwegianViking in dangerous waters was still prevalent, and also because whaling broughtlarge sums of money into Norway. In 1953 for example, Leif Sørsdal, a seasonedpolar traveller, went all across the country with a slide show about ‘Antarcticaand the Norwegian whale factory ships, with the men who give ‘their all’ towrench from the ocean its great wealth’. Articles in magazines and newspa-pers presented the whalers and their work with huge respect; they were ‘thelads who know their craft’. At the same time, emphasis was placed on the thrilland hazards of the hunt.


The Sandefjord fleet which contributed significantly to economic growth in Vestfold county and

to the decimation of whale stocks in Antarctica.

Over time, however, the exploitative aspect of the hunt came under discus-sion with increasing regularity. Scientists had warned early on against thedangers of dredging the seas of the large whales, but ship-owners turned a deafear. Within Norway’s borders, the focus was placed as much on foreign compe-tition as on threatened whale stocks.

The sealing industry – expansion and modernisation

The first sealing season after the war began late. It was not until June 12th,1945 that the boats set out for the ice sheets. At such a late date in the spring,the best of the season was over, of course, and the females would already havegiven birth to their cubs. But even if hunting for whitecoats or bluebacks (newlyborn seal and hooded seal pups) was out of the question, the sealers couldhunt for older seals, because after so many years of waiting, nothing was goingto stop them from their hunt. The nine vessels from Sunnmøre in WesternNorway that participated in the hunt headed northwest to the Denmark Strait,where they would combine sealing with fishing for Greenland shark; whilefive vessels from Troms in Northern Norway sailed for the Arctic Ocean. Thegrounds in the White Sea were closed; the Russians explained that they hadto deny access to the sealing grounds because of the danger of unexploded mines.

The efforts of 1945 were modest. The fleet had shrunk considerably, andthat spring there was a shortage of most of the things a fleet needed to set outon an expedition into Arctic waters. Fuel was rationed, and it was hard to findprovisions or equipment. Hunting equipment had to be replaced or repaired,after having lain unused during five years of war. Many boats were in severeneed of an overhaul after years without proper maintenance.

After the modest beginnings of 1945, participation in sealing grew quickly;and by 1948, 61 boats with 900 men were working to full capacity. Between1950 and 1964, there were around 1,200 seal hunters working each year. In1952, the year in which five boats vanished without trace in the Western IceFields, 81 vessels took part with over 1,400 men. Never before or since havethere been so many men involved in sealing.

In 1947 the catch was already comparable to pre-war levels. Forty-nineboats participated that year, and 130,736 animals were caught, almost exactlythe same number as in 1939. Several seasons of excellent catches followed. Inthe 1950s, 270,000 animals were caught annually, 38 percent more than inthe inter-war years.

The increase in catches after 1945 was due in part to the modernisationof the sealing fleet. Older vessels were rebuilt and reinforced, and new boatswere constructed. Twenty percent of the vessels that participated in 1961 were


The Harmoni, from Tromsø, pushing its way through the Western Ice Fields in 1982.

ten years old or less. The newbuilds were often made of steel. Between 1955and 1961, the average length of the vessels increased from 96 to 105 feet.

The increase in catches after 1945 was not solely a consequence of themodernisation of the fleet, but also a result of territorial expansion. TheNewfoundland grounds, which Norwegian hunters had started to use justbefore World War II, was an extremely important area. In 1948 only one vesselparticipated. Just two years later there were 13 Norwegian vessels there, and itsoon became the area where the largest hauls could be made.

The Newfoundland hunting grounds became even more important whenseal hunting in the White Sea came to an end. Under the Concession Treaty,signed by Norway and the Soviet Union on April 26th, 1926, Norwegian sealersneeded a letter of passage in order to catch seals in the rich hunting fields ofthe White Sea. But beginning in 1940, Soviet authorities refused to issue anysuch permits, despite numerous Norwegian requests for the reopening of thegrounds after the war.The Soviet argument about the danger of mines may havebeen real during the first few years after 1945, but the main reason for refusalwas the tense relationship between East and West during the Cold War.

The largest and most modern vessels hunted in Newfoundland. In 1956the Norbjørn returned to its home port of Tromsø with pelts and blubber from31,160 animals in its hold. The powerful steel ship, built in Finland duringthe war, was originally an icebreaker, and was rebuilt after the war as a sealer.In 1956 another Tromsø ship, the Polarsirkel, made a record catch, bringingback 32,026 pelts and 420 tonnes of blubber from the same grounds. No otherNorwegian vessel has ever caught so much seal. The catches made by thosetwo ships represented 20 percent of the total catch for 1956. The sealers onthe Polarsirkel earned 18,000 kroner each, the equivalent of almost twice theaverage salary of a Norwegian industrial worker that year.

But what was the economic role of seal hunting? Economically, in a nation-al perspective, the catch was not significant. The peak year was 1951; yet thatyear’s catch value of 28 million kroner represented only 0.147 percent of theNorwegian GNP. In comparison, profits from fishing that year were 492 mil-lion kroner, and the value of whale-oil production was 369 million kroner.The economic impact of sealing was primarily significant for the huntingcommunities along the coast. Sealing proved most important economicallyfor Tromsø and Bergen, where the preparation of skins and the production ofoil provided industrial jobs.

The hunters were not just after harp seals and hooded seals. Walrus andpolar bear skins were much sought after and could provide considerable incomefor crews. True enough, walrus catches were very limited after the war, withthe exception of 1951, when Norwegian hunters caught 1,253 animals. Notsince 1898 had so many walruses been shot. The following year, however, the


Trophy hunters in 1963. According to the magazine Aktuell, amateur American hunters with deep pockets

had discovered a new pastime: polar bear safaris in the Western Ice Fields.

walrus became an internationally protected species. Hunting polar bears repre-sented a more significant additional income. The majority of the polar bearswere hunted in the Northern Ice Fields, the Eastern Ice Fields, and aroundSvalbard; but bears were also caught in the Newfoundland grounds and nearJan Mayen. Between 1945 and 1973, 8,543 polar bears were killed. Abouthalf of these were killed by sealers, the rest by the staff at Svalbard’s weatherstation, by people who stayed the winter in those places, and by trophy hunters.Excellent returns could be made on the skins, but most profitable of all wasthe selling of live polar bears, which were in great demand by zoos across Europe.In the period after the war, 1950 was the peak year, when 60 animals were caughtand sent abroad. In 1973, it became illegal to catch polar bears.

Dangers and shipwrecks

On the morning of April 9th, 1952, the Department of Fisheries received thefollowing telegram from Reykjavik, Island:

Five Norwegian sealers in Western Ice Fields missing for six days in hurri-cane. The sixth, Arild, arrived North Icelandic harbour severely damaged.Fear that boats are lost and crews dead. Possible the crews might surviveon ice. Reply as soon as possible if legation should send search plane fromIceland.

The Buskøy and Pels from Sunnmøre, the Vårglimt from Balsfjord, and theTromsø vessels Brattind and Ringsel were missing. All together, the boats had78 men aboard.

What had happened? Werner Wilhelmsen, the skipper of the Arild fromTromsø, and the rest of his crew were the last to have had contact with thefive boats before they sank. The Arild had been in the same grounds when thebad weather struck on April 3rd. Together with the Vårglimt and Brattind theytook shelter behind an outcropping of ice. But during the storm their shelterdisappeared, leaving the boats to the mercy of the elements. The last of thevessels they saw were the Vårglimt, which lay pressed up against an ice sheet,and the Brattind, which was listing.

The engine on the Arild failed to keep her on a straight course, and the boathad to ride out the enormous waves. A breaker caused two men, Werner’s elderbrother and father-in-law, to be washed overboard as they were about to castout the sea anchor. While Werner’s father-in-law was lost in the waves, hisbrother was miraculously washed back on deck again. One crew member, whohad injured his hip falling on the ice before the storm, lay isolated in his cabin


for 84 hours without any attention, as it was impossible to get down to him.The portholes in his cabin had been smashed by the waves, but he had managedto get up and stuff them with bedclothes and mattresses. Finally, however, theterrifying journey came to an end. Severely damaged, and with a broken mainmast, the Arild arrived at Arnafjord in northwest Iceland on the evening of April8th. After an ambulance had been called for the injured man, Wilhelmsenmanaged to dispatch the telegram about the missing boats.

A rescue operation was immediately launched.The U.S. Air Force, stationedin Iceland, was asked to take part, together with Icelandic planes and a DanishCatalina plane. First, they attempted to find survivors on the ice, and the entirearea between 60° and 70° N was scoured. But apart from a few pieces of wrecka-ge, their searches bore no results. After a week the Americans called off thesearch, as they felt it was very unlikely they would find survivors in such poorweather. But the other plane searches continued until May 2nd, greatly hamperedby the weather. On April 10th the seal hunters’ organisations suggested thatsix of their vessels already in the area should join the search. The boats searchedbetween 70° and 64° N, but stopped after about a week, having seen no signof any crew or vessels. On April 13th, Norway’s Naval Defence corvette patrolships Sørøy and Nordkyn, leaving Tromsø for the Western Ice Fields, went tojoin the search. But these vessels found nothing either, and on May 3rd they wererecalled to port. The sealing boats Nordland I and Polarsel were chartered by theauthorities and continued searching until May 21st. Apart from the discoveryof a piece of wood and a cabin door, the searches, tragically, bore no results.

Nobody knows what had happened just when the boats sank. But it is likelythey went down quickly in the hurricane. The families of the dead were leftbehind: 46 women had lost their husbands, and 98 children had lost theirfathers. Some families were particularly hard hit, because the crews on severalof the boats had been related.

The shipwrecks led to a direct decline in sealing; during the 1953 seasononly 59 boats participated in the hunt. Shortly afterwards, however, numberswent up again. In 1957, just five years after the accident in the Western IceFields, 73 boats participated.The fact that the shipwrecks did not lead to a long-term decline in hunting was due to the attitudes within the hunting commu-nities. Fishing and hunting have always been viewed as perilous.

The year 1952 was a particularly bad one, with accidents; but there hadbeen many great losses in previous seasons, too. In 1949 three vessels were tosuccumb to the forces of nature. In the Western Ice fields, the Tromsø vesselÆgir was out hunting. During a powerful gale, it sustained a sizable leak, butluckily the crew were saved by the Polstjerna, which was anchored nearby. Onthe evening of Easter Sunday that same year, the Polarbjørn from Brandal wasravaged by fire. The boat was hunting in the Newfoundland grounds. The crew


were saved by the Canadian sealer Illinois, but were transferred later to theHerøyfjord, which had as many as 20,000 animals on board. On its journeyhome from Newfoundland to Ålesund, the vessel encountered a raging storm.The cargo shifted, and the boat was shipwrecked. Fortunately, help was at hand.The Sunnmøre vessels Brandal and Flemsøy were also on their return voyagehome, and under extremely difficult conditions managed to pick up all the menwho had been aboard the Herøyfjord. In 1950 there were three shipwrecks, whilein 1951 there was one shipwreck. The Veidemann from Vartdal broke its propel-ler in the Western Ice Fields. Heavy waves had torn apart the outside sterncasing, and the vessel drifted helplessly before sinking. In each of these instan-ces, the crew were saved by other seal hunting ships.

But despite the many shipwrecks, sealing had become a safer industry thanduring the years between the wars. In the 15 years between 1926 and 1940, atotal of 101 vessels were shipwrecked; in the period from 1946 to 1976, thefigure had dropped to only 29.

An industry in decline

In the latter half of the 1960s, the sealing industry was in decline. In 1965 therewere over 1,100 people hunting seal on 57 vessels. The catch was poor that year,and only 140,000 animals were caught. But if quantities were low, prices werehigh.The best hooded seal pelts sold for 300 kroner apiece, while blueback peltscommanded between 200 and 250 kroner each. The total gross income forsealers came to almost 23 million kroner. The export value was almost 42million. France and West Germany were the most important markets forNorwegian seal skin products.

But prospects looked grim, and the succeeding years showed a steepdownturn. Participation in hunts more than halved from 1965 to 1971. Thedecline continued, and by 1985 only a handful of boats were left.

The reason for the decline was a reduction in seal stocks, following manyyears of exploitation. As early as 1950–51, Canadian biologists had developedestimates that showed that the breeding rates for harp seal in Newfoundlandwere alarmingly low. Stocks were reduced by between 50 and 75 percent inthe period 1955–1971. On the other important grounds, the Western Ice Fields,the estimated reduction was around 75–80 percent in the period from 1945to 1965. In the Eastern Ice Fields there was also excessive over-hunting of harpseal after the war.

But despite this, no effective hunting regulations were in force until 1971,when Norwegian and Canadian authorities reached an agreement on the protec-tion of seal stocks in the northwest Atlantic. Admittedly, there had been some


A glimpse of the Rieber production plant in Tromsø

in 2003, where sealskins are fleshed and otherwise

treated. At thismachine, the last remains of flesh and

blubber are removed from the hide.

informal agreements on the regulation of hunting. As far back as the 1950s,there had been cooperation in the form of a ‘gentleman’s agreement’ on startand finish dates, in order to safeguard the stocks. Another example of an infor-mal agreement was that Norwegian sealers had stopped hunting in the St.Lawrence Bay after 1964. But for Norway it became important to reach an agree-ment which would secure Norwegian hunting rights on the grounds, becausein 1970 Canada extended its territorial waters from three to twelve nautical miles.

On other grounds, which were less important in terms of volume, agree-ments were made a little earlier. Catches in the Denmark Strait, between Icelandand eastern Greenland, were limited by quotas in 1958–60; and as of 1961 sealswere protected, despite massive protests from the hunting communities inSunnmøre in Western Norway. In 1970 Norway and the Soviet Union agreedupon a quota system for hunting in the northeast Atlantic, following somehunting regulation measures that had come into effect in 1965.

The introduction of hunting quotas was something completely new.Traditionally, hunting had been regulated by specific start and finish dates onthe different grounds. On the Newfoundland grounds, the hunting usually tookplace from March 12th to April 30th; in the Western and the Eastern Ice Fields,the dates were a week later. The explanation given for this limitation was, ofcourse, that it was for the protection of stocks. But there were other implica-tions for the industry that were of greater importance. It was essential that theboats and crew not disturb the seal mothers before or during birth, because theythen risked the early disappearance of the seals from the grounds.The best thingwas to start the hunt just after the births, when the pups were on the ice, feedingfrom their mothers. The nursing period lasts only a couple of weeks; thereaf-ter, the seal pups are left to themselves. The male seal is also easier to catch atthis time. He stays close by, because as soon as the mothers abandon their young,the mating season begins.

The new quota systems were a necessary yet very dramatic addition to theoperating parameters affecting the industry. Hardest hit were the Newfoundlandgrounds. In the five-year period from 1966 to 1970, the average catch of harpseal in this area had been slightly more than 130,000 per year. In 1971 theannual quota was set at 100,000; and it was steadily reduced thereafter untilit reached 20,000 by 1979. On the other grounds, in the Eastern and WesternIce Fields, quotas remained largely unchanged: 15,000 harp seal pups and30,000 hooded seals in the west and 14,000 harp seals in the east. The lasthunting season for Norwegians on Newfoundland grounds was in 1983. Thiscessation was partly due to the European Economic Community prohibitionof imports of products from seal pups, and partly due to the Canadian authori-ties banning the use of large vessels on the hunting grounds.


The great adventure was over. These were the grounds where Norwegiansealers had taken record hunting catches in 1956. Tromsø skipper GuttormJakobsen claimed in an interview that he had caught half a million seals onthe Newfoundland hunts. The cessation meant that the total Norwegian catchwas reduced by almost 70 percent.

Protesting against seal hunting

In the first decades after 1945, the official image of sealers was one of sweatand toil amid the perils of icy Northern waters. With great regularity, maga-zines would carry articles portraying the drama of the hunt and the awe-inspir-ing natural landscapes in the ice. A 1958 headline, ‘The Tough Men of theIce’, was fairly typical. Newspapers offered the same image of the sealers. Despitethe growth of manufacturing in Norway, many people were still employed in theagriculture and fishing sectors. Seal hunting was viewed as a form of harvestingof nature, in the same way as other primary industries were. Slaughter of animalsin farming communities was commonplace, and few concerned themselves withthe methods of slaughter. Sealing was seen in the same terms as any other businessactivity, the only difference being that it was more exotic and adventurous.

During the second half of the 1960s, however, this media image waschallenged by organised opposition to sealing. The first waves of resistancesurfaced in 1965, when the Norwegian Society for the Protection of Animals(Dyrebeskyttelsen Norge) showed the film ‘Sealing in Newfoundland’ during ameeting of its members. The film had been obtained from a sister chapter inHamburg, and showed a series of brutal and heartrending scenes. Among otherthings, pregnant seals were shown being killed, and their unborn pups beingdragged from their bodies. It was claimed that the Newfoundland huntersstuffed the pups, called ‘cats’, and sold them as souvenirs in St. John’s. Thefilm also showed seals with cruel gunshot wounds, and showed them beingkilled in a very brutal fashion. The film was later exposed as a fake; the film-makers had paid hunters to portray the industry in as bad a light as possible.But despite these revelations, the film played an important role in internationalpropaganda against sealing.

In Norway the film received little attention. It was not until four yearslater that the seal hunting controversy finally was picked up by the Norwegianmedia. The trigger was a February 1969 photo essay in Paris Match showingCanadian seal hunting in the St. Lawrence Bay. The Norwegian embassy inParis found itself bombarded by protests shortly after the magazine was publish-ed. The same pictures were later printed in Aktuell, accompanying an articleon Norwegian sealing. During this media storm, a Norwegian documentary


The cover of Paris Match, which infuriated the French and unsettled the Norwegian authorities.

appeared. Film producer and photographer Thoralf Smith-Jensen fromStavanger had made a film based on a hunt with the boat M/S Furenak ofÅlesund. It showed bloody scenes on the ice, and some people maintainedthat the film showed methods of slaughter that were both inhumane and irre-sponsible. In its wake, a heated newspaper debate arose in which the industry,scientists, politicians and the general public participated. The film led to themobilisation of Norwegian animal rights campaigners and furious protests fromthe hunting industry. Smith-Jensen was also investigated by the VeterinaryAuthorities. He himself claimed that his aim had not been to lay the seal huntersopen to public attack, but simply to film what he saw.

Criticism by anti-sealing campaigners has largely centred around threeissues. The first issue was the concern over the size of catches, that the exploi-tation of the seals has been so extensive that stocks have nearly reached extinc-tion. Secondly, the activists objected to the inhumane methods of killing sealsand the suffering caused during the hunt. There has been huge focus on thehunters’ use of a special bludgeoning instrument with a sharp hook at the end,and on the shooting, wounding, and killing of nursing pups as their motherstry to protect them. The most serious criticism has been that seals are skinnedalive during the hunts. Thirdly, the criticism has focused on the immorality ofkilling animals when the purpose is wholly commercial, with the pelts used forluxury items like fur coats, whilst dead seal carcasses were left lying on the ice.

The first anti-seal hunting campaigns started in Canada in 1967. Severalorganisations were then established. Greenpeace was founded in Vancouver in1971. The same year saw the founding of the International Fund for AnimalWelfare (IFAW), also in Canada, by Brian Davies and others. In 1972, Daviespublished the book Savage Luxury, a powerful criticism of the sealing industry.

In Norway the opposition did not gain the same foothold as abroad. TheNorwegian Society for the Protection of Animals was critical of aspects of thehunt, but focused on the fight for humane killing methods and for the enforce-ment of regulations.

The organised protests against sealing have to be seen in the light of the protestmovement that swept through large sections of the industrialised world at the endof the 1960s. But such opposition is also a consequence of modern mass media.It was now possible for television to bring live pictures of the bloody drama onthe ice into people’s living rooms. And the activists knew how to use the media.

The criticism of Norwegian seal hunting by French magazines at the endof 1960s was taken seriously by the authorities. The accusations were refuted,and shortly after the article in Paris Match appeared, the Ministry of ForeignAffairs invited French journalists to Norway so that they could form their ownopinion as to how Norwegian hunting was carried out.

The accusations of systematic animal abuse during Norwegian sealing were


categorically denied by the industry as much as by the scientists. Nonetheless,the question as to whether aspects of Norwegian hunting were worthy of criti-cism, like in their methods of slaughter, is a legitimate one. In his 1958 book,Mannen og båten (The Man and the Boat), ‘Polar Priest’ Monrad Nordervalwrote that the regulations were at times broken. ‘Time and time again I sawanimals that were not properly killed, suddenly coming to again; and then tryingof course, as is their instinct, to get away and out into the sea. And on occa-sion they succeeded, too.’ Marine biologist Torgeir Øritsland, who drew up aset of instructions for the sealers at the end of the 1960s, thinks that thecampaign against seal hunting resulted in significant changes in slaughteringmethods on board the ships. At the same time he categorically rejects claimsthat seal pups were skinned alive. But despite scientifically based refutationsof the anti-sealing campaigners’ arguments, these campaigns appealed to mil-lions of people, particularly the urban youth of France, Germany, and U.S.A.

The year 1974 brought a second large wave of protests against Norwegiansealing, this time from the U.S.A. Here campaigns had proved successful, withthe Marine Mammal Protection Act having been passed in 1972, which out-lawed the import of all products made from marine mammals to the U.S.A.Advertisements were run in the newspapers and on radio and TV. Famouspeople were used to front the campaigns, including the Dutch speed skater, ArdSchenk. Norwegian politicians grew concerned about the damaging effect thiscampaign was having on other Norwegian industries, such as travel and tourism.The arguments were countered once again with factual information from theMinistry of Foreign Affairs and its representatives abroad. But the task was insur-mountable, because during the campaign, diplomatic representatives abroadwere receiving several thousand (anti-seal hunting) letters every day. During1974 the Norwegian embassy in Washington, D.C., received more than a mil-lion written protests, mostly pre-printed postcards.

The anti-seal hunting organisations’ advertisements in American andEuropean newspapers encouraged people to send protests directly to the chair-man of G.C. Rieber, the largest, and eventually the only, buyer, producer, andexporter of sealskin and seal oil. Christian Rieber received over 250,000 letters;these were mostly postcards, but also included were many personal letters, forinstance from school classes. Some mail contained murder threats, and parcelswere checked by a bomb detector before being opened. Rieber even madecontingency plans for himself and his family to escape.

The protests also created unease at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. In June,1975 the Sealing Council (Selfangstrådet) called an extraordinary meeting. Thereason for this was that Brian Davies had recorded a film about Norwegiansealing and had threatened to air it on American TV, unless the Newfoundland


hunting ceased. Foreign Minister Knut Frydenlund went so far as to meetwith Davies, which infuriated the members of the Sealing Council. Modelledon the Whaling Council, the Sealing Council had been formed in 1948, andwas intended to function as a link between the industry and the authorities.The most important task for this body was to regulate the catch, not only inrelation to Norway, but also internationally. As far as Brian Davies’ film wasconcerned, the Sealing Council was of the opinion that the industry should notallow itself to be pressured in this way. The council’s advice therefore was thatthe hunting should continue, and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs fell into line.

Five years later the case surfaced again. This time the Ministry of ForeignAffairs wanted Norwegian participation in Newfoundland to stop ‘with immedi-ate effect’, because Norwegian hunting presented an ‘unquantifiable strain onforeign policy’. Again the Sealing Council was unaccommodating. CarstenHelgeby of the press office at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was heavily ‘bruised’by the council members when he laid the Ministry’s proposals before them.

The result was the same as before, and hunting continued in Newfound-land. But victory was short lived. For even if the seal researchers, hunters, andChristian Rieber had once again managed to persuade the authorities that theyshould not give in to the campaign against sealing, the campaigners were gainingground elsewhere. Their greatest success was when the EEC outlawed allimports of seal skin in 1983. With a single pen stroke the market for the sealingindustry and its entire commercial base had been swept away. EEC countriesaccounted for 90 percent of the market for Norwegian seal skin, and the banwas its ‘death knell’.

Then, at the end of the 1980s, the campaign against sealing received supportfrom unexpected quarters.

The Lindberg case

In the spring of 1988, the freelance journalist Odd F. Lindberg was hired asan inspector on the Tromsø seal boat Harmoni, in the Western Ice Fields. Whenhe came back, he was interviewed by the newspaper BladetTromsø, and said thathe wanted to report to the Ministry of Fisheries the serious breaches of regula-tions he had witnessed. His report was presented two and a half months later.Due to the seriousness of complaints against named individuals, the Ministrydecided to withhold the report from the public. At the same time the newspa-per printed the entire report, keeping the names of the hunters anonymous.Reactions to this story were fierce. The seal hunters who had received criti-cism reacted; the scientific community reacted; and the Ministry of Fisheriesreleased a statement dismissing Lindberg’s report as absurd.


Why did Norwegians react so strongly to Odd

Lindberg’s claims of serious violations of

regulations by the hunting industry?

The Ministry of Fisheries’ handling of the Lindberg case seems quite extra-ordinary. In the first place, Lindberg was appointed as an inspector withouthaving had sufficiently documented competence in the field. When he thenreturned with a critical report, it was stamped as classified information for twoyears. In a press release, the Ministry then concluded that there had been nobreach of hunting regulations, and went on to declare the Lindberg reportabsurd. In an interview in July 1988, a ministerial director claimed the reportwas unlikely to cause much damage, since Lindberg’s accusations had beenrefuted on scientific grounds.

But the Ministry was seriously mistaken, and the case was in no way over.Odd Lindberg had taken his materials abroad, and in February 1989 SwedishTelevision aired a programme on Norwegian seal hunting, which included afilm Lindberg had made. Channel 4 in Great Britain also showed the film.The Norwegian embassy in London received a torrent of phone calls, fromviewers criticising Norwegian sealing and threatening to boycott Norwegiangoods. In Sweden the reaction was the same. Greenpeace and the newspaperExpressen had an open phone line after the film was broadcast, and thousandsof viewers expressed their anger. Even prominent EEC politicians threatenedsanctions against Norway if the hunting was not brought to an end. In Norway,however, Lindberg received little support, and many branded him as a traitor.Seal hunters dismissed the film as a hoax. Exporters of fish were alarmed thatthere might be a boycott of Norwegian fish, and the Department of Fisheriesonce again denied there had been any breach of law by Norwegian sealers.

Again, one cannot help but feel the government handling of the situationwas both extraordinary and extremely slow. In February of 1989, ten monthshad elapsed since the start of the Lindberg case. But only now, after the casehad already caused a storm in the British and Swedish media, did the govern-ment appoint a commission of experts to look into the validity of the claimsof illegal conduct by Norwegian sealers. The commission concluded that ithad the impression that ‘on the whole, seal hunters feel that hunting regula-tions should be respected, and that the rules have been largely adhered to’.Breaches had, however, occurred, which the commission explained as being dueto the conditions in which the hunting had taken place. But Lindberg’s claimthat animals were skinned alive, were dismissed; as was the claim that seal pupswere kicked to death. All the same, the commission felt there was reason toconsider measures for the improvement of animal welfare.

The Lindberg case raises many questions. By the time of the case, sealinghad been reduced to a state subsidised, ‘symbolic’ industry in Norway, com-prised of four or five ships and a reception plant for skins. In 1983 state subsid-ies were granted for the first time, and a sum of four million kroner allocatedthat year to keep vessels afloat. Since then, allocations to the sealing industry


have totalled between five and fifteen million kroner, annually. This fundingis given partly to support the processing, and partly to support the boats. Thestrength of the reaction against Lindberg shows that the symbolic value of thistraditional industry was still extremely important. Did the accusations oflawbreaking on the seal hunt upset a historic sense of Norway’s ‘polar identi-ty’? Lindberg became an object of hate for people who knew next to nothingabout sealing, long before the commission of experts had shown that his allega-tions were generally faulty.

The seal hunters who took out a libel suit against Lindberg were awardedcompensation.

Whaling and sealing shared many characteristics in the post-war years. Bothindustries saw huge investments in hunting equipment, followed by recordcatches in the 1950s. In the long run, however, the investments were dispro-portionate to the rewards, and the next decade was characterised by decline.And when the future of the hunt became increasingly uncertain, many ship-owners chose to withdraw their ships from hunting, refitting them and usingthem for other purposes.

What was the cause of this decline? In this period, the international cru-sade against seal hunting began, to the detriment of market conditions. To whatextent did the campaigns influenced the decline? That is of course arguable,because hunting was already in decline. But as the campaigns against sealingbecame more powerful and better organised, they certainly seemed to contri-bute substantially to the pace of downscaling. As far as Antarctic whaling wasconcerned, however, the whaling boats had already made what were to be theirfinal journeys when the international anti-whaling campaigns began to gatherstrength. It was the lesser rorqual, known as the minke whale that lived alongthe coast, which was to become the focus of campaigns against whaling.

The overwhelming reason for the decline in the hunting of seal and largewhales after the growth years was over-exploitation. But labelling in hindsight,Norway, the hunting nation, as greedy is nonetheless problematic. The unregu-lated hunting of seals and large whales in those first decades after 1945 waspart of the expansionist thinking of its day. But, it is beyond any doubt thatbusiness interests had a major influence on hunting policies. Ultimately, itwas the lack of any efficient and effective international management struc-tures that decided the fate of hunting.


Will skins, blubber, andmeat be unloaded

at the Tromsø wharf in the future, as well?

In the years that followed World War II, the hunt for natural resources in theArtic regions became greatly intensified. The harvesting of fish in Norwegianand Russian Arctic waters grew rapidly. As a result, important fish stocks wereover-harvested. By the 1970s it was clear that new organizations for sustainablemanagement needed to be established, and that this could only be achievedin close partnership with other countries, not least with Norway’s neighbourto the east. This is one of the main reasons Norway’s policy on the polar andArctic regions during this period was so driven by its relationship to the SovietUnion, later Russia. In the first decades after World War II, however, otherfactors were more important. If the relationship with the Soviet Union had sucha huge influence on Norway’s approach, it was due to East-West tensions andthe Cold War, which resulted in significant militarisation of the Artic, and whichalso led Norway to join NATO in 1949.

The Arctic and northern regions became a military deployment area duringthe Cold War, but even then there was room for cooperation through the IronCurtain. In the north, Norway pursued a deliberate, low-tension approachwhich counterbalanced the high tension of the Arctic. Additionally, since theend of the 1970s, pressure on fish stocks required cooperation to ensure theirmanagement. Since the end of the Cold War, opportunities for interaction havegrown on both sides of the border, and the cooperative relationship is morecomplex. At the same time, this has increased the areas of potential conflict,for instance in connection with management of the Arctic’s natural resources.Attempts at solving these conflicts of interest include establishment of the newInternational Laws of the Sea Regulations, in the 1970s. During the last twodecades we have seen the gradual opening of previously closed borders. Since the1960s, new borders have also been established (economic zones, continental shelfborders). Not insignificantly, unresolved border issues have also arisen.

n e w f r o n t i e r s , n e w b o r d e r s 409

NEW FRONTIERS, NEW BORDERS

Coal mining during the Cold War

Svalbard was one of the most important areas of interaction for the polar nationsof Norway and Russia. On June 27th, 1945, the first scheduled passenger boatleft the mainland for Svalbard, carrying workers who were to commence post-war repairs on Store Norske’s mines and machinery in Longyearbyen andSveagruva. Less than two months later, the state-owned company Kings Baysent its first contingent of workers to Ny-Ålesund. By autumn, 500 to 600people were involved in the reconstruction work. There was plenty to be done.

Few people questioned whether coal mining on Svalbard should be resumedafter the war. Norwegian coal mining was an important instrument used tounderscore Norwegian sovereignty, and both Norway and Europe neededenergy for their post-war reconstruction. Coal was an important source ofenergy for the steel, shipping, and railroad industries, as well as for many house-holds, especially in Northern Norway. The privately owned Store NorskeSpitsbergen Kulkompani (The Great Norwegian Spitsbergen Coal Company)was prepared to meet the demand. Throughout the war, the company’s chair-man, Hilmar Reksten, worked tirelessly in London and New York to secureequipment and machinery for the re-opening of the mines in Longyearbyenand Svea, as soon as peace was declared. There would be enormous competi-tion for such equipment after the war, and an early start was essential.Furthermore the local competitor, the state-owned Kings Bay Kull Compani(King’s Bay Coal Company), had plans lined up for the resumption of produc-tion in Ny-Ålesund, where the coal mines had fallen into disuse in the 1930s.Optimism and belief in the future reigned. However, there were also power-ful political grounds for the resumption of Norwegian mining activity onSvalbard; nothing less than Norwegian sovereignty was at stake.

In November 1944, during a late-night meeting in Moscow with hisNorwegian colleague Trygve Lie, Soviet Foreign Minister Molotov proposeddramatic alterations to the Svalbard Treaty. He asserted that the treaty mustbe redrawn in order to accommodate the security needs of the Soviet Union,and that Svalbard’s defence should be shared between the two countries. Withthe presence of Soviet military forces in Finnmark, the Norwegian authoritiesfound themselves, to put it mildly, in a rather tight corner. In London, theNorwegian government in exile gave serious consideration to the idea of goingalong with the Russians and worked on proposals for compromise. This epi-sode, which came to be known in Norway as the ‘Svalbard Crisis’, cast a shadowover foreign policy immediately after the war, until 1947, when Parliamentvoted to cut off any future bilateral negotiations about the islands.

A prominent feature of Norway’s post-war foreign policy was its wideintegration of Norwegian politics and society with international cooperative


efforts. During the first decades this was particularly the case in areas of nation-al security, through Norway’s membership of NATO. During the early post-war years, there had been great optimism regarding the possibilities of inter-national cooperation. The establishment of the United Nations, and with it thehope for a more peaceful world, was one of many manifestations of this. Thisoptimism found itself replaced by a more sober view as the Cold War pro-gressed. In 1949 NATO was founded, with Norway as a member. In 1955 theEastern Bloc responded by forming the Warsaw Pact. Along with the forma-tion of bloc alliances, there was a competitive stockpiling of both conventionaland nuclear weapons. Nuclear weapons systems, in particular, came to dominatestrategic thinking in the decades to follow.

Norway’s position was affected by its being the only NATO member, apartfrom Turkey, to share a border with the Soviet Union. Norway’s membershipin NATO was a move designed, first and foremost, to deter the Russians fromlaunching any attack and to limit the scope of political pressure. The northernregions grew in strategic importance, and in 1951 the Supreme AlliedCommander Atlantic (SACLANT) was established in Oslo.

The Soviet Union had recognised Norway’s sovereignty over Svalbard in1924, at the same time that Norway had recognised the Soviet Union as astate. Nine years later, in 1935, the Soviet Union had agreed to the SvalbardTreaty. And the Russians had kept relatively silent on the subject of Svalbard,until Molotov contacted Lie in November 1944.

Molotov maintained that the islands were of enormous strategic and econo-mic importance to the Soviet Union, and that the Svalbard Treaty did not pro-vide a satisfactory framework for the preservation of Russian interests.The treatyought therefore to be revised. Bjørnøya (Bear Island) should be placed underSoviet sovereignty. Svalbard would have to be put under joint Norwegian-Sovietrule and joint defence arrangements should be established. Lie describes theirconversation in one of his memoirs. Molotov put ‘his clenched fist down ontothe Dardanelles and said: ‘We are blocked in here.’ He moved his hand toÖresund: ‘We are blocked in here. The only opening is in the North. But thiswar has shown that supply lines to Northern Russia can be cut or made verydifficult. This will not be allowed to happen again.’

Even more Soviet proposals on the subject of Svalbard were put forward inthe autumn of 1946, without leading to any change in Svalbard’s status. WhenNorway joined NATO, the Soviet Union became far more sensitive to Norwegianpolicies in the north and more conscious of its own security interests. In 1951the Russians lodged two official protests against Norway’s Svalbard policy.

The temperature of the relationship between Norway and the Soviet Unionduring the first couple of decades after World War II mirrors the internationalsecurity climate at that time. Norway chose the middle road, between deter-


rence and appeasement. Its NATO membership was designed to ensure thatits powerful neighbour to the east understood that the risks involved in anyhostility against Norway would be prohibitive. At the same time, self-imposedrestrictions on Norwegian defence policy should ensure that its NATOmembership was not interpreted as overly threatening. Fundamental toNorwegian thinking in this matter was that cooperation with the Soviet Unionneeded to take place within a multilateral framework. Repeated Soviet propo-sals for bilateral agreements were therefore rejected by Norway.

The key to Norway’s approach to national security was that there shouldbe no establishment of permanent bases in Norway for use by military forcesof other nations, and that no foreign forces should be permanently stationedin the country during peacetime.

NATO partners’ interest in the Arctic areas lay in the region’s strategic loca-tion, which offered both offensive and defensive opportunities; for instancefor the surveillance of Soviet military activities, the chance to intercept Sovietvessels, and the defence of their own supply lines.

But in the summer of 1945, other things preoccupied the mining commu-nity in the Arctic.

Reconstruction

In September 1943, a German fleet led by the battleships Scharnhorst and Tirpitzattacked the mining communities of Isfjorden, causing considerable damage.Much of Longyearbyen lay in ruins, and Mine 2 was still burning when theNorwegians returned in 1945. The settlement of Sveagruva was burnt to theground by a German submarine crew in August 1944, and important machin-ery and structures blown apart. Ny-Ålesund had escaped with less damage; threehouses were burned and others had sustained damage from submarine shell-fire. The coal mines were partially filled with water and ice. Boats practicallyshuttled back and forth to Svalbard, carrying machinery, building materials,provisions and people right up until the sea froze over just before Christmas.Nearly 500 people spent the winter of 1945– 46 in the Norwegian mining settle-ments.

Thanks to these efforts, production was soon underway. By 1947 theNorwegian export of coal had already reached 280,000 tonnes. In the two yearsthat followed 420,000 tonnes were shipped out. The aggregate workforce total-led around 1,200. The market was strong during those early post-war years;demand was high and prices satisfactory. However, Svalbard’s coal companieswere soon to experience the sensitivity and volatility of the market. The priceof raw materials, especially the price of a strategic product like coal, fluctu-


ated with the world political situation, which was extremely unstable. Smallplayers like Kings Bay and Store Norske were naturally vulnerable. To secureearnings in foreign currency for the country, it was desirable to export as muchas possible; but Norwegian companies faced both competition and tariff barri-ers on European markets. In Norway, demand was falling; railroad and shippingcompanies, which had been major consumers of Svalbard coal, were in theprocess of switching to electricity and petroleum. In order to ensure liquidity,both companies were financially dependent on state subsidies.

There were other dark clouds looming on the horizon: resource depletionand accidents. In 1949, after only two years in operation, Sveagruva had tobe closed down due to low grade coal deposits and water seepage. InLongyearbyen, high levels of production were exhausting Mines 1 and 2; andStore Norske had to speed up work to locate fresh coal seams. In Ny-Ålesundthe coal was not so accessible; and technical and operational conditions posedtechnologically complex production problems. The annual yield at Kings Baywas only 38,500 tonnes in 1950. Despite a doubling of this figure in the follo-


A family community at 79°N. The Ødegårds had lived in Ny-Ålesund for ten years, but after the

mining accident in 1962, the future was uncertain.

wing year, the company was dependent on state support to continue produc-tion. More serious still was the fact that safety issues were not properly addressed.In December 1948, 15 men were killed in a gas explosion. A young man namedRichard Grefstad wrote in his diary: ‘… it was a ghastly sight after the explo-sion. Timber and rock were flung far into the mine; and the coal cars were blownseveral meters (100 m) out of the mine. The dead were found with one hand infront of their mouths and the other held above them, as protection against some-thing invisible. There was absolutely no oxygen down there.’ In 1952 and 1953two other mining accidents occurred in Ny-Ålesund, which between themclaimed 28 lives. The accident in 1952 was one of two on the same day, January7th, and there was also a gas explosion in Mine 2 in Longyearbyen, in which sixworkers perished. A contributing factor could have been the exceptionally lowatmospheric pressure that day.

In addition to the human tragedy, these accidents were a political burdenon the authorities, especially regarding state-run Kings Bay, for which theMinister of Industry held ultimate responsibility. The government appointeda committee of enquiry, which recommended a series of safety measures. Thecommittee also pointed out that measures imposed after the 1949 accidenthad not been adequately implemented. When yet another explosion took placein 1953, it was clear that something drastic had to be done. During the yearsthat followed, safer mining practices were developed. Massive investments weremade in new equipment and machinery, and in 1961 the Ministry of Industryreported that 21.7 million kroner had been invested. This was in addition tofunds set aside for operating expenses, repayment of debt, and increase in sharecapital. Between 1941 and 1961, Kings Bay received almost 60 million kronerfrom the state.

By the end of the 1950s, Norwegian coal production amounted to around300–400,000 tonnes per year, and 600 to 700 people were employed in theindustry. Companies struggled with poor sales, and the coal itself was beingdepleted in existing mines. Closing down the mining operations looked like adistinct possibility, at least from a business perspective. Yet, political conside-rations dictated that Norwegian mining and settlements had to be sustained,at almost any cost. This goes a long way toward explaining the large investmentsthat were made in Ny-Ålesund. Store Norske had opened a mine outsideLongyear Valley, Mine 5, in 1959, after borrowing from the state. That minehad cost almost 24 million kroner. The new mine eased the immediate pres-sure in relation to the coal reserves, but did nothing to solve the underlyingproblems of low sales. The industry was in a crisis at the start of the 1960s,and in many ways the coal-mining industry on Svalbard was at a crossroads.


Crisis in the coal industry

Huge investments had been made in both Ny-Ålesund and Longyearbyen, tomodernize the plants and prepare the new mines. This gave rise to optimism,primarily at a local level. Capacity was high; in 1961, coal production was400,000 tonnes, a level comparable to that attained during the productive yearsaround 1950. After its modernisation, the Kings Bay coal mines were fullyoperational.

The uncertainty lay in the market: sales and marketing were problematic,which was reflected in low coal prices. The crisis was international, andSvalbard’s mining companies were very small players in a much larger game.It soon became apparent that the markets were not about to solve Store Norske’sor Kings Bay’s problems; solutions were called for on a national level. The statehad inadvertently put itself in a bind by contributing to an increase in produc-tion. Now it had to resort to drastic measures.

On the European coal market, Germany in particular looked as if it mightbe an important customer for Store Norske, but prices were under severe pres-sure. Cheap American coal was flooding the European market, where produ-cers reacted with protectionism and compensated by increasing their ownproduction. Economic stagnation also meant that Eastern European producersoffered cheap coal in order to increase their own foreign-currency earnings, evenas demand was falling. Western European countries that had coal mines them-selves responded by increasing import duties and reducing production.

Late on the evening of November 5th, 1962, just after the night shift had clockedout, the Ester Mine in Ny-Ålesund exploded. All 21 men who had been under-ground were killed. Ten bodies were brought out, but fire and smoke preventedrescue teams from reaching the rest of the men. A tenth of the community hadbeen snatched away: husbands, fathers, colleagues, and friends. Besides suffer-ing human losses, hope and faith in the future were also shattered; after all,enormous investments in modernisation and safety improvements had beenmade, with Kings Bay finally running at full capacity again.

Throughout the winter and spring, employees had to live with the uncer-tainty of the company’s and their own fates, in effect without any possibilityof influencing events on the mainland. A preliminary enquiry committee underthe leadership of Finn Backer Midbøe, Svalbard’s Governor, had to leave Ny-Ålesund after only one week for fear of being locked in by ice during the winter.The Ministry of Industry appointed a new committee just after the New Year.Its report, delivered in May of 1963, strongly criticised Kings Bay, theNorwegian Labour Inspection Authority, and the Ministry of Industry forinsufficient attention and adherence to safety regulations in the mines. This


was made public in June, but by that time the Kings Bay story had alreadycommanded headlines for months.

Feelings were running high, in Parliament as well as elsewhere. As early asDecember 11th, 1962, Erling Engan of the Centre Party said that he was leftwith ‘the terrifying but distinct feeling that by allowing the Kings Bay mine tocontinue operating, the state has been playing with people’s lives. I believe that itwould be difficult to find a mine anywhere in the world where such accidents occurtime after time, and yet production continues as if nothing had happened.’

The conservative press in particular drew attention to the unfortunatedual role of the Ministry of Industry. The Ministry owned the company, andpermanent undersecretary of state, Karl O. Skjerdal, was its chairman of theboard. He was also responsible for overseeing the Norwegian Labour InspectionAuthority, which through the Commissioner of Mines had the responsibilityfor controlling mine safety. On June 20th, the Tønseth Commission Report wasconsidered so important that Parliament postponed closing the session for thesummer, and decided to debate the case in its entirety. On the same day, Ministerof Industry Kjell Holler resigned. When the case, in all its complexity, wasdebated on August 20th to 23rd, in what was the first live television broadcastof a parliamentary debate in Norway, the parties proposed a motion of no confi-dence. With two votes from the Socialist People’s Party (Sosialistisk Folkeparti),the motion was passed, and the government was forced to resign. At the sametime Parliament decided to shut down coal production at Kings Bay KullCompani A/S. On the anniversary of the accident, November 5th, 1963, thenew mine in the Western Center Field (Vestre Senterfelt) closed, and that winterall production in Ny-Ålesund closed down.

An additional consequence of the events of 1962–63 was that questionswere raised about both Norwegian industrial policies generally and Svalbardpolicies in particular. This was to have consequences during the 1960s. Anotheroutcome of the process was that plans for a merger of Store Norske, KingsBay, and the coking plant in Mo i Rana in the county of Nordland, and a statetakeover of Store Norske, were all shelved. This was clearly not the time toput forward any proposals that might involve nationalization or expansion ofstate involvement in industry, and about which Parliament did not have suffi-cient information. When Store Norske celebrated its 50th anniversary in 1966,it was not without a feeling of anxiety. Closing down all mining activities onSvalbard no longer seemed like an implausible scenario.


Half a year after the tragic May 1949 gas explosion in Ny-Ålesund, the Jacob Kjøde cast anchor

at the quay in Harstad, carrying the bodies of the dead miners.

Coal or black gold?

Up until the 1960s the state had spent a total of around one hundred millionkroner on investments, subsidies for operating expenses, loans, and guaran-tees for the coal companies on Svalbard.These investments illustrate how impor-tant Norwegian authorities felt it was to maintain the industry and settlements.In the winter of 1961–62, there were more than twice as many Russians asNorwegians on the islands. When Ny-Ålesund closed down the following year,the balance was tipped even more.

The mining activities had cost the state dearly, in more than just econo-mic terms. Yet, what was the alternative for maintaining a credible Norwegianpresence on Svalbard?

During the years after the war, there was extensive exploration for petro-leum in several locations in the Arctic, and a series of promising finds were made,not least of all in Alaska. International oil companies were also looking inSvalbard’s direction, not just because of its promising geology, but also be-cause any finds here would offer huge rewards on account of its extremelyfavourable tax regime. In 1961 the American exploration company Caltexapproached the governor of Svalbard to secure extraction rights. The Ministryof Industry attempted to put a stop to the licensing, but performed a U-turnafter heavy pressure from Caltex, which was granted 236 claims in 1961–62.The following year, when an application for 71 licences made by TrustArktikugol of the Soviet Union was rejected, trouble ensued. The Russiansprotested intensely at this inequitable treatment.The Ministry of Foreign Affairsbecame embroiled in the case, and despite severe reservations, Arktikugol wasgranted the licenses in 1965.

In 1965–66, Caltex carried out exploration drilling for petroleum nearBlåhuken in the Van Mijen Fjord, to a depth of 3,300 meters, but made nofinds. Neither did any of the other eleven boreholes drilled on Svalbard in the1960s or 1970s reveal any commercial deposits. Caltex was a consortium forthis project, comprised of Standard Oil (Esso) and Texaco. Additionally,European companies, including Fina and Total, were also conducting explo-ration in the area. Trust Arktikugol concluded drilling in Cole Bay in 1974–75.Among the most active companies was a small firm, Norsk Polarnavigasjon(Norwegian Polar Navigation). Alone or in cooperation with other compan-ies, it was responsible for drilling no fewer than six oil wells. It had no moreluck than its competitors, but succeeded at least in sometimes being the mosttraded stock on the Oslo Stock Exchange.

Oil exploration seemed to offer a ray of hope. In a situation where themining activity in Ny-Ålesund had been shut down, and Store Norske wasstruggling with finances and diminishing coal reserves, oil and gas might offer


The dreamof ‘black gold’andwealth. Exploration drilling

conducted by Norsk Polar Navigasjon A/S at the Brøgger

Peninsula in 1963. Svein Ytreland carries an empty barrel,

in the hopes that he can soon fill it with oil.

some alternative industry to shore up the local economy. Exploration, however,proved a formidable challenge, with respect to the exercise of Norwegian autho-rity. The international oil companies operated across the entire group of islands,bringing in significant resources: helicopters, ships, manpower and equipment.In reality it became impossible for the governor to maintain any effective controlover these activities. Nor had any laws or any regulatory frameworks been putin place; especially with regard to environmental protection, which was gainingincreasing attention around 1970, and whose proponents saw oil explorationas an environmental threat, and extraction as an even greater threat. Anotheraspect is the Norwegian authorities’ handling of this situation. From a foreigndiplomacy perspective, the Ministry of Industry was less than skilful in itsdealings. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs and eventually the government, itself,were forced to intervene to avoid serious conflict with the Soviet Union.

The ‘oil boom’ on Svalbard was short-lived, although a handful of addition-al wells were drilled in the 1980s and 1990s, with the same negative results. Ifnothing else, this showed that oil and gas production did not represent an alter-native to coal mining. Therefore, the Norwegian government had to ensure thecontinued existence of Store Norske. There was broad parliamentary consen-sus that coal mining must be maintained, and the coal company was thereforeawarded the necessary support. In 1966, 11 million kroner was allocated, andin 1968 parliament approved an investment loan of up to 32 million kronerfor the opening of Mine 6, and for new surveys of the state-owned acreage aroundMine 7. In 1973, an additional 76 million kroner was allocated for the followingthree-year period. At the same time, share capital was increased by around fivemillion kroner, which the state underwrote, thus becoming Store Norske’s largestshareholder.The lack of confidence that overshadowed the early 1960s was aboutto give way to optimism. Coal production was doing well; the markets wereon an upturn; and the state held a protective hand over Store Norske.

Cold warriors

It was Norwegian policy not to challenge the Soviet Union unnecessarily. Evententative inquiries made by Norway’s allies about the possibility of buildingup a limited military infrastructure on Svalbard or reconnaissance flights inthe area were therefore rejected. Norway’s allies wanted to support Norwegiansovereignty on Svalbard, and prevent the Soviet Union from taking over theislands; but in practice Norway received no guarantee of an allied defence incase of war.

The Cold War was at its most intense in the late 1950s and early 1960s.The 1961 Berlin Crisis and the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962 contributed to


bringing the relationship between the two superpowers to a head. When anAmerican surveillance aircraft on its way to Bodø, north along the Norwegiancoast, was shot down over Sverdlovsk on May 1st, 1960, this became the so called‘U2 incident’, which caused strong reactions from the Russians. Americanplanes had been using Bodø airport on a host of occasions without the know-ledge of the Norwegian government.The Norwegian Air Force High Command(Luftforsvarets overkommando) had issued landing permission without consult-ing any political authority. The case culminated in Foreign Minister HalvardLange protesting against such use of Norwegian airports.

The relationship between the superpowers gradually improved. A LimitedTest Ban Treaty on nuclear-weapons testing in the atmosphere was signed in1963. Nonetheless, the Kola Peninsula gradually became the Soviet Navy’s mostimportant port, and its only ice-free access to the Atlantic. The passage throughthe Barents Sea, between Svalbard and the mainland, was therefore of enormousgeostrategic significance, as Molotov had already indicated in 1944.

In 1967 NATO switched from a ‘massive retaliation’ to a ‘flexible response’doctrine. This partly came about because of the existence of submarines withmore advanced and longer-range rockets. The doctrine of massive retaliationhad become an irrelevance; it was the ability to ‘answer in kind’ which wasimportant, now. However, this contributed to the renewal of tensions in thenorthern areas. Now, more than ever, it was important for the allies to be ableto operate in Norwegian waters. Simultaneously, access to the Atlantic throughthe Barents Sea was of increasing importance for the Russians. In order thatsubmarines with long-range rockets could position themselves within reachof targets in the West, the Soviet Navy was dependent on being able to sail freelyinto the Norwegian Sea.

On Svalbard there were two questions in particular that dominatedNorwegian national security during the 1960s and 1970s: the establishmentof a ground station for space exploration in Ny-Ålesund in the mid 1960s,and the construction of an airport in Longyearbyen. Plans for an airport onSvalbard were a problem in which the relationship with the Soviet Union playeda significant part. Various plans had been proposed since the 1950s. The Sovietreaction was that an airport had to be viewed as a part of NATO’s military strate-gy, and as such incompatible with the Svalbard Treaty. After making severalwritten protests, the Russians conceded the need for an airport, but only as ajoint project between the two countries. During Prime Minister Kosygin’s visitto Oslo in 1971, the Russians finally agreed to Norway’s building and runningsuch an airport. In return, a number of Russian technicians could be stationedat the airport to take care of Russian planes. A communiqué after the meetingbetween the Norwegian and Russian Prime Ministers confirmed that the airportwould be for civilian use.


In 1971, the government approved the construction. In September of thesame year, the signatories to the Svalbard Treaty were informed that the airportwould be built and run by the Norwegian authorities, and that all signatorieswould be able to use the airport, in agreement with the Norwegian authorities.At the same time, the signatories to the treaty received a declaration, whichspecified that the airport should be used for civilian aircraft only. The Sovietstrategy now progressed to the assertion of its need for permanent buildingsand permanent staff at the airport. In 1975, when the airport was opened,complications arose when Soviet technicians brought their spouses. The ‘battleof the wives’, as it was called, was resolved in 1976, when an agreement wasreached between Aeroflot and the Civil Aviation Directorate limiting thenumber of people allowed to live in the flats made available to the Russians.

Two more aviation-related incidents occurred. Early in the 1960s, theRussians established a helicopter base at Cape Heer outside Barentsburg. Itsofficial purpose was to assist geological exploration in the area, but there werevarious indications that it was really a military base. Beginning in the 1980s,the governor of Svalbard and the Civil Aviation Authority were able to inspectthe site, gradually providing a clearer picture of activities at the base. In August1978, a Russian military plane crashed on Hopen (in the southeast region ofthe archipelago). The Russians wanted to take possession of the wreckage andthe flight recorder, but Norwegian authorities refused. The governor succeededin gaining possession of the flight recorder under rather tense circumstancesin which Soviet naval vessels were in the vicinity. Norwegian authorities insistedon treating the plane crash like any other accident, with an investigation ledby the Accidents Investigation Board Norway, under the auspices of the CivilAviation Authorities.

The Norwegian perspective on questions of aviation is generally that ‘civil’aviation also includes Norwegian military planes and helicopters, when theseare used for civilian purposes, for example during rescue operations or thesurveillance of fishing grounds. For a long time the Russians had a more restric-tive interpretation, vis-à-vis Article 9 of the SvalbardTreaty, and protested aboutthe use of the Longyearbyen airport by the Armed Forces’ Sea King rescuehelicopters and C-130 transport planes many times.

Modern Svalbard

Developments in the 1960s and early 1970s had proven coal mining to be theonly viable economic foundation for the Norwegian presence on Svalbard. Ithad been necessary for the state to inject considerable resources into StoreNorske to ensure its operation. In the middle of the 1970s, coal markets were


improving, but the government had no illusions of running at a profit or recoup-ing the investments and financial aid it had provided. It was explicitly statedthat the government could not allow a private company like Store Norske todetermine the scale of Norwegian activities on Svalbard; financial and opera-tional considerations needed to be weighed against the greater national good.

In 1976 the state took over virtually all the shares in Store Norske. To a largedegree, this was a logical consequence of the developments of the precedingyears, and of the state having procured a third of the share capital in 1973.The takeover also was a clear indication that the state now had full controlover and responsibility for Norwegian activities on Svalbard.This was an impor-tant signal both internationally and to the Norwegian nation.

By the end of 1980s, Longyearbyen stood at a crossroads once again.Considerable resources had been invested in modernising and developing thecommunity, and in most areas the authorities had achieved the goals set in1974–75. The challenge was now rather different, and involved both the conso-


A Braathens plane en route from Tromsø to Longyearbyen in January 1969. On board the plane

were 30 passengers, four tons of mail, and several hundred kilos of other cargo.

lidation of Norwegian settlements on Svalbard, and the simultaneous, long-term reduction of state subsidies. Central to both was the future of Store Norske.The mining firm remained the cornerstone company and a guarantor of thesettlements, but was also the major recipient of state funds. Once again, theproblem was that the reserves at Longyearbyen were dwindling fast, and coalprices were low. Was it possible to sustain a community of a thousand peoplewithout coal mining?

It might have seemed very ambitious to seek to re-deploy the local work-force: to replace jobs lost in mining-based activities with alternative employment,and thus stabilise the community. However, it became clear that results exceed-ed even the most optimistic estimates of the early 1990s. In 1991 there werethe equivalent of around 750 full-time jobs in Longyearbyen and Svea, and 370of these were in mining. Ten years later, the number of full-time positions hadrisen to 1,200, of which just less than 270 man-years were in mining. This hugegrowth had taken place in tourism, transportation, manufactured goods, andservice industries. Building and construction work had also expanded consi-derably. Longyearbyen grew quickly, and the population rose by almost 50 %during this ten year-period. Nobody knows precisely how many people livein Longyearbyen at any given time, but in 2004 the population was estima-ted at 1,700.

So, was the introduction of alternative employment as profitable as predic-ted? Progress has developed in waves, but in the year 2000 profitability levelswere approximately equal to the national average. Jobs seem largely stable, butthe workforce itself is more flexible; an average of four years was spent in localworkplaces in the year 2000. Around 140 large and small businesses were regis-tered in Longyearbyen that year, most of them privately owned.

At the beginning of the 1990s the essential concern had been to preventthe depopulation of Longyearbyen. Ten years later, the town was described asnearing full capacity, and the government had to stress that it would not facili-tate further expansion.The reorganisation that has taken place in Longyearbyensince 1990 is without parallel in modern Norwegian history, both in time andscale, and has established a new foundation for Norwegian Svalbard policies.

The mining industry acted as the ‘stabilising factor in the process of reorga-nisation’. In recent years questions have been raised as to whether the contin-uation of mining is compatible with environmental goals in Svalbard andNorwegian policy on climatic change, in general. It has also been demonstra-ted that coal mining is no longer critical to Norway’s sovereignty claim. Withthe blessing of the government, the coal mining industry is also currently experi-encing a renewed upsurge, following many years of adversity. Furthermore,production under the management of Store Norske, is greater than ever: threemillion tonnes in 2003. This illustrates some of the problems in administe-


ring activities on the islands today. What used to be an instrument of govern-ment policy has today become an independent industrial player.

It may even seem, then, that Svalbard has steadily become more impor-tant to Norway in recent decades, exactly when government control has beenlessened, and possibly also in line with the authorities’ lower ambitions for suchcontrol. If we look beyond Svalbard itself, and instead view broader interna-tional political policies, the changes are not so significant. What has been mostcrucial to Norwegian conduct with regard Svalbard has been Norway’s rela-tionship to the Soviet Union and, after 1991, to Russia.

From confrontation to cooperation

The build-up of forces on the Kola Peninsula, together with Norway’s tradi-tionally strong and accommodating relationship with its NATO partners, ledto a huge increase in Allied presence in the North in the 1970s and 1980s.


Saturday shopping in Longyearbyen. A community once entirely focused on mining is starting

to develop into a modern village.

Norwegian bases and defence facilities were expanded, and the storage of milita-ry stockpiles increased extensively. Beginning in 1983, the NATO reinforce-ment plan prioritised the Northern areas, further emphasizing their strategicsignificance.

In the 1970s the Russians had taken a greater interest in the Arctic areas,partly for military reasons, and partly because of its resources. This led to in-creased activity on Svalbard. In 1982–83 a KGB unit was established inBarentsburg. After the turmoil surrounding such 1970s episodes as the airportsaga and the helicopter incident, Norway’s relationship with the Russians onSvalbard eased in the 1980s, even though East-West tensions had generallyworsened. For NATO, the strategic importance of Svalbard lay first andforemost in the fact that its waters could provide a base for operations againstSoviet strategic weapons. With its Northern Fleet and strategic submarines basedat Kola, the Soviet Union was probably primarily concerned that Svalbardshould not be used by other powers for military purposes. The role of theNorthern Fleet was increasingly related to the strategic threat of attack and retali-ation in the global nuclear arms race of the 1980s. The development of morelong-distance rockets, with longer ranges, meant that submarines could oper-ate further north and still be within reach of their potential targets. This contri-buted to an increase in the strategic significance of Svalbard, the Arctic Sea, andthe Barents Sea. In 1985 two-thirds of the Soviet Union’s strategic submarineswere under the command of its Northern Fleet.

The Norwegian government adopted an extremely cautious policy duringthis period. Article 9 of the Svalbard Treaty, prohibiting the islands’ military use,was strictly adhered to, with the specific aim of reassuring the Russians. TheSoviet authorities were generally very suspicious of Western activity in thearea. The behaviour of the Soviets, with their constant border transgressions,diplomatic threats, and espionage, ensured that the Norwegian authoritiesmaintained their strategy of not engaging in direct negotiations with the Russianson questions pertaining to the northern areas. The involvement of Westernnations was essential with respect to the relationship with the superpower tothe East. It was, and remains, the view of the Norwegian authorities that theNATO pact included Svalbard, but that the islands, because of the SvalbardTreaty, should not play a role in NATO’s military plans.

In more recent years, environmental legislation has increasingly createdproblems with the Russians, for example with respect to their plans to restartmining in the Grumant field. Environmental protection plans are perceivedby the Russians as an attempt to squeeze them out of Svalbard. In addition,seizing Russian trawlers following illegal fishing in the protected zone aroundSvalbard has led to protests, and has been seen as a part of a plan to force Russiaout of the Arctic. The Russians interpreted the expansion of research installa-


tions such as EISCAT and SvalSat and a rocket launching ramp (SvalRak) inNy-Ålesund as part of the same pattern.

The main impact on Svalbard, with respect to the collapse of the SovietUnion and the end of the Cold War during the second half of the 1980s, wasthe dramatic reduction in the size of its Russian settlements.The political uphea-val in Moscow led to a new attitude of cooperation with its neighbours.Communist Party Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev announced in his famous 1987Murmansk speech that the Soviet Union wished more than anything to extendcooperation with other countries in the north.

Yet the fall of the Soviet Union also created uncertainty. Disarmament inCentral Europe led to a considerable build-up of conventional forces in thenorth. And the uncertainty in national security matters was amplified by thevolatile political situation and dramatic changes in the Russian economy.

This situation comprised the backdrop to Foreign Minister ThorvaldStoltenberg’s 1992 idea for the establishment of a Barents Region. A coopera-tive arrangement between Russia, its neighbours in Scandinavia, the U.S.A.,and the EU, it would incorporate the northern parts of Norway, Sweden, andFinland as well as northwest Russia. The overall aim of this initiative was to helpstabilise the region; an ‘extended security community’ had to be developed, inwhich Western efforts should contribute to democratisation, cultural exchange,economic development, and the resolution of environmental problems in north-west Russia.

The Barents initiative did not include Svalbard, but reflects a wider trendprevalent in the 1990s: the internationalisation of cooperation in the Arctic.Around this time two additional initiatives were launched. The InternationalArctic Science Committee (IASC) was established in 1990, and was an initiat-ing and coordinating body for scientific research in the north. Then, in 1991the Arctic Environmental Protection Strategy (AEPS) was established.The AEPSwas later expanded in order to deal with questions of sustainable development.In 1996 the AEPS was renamed the Arctic Council, and had developed into anintergovernmental forum involving the eight Arctic states: the U.S.A, Canada,Greenland/Denmark, Iceland, Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Russia.This inter-nationalisation of the Arctic policy has also had its effects on Svalbard. This isparticularly the case with regard to scientific research, in which considerable effortshave been made during the last 15 years to facilitate international participation.

A passive Norwegian attitude towards Svalbard characterised the first fiftyyears of Norwegian sovereignty over the islands. Since the end of the 1960s,however, the Norwegian government became more active in management onand around the islands. Modernisation on the archipelago, beginning in the1970s, and socio-economic reorganization in the 1990s came about largely asa result of political decision-making and state control, well-oiled by generous


The sun is back! After a long winter, children and

adults celebrate the reappearance of the sun over

Longyearbyen on March 8 th.

subsidies. One might thus expect that state and political authorities would tryto keep developments on Svalbard on a tight leash. But has this been the case?

During the 1990s the opportunities for goal-directed management andcontrol weakened. Efforts to create sustainable resource management in thewaters around Svalbard are frequently challenged by an international fishingfleet, which eludes effective controls. On land, the transition from a simplemining community to a complex business infrastructure made communityplanning more demanding. Meanwhile, decision-making on a wide range ofmatters has been decentralised and delegated to directorates and local autho-rities. Also, Store Norske, once the state’s most important management tool,is now independent. In practice, it operates like any other corporation, its prima-ry responsibility being to its shareholders, rather than to society. The majori-ty of businesses on Longyearbyen today are comprised mostly of private playersover which the Norwegian government cannot and does not wish to exerciseany influence, over and above ordinary laws and regulations.

Svalbard is still of great significance to Norway as an instrument of foreignpolicy, and as a strategic asset for the nation. Svalbard serves as a kind of bounda-ry marker in the North Barents Sea. Svalbard affords Norway control of seaareas amounting to more than 800,000 square kilometres.

The Arctic is rich in petroleum. Large oil and gas reserves have been identi-fied in the Russian part of the Arctic, north of Alaska and in areas of northernCanada. It has been estimated that 25 percent of the world’s undiscovered oiland gas reserves are in the Arctic, mostly in Russian territory. Additionally, thereare large gas reserves in the Norwegian section of the Barents Sea, but so far verymodest oil finds. On the Norwegian side, only the Norwegian Snow White(Snøhvit) Field off the coast off west Finnmark has been approved for develop-ment and production. The Norwegian government has opened up more acre-age for exploration in recent years. But there remain many unresolved environ-ment and pollution issues, which need to be settled before exploration can beginon a large scale or in areas of the greatest geological interest. Oil and gas prima-rily represent potential, future Arctic riches. Marine resources, on the otherhand, have for years brought substantial income to the country; but even in thisregard, the future may involve uncertainty.

An Arctic fishing superpower

Norway is a fishing superpower, the world’s tenth largest when measured involume of catch. In Europe, only Russia ranks higher. For a small country ofonly 4.5 million inhabitants to be in such a position requires some explanation.It is partly due to the large marine areas that have come under Norwegian


jurisdiction as a consequence of developments in maritime law during the pastfew decades. The northern oceans have a high rate of biological reproductioncapable of sustaining large fisheries, both at sea and along the coast. Deepseafishing in distant Arctic waters with ocean-going vessels has experienced anupturn since World War II; and today this form of fishing is more importantin economic terms than coastal fishing.

In the first decades after 1945, Arctic fishing was hardly regulated, andNorwegian vessels competed with a large international fleet for resources in theseareas. The development of modern, efficient fishing technology increasedpressure on fish stocks and brought the question of the management of fishresources increasingly to the fore. And as resources dwindled, the question ofwho owned the fish in the Arctic north gained importance.

When the first new international ocean law regime was introduced in thelate 1970s, Norway was one of the big winners. Following the establishmentof Norway’s economic zone and the fishery protection zone around Svalbardin 1977 and the fishing zone around Jan Mayen in 1980, over two millionsquare kilometres of sea, more than six times Norway’s land area, came underNorwegian jurisdiction.

During the first years after World War II, few people believed that fish stockscould be threatened by the increase in catch capability. Fishermen, governments,and scientists were all optimistic about developments in the industry, and wel-comed the new fish-finding equipment in particular. In 1949 the first Norwegianecho sounder was tested. Scientist Finn Devold of the Directorate of Fisheries’Institute of Marine Research led the expedition that tested the new equip-ment, which was produced by Simonsen Radio (Simrad). He is an example ofhow researchers often paved the way. Not only did they find new fishinggrounds, but they also made considerable contributions to the developmentand spread of new technology, which would be useful to fishermen.

But even before the echo sounder became commonly used, another andeven more efficient instrument appeared on the market: the sonar or ASDIC,which is also capable of emitting sound waves forwards and sideways. The purseseiners were the first to make use of both the echo sounder and sonar, and by 1963almost all Norwegian purse seiners had sonar onboard. Radar was also introducedon Norwegian fishing boats at about the same time as sonar. This fish-findingequipment raised haul predictability for fishermen to an entirely new level, andthe consequent reduction in time spent looking for fish increased efficiency.

New navigation systems were developed, for example, the advanced electro-nic systems invented by the Allies during World War II. The American systemwas called Loran, the British one, Decca. They were primarily intended to assistAllied naval ships, but fishermen reaped the benefits, too. In 1968, the Decca


development and construction project was complete, with six chains fromSkagerrak in the south to Finnmark in the north. Besides being highly advanced,the Decca navigator was indispensable for the location and recovery of a vessel’sfishing equipment when visibility was poor.

A transition from natural fibres to nylon also took place. Fishing equipmentbecame lighter and easier to handle, and a lot of time was saved because theartificial fibre nets were easier to disentangle. A switch from wooden to steel boatsincreased capacity and reach. The power block made fishing with bigger netspossible. And with the introduction of side propellers beginning in the mid 1960s,vessels also became easier to manoeuvre. Autoline was introduced in the 1960sand made a breakthrough the following decade. New fishing technology didnot just make fishing easier; it also contributed to the capitalisation of the fishingindustry.The need for investments increased, so that fishermen had to work harderwhen they were at sea, on a year-round basis, to recover investment costs.

The new technology was a contributing factor to fishermen seeking outnew and more remote sea areas, such as the grounds around Greenland. Thefishing banks outside West Greenland were already known during the yearsbetween the wars, but they became more relevant after World War II. Therewas a general consensus that Norwegian fishing and hunting around Greenlandshould be maintained. Ship-owners in Sunnmøre, led by the Ålesund Skippers’Association (Ålesund Skipperforening), which had been active in the strugglefor sovereignty and the right to expand their business on Greenland since 1921,now pushed this line of argument further. The association argued that Norwayhad legitimate sovereignty claims on East Greenland, even though this had beenrejected at the International Court of Justice in The Hague in 1933.

Denmark had upheld the East Greenland Treaty of 1924, which affordedNorway limited fishing and hunting rights. However, after 1945, the Daneswanted to limit Norwegian activities, purportedly to protect the environmentand Inuit rights. Norway and Denmark had difficulties reaching an agreementthat secured Norway’s rights and presence on Greenland. But fish exporterNils Skarbøvig of Ålesund was too impatient to wait for official agreement, andcontacted the Danish authorities directly. As a result of this, the Danish compa-ny, Asgriko (the Greenland Industry and Trade Company Ltd), was established;and it was given permission to run a fishing station in Færingehavn, on thesouthwest coast of Greenland. At the same time Western Norwegian fisheriesjoined forces, contributed capital, and established A/L Utrustning, which wasresponsible for the construction of the new port. Soon Færingehavn had a fishplant, shop, workshop, oil tanks, freezers and storage for bait, salt and otherprovisions for the fishing fleet. The new quay was 200 meters long. Some yearslater a new business was established, Nordafar, which took over the facilitiesin Færingehavn.


But essential to Denmark allowing Norwegian industries to establish them-selves in Færingehavn was the improved post-war relationship between thecountries. Furthermore, the Norwegian presence was built on a clear businessfooting and on agreements regulated within well-defined time frames. TheDanes saw a need for social and economic reforms in this backward colony, andinitiated an extensive building programme. Investing Norwegian capital fromthe fishing industry toward Færingehavn’s development into a modern fishingport did not conflict with these plans in the least. The first time the Norwegianfleet operated directly from this base was in 1949. Thirty-four line-fishing boatstook part that season, but participation grew fast. By 1951 the number ofNorwegian vessels involved in cod fishing had increased to 62. The peak yearwas 1955, with a total of 73 line-fishing boats and four trawlers. In the earlyyears, boats left for the fishing grounds in late May and fished until lateSeptember. It then became increasingly common to make two trips, allowingthe crew to take a midsummer break at home. As the competition for cod gradu-ally became tougher around West Greenland, the Norwegian line fleet expand-ed its activities to cover the grounds off Newfoundland.

Fishing was very international, and apart from Norwegian fishermen therewere ships from the Faeroe Islands, Iceland, Denmark, Great Britain, Portugal,and Germany. The total 1950 catch of Greenland cod was 200,000 tonnes; andthe annual hauls increased during the 1950s. In 1962 the record catch of464,000 tonnes was set, and was more than twice the total Norwegian cod haulthat year. Up to 1968 the catches varied between 350,000 and 430,000 tonnesannually. Cod fishing was important to foreign fishing interests, but hardlybenefited Greenland’s natives. Well into the 1960s the Greenlanders fished alongthe coast and in fjords in small boats, while foreigners dominated the largerfishing banks. The year 1968 saw the build up of a Greenland fishing fleet,which was to compete with the other fishing nations, at home and in the BarentsSea. In 1975, Greenland’s large trawler fleet consisted of six vessels that wereover 500 gross registered tons (GRT). Over the next ten years, the numberincreased to 22 vessels. But the trawlers were built too late for the Greenlandersto reap the benefits from cod fishing, whose glory days had been between 1950and 1970. Beginning in the late 1960s, catch statistics began to show a sharpdecline. The main cause was the lower water temperature in the upper layersof the sea, caused by climate change. This led to insufficient numbers of smallfry, and thus a diminishing foundation for core stock replenishment, and forcontinued large-scale fishing.

In 1972, an era came to an end. Eleven trawlers and twenty two line-fishingboats marked the end of a Norwegian Arctic fishing adventure which had lastedhalf a century. The following year Denmark, and with it Greenland, becamemembers of the European Economic Community (EEC) – later the European


Union (EU) – and Norwegian fishermen lost their free access to the groundsoff Western Greenland. Still, Norwegian prawn fishermen have been grantedconsiderable quotas around Greenland, as a result of negotiations with EU.Comprehensive cooperation has also developed between the two countries,for example, through a 1991 bilateral fisheries treaty and within the frameworkof the North Atlantic Marine Mammals Commission (NAMMCO), establishedin 1992.

Expanding north

The hunt for Norwegian cod and capelin, as well as prawns, made fishermenlook to the Arctic. As early as the 1920s, marine scientists Thor Iversen andEinar Kofoed had discovered deep-water shrimp (pandalus borealis) in Arcticwaters. In 1923 they started collecting shrimp samples in Kongsfjorden, inKrossfjorden, and other places off Spitsbergen. These shrimp research trips tookplace every year up until 1939. Yet, it took a long time before commercial shrimpfishing started in the Arctic. This may have been because the scientists hadnot presented unambiguous recommendations. Owing to the cold water,shrimp grows slowly. It was therefore felt there was a significant danger ofover-exploitation – a view which would later change, though. In the springand summer of 1970 the Directorate of Fisheries organised two trips to Svalbardand the Barents Sea to conduct trial fishing. The results of the trial concludedthat the best grounds stretched from the Finnmark coast and eastwards to theBarents Sea. The waters off Spitsbergen might offer good fishing conditionsin a few years, but the yield was expected to be uncertain. Nonetheless, a majorexpansion in shrimp fishing around Svalbard ensued.

Scientists, too, were the ones who discovered the shrimp grounds aroundJan Mayen. As early as 1900, some fishing trials were allegedly carried out usingtrawls. Then in 1950, during a herring trip with the research vessel G.O. Sars,marine scientist Finn Devold also experimented with shrimp trawling; but manyyears passed before the grounds were utilised. In 1974, four Northern Norwegianvessels decided that they would sail towards Jan Mayen, after making appalling-ly poor shrimp hauls outside Svalbard.That same year two other north Norwegianboats, the Alvenes from Troms and the Langskjær from Nordland, received agrant from the Fishery Industry Research Fund to fish for shrimp. The crewconcluded that the banks offered excellent opportunities, despite the seabedconditions being difficult, making it tough on the trawling equipment.

So long as shrimp fishing took place in coastal waters, the yield was rela-tively small. In 1955, 5,825 tonnes were brought ashore. Until the beginningof the 1970s, annual yields were between 7,000 and 10,000 tonnes. In 1975


Today’s shrimp trawlers along the quay at

Longyearbyen in Svalbard.

the yield was 19,000 tonnes. Since then, growth has been strong, mainly inArctic waters.

The shrimp industry achieved higher economic yields than the rest of thefishing industry in the 1990s, both for the fleet and the processing industry. Newtechnology was introduced, and manpower requirements were significantlyreduced. Machine peeling was developed long ago for the shrimp industry. Morerecent introductions are the electronic separator and de-veining systems thatcomplete the shell and vein peeling process. The most recent addition to theindustry is a triple-trawl, whereby three trawls are set and dragged simultane-ously, which brings fishing to a totally new level of efficiency. Of course, the newtechnology is costly. In the spring of 2003, a new Norwegian triple-shrimptrawler, the Vesttind, put out to sea. Belonging to the shipping firm of Havfiskin Melbu, it is owned by fishing and industrial magnate Kjell Inge Røkke. Thevessel cost 175 million kroner, which means it needs to haul in 18 tonnes ofshrimp per day in order to service its loans and cover operating expenses. Atthe same time these huge fishing vessels have moved increasingly farther north,and today fishing takes place all around Svalbard and off the coast of Greenland.

In the year 2000, 108 Norwegian vessels had shrimp-trawling licences. Themost important ground is Hopen on the outskirts of the Svalbard archipela-go, where over 60 percent of Norwegian shrimp is caught. While the otherstocks in the Arctic have been under threat of over-exploitation, and are fierce-ly regulated, shrimp fishing has remained much freer. Today, it represents theonly large-scale commercial fishing industry in the north to be exempt fromquota regulations.

Cod fishing also expanded in the Arctic from the 1930s onward. In 1939there were 145 Norwegian line-fishing vessels and a few steam trawlers on thebanks along Bjørnøya and off the coast of Spitsbergen. Their catches weremodest compared to those hauled up from the sea by British and German trawlers.

Immediately after the war, participation was erratic. In 1947 there were 63line-fishing vessels in the area. Until the middle of the 1950s, the figure variedfrom eight to 52. Gradually, trawling took over. In 1946 there were nine trawlers;and ten years later there were 23. All were large and over 300 gross registeredtons (GRT). The trawler fleet continued to grow. In 1961 the number of largetrawlers in the Barents Sea, outside Bjørnøya and Spitsbergen, was still only 23,but the fleet of small trawlers under 300 GRT had grown to 139 vessels. By thistime, trawler fishing made up as much as seven percent of all Norwegian codfishing.The development of a Norwegian freezer industry meant that Norwegiantrawlers could compete seriously with foreign trawlers for the large stocks.

The collapse of the herring fishing and fisheries in the 1960s was anotherreason why Norwegian fishermen found their way into Arctic waters. Fishermenwere now after capelin. Both fish are pelagic species with a high fat content,


well suited to industrial processing. Capelin, however, was less attractive tothe industry; so as long as there had been plenty of herring, capelin fishingremained limited. In 1953, only 10,000 tonnes of capelin were caught, com-pared to 960,000 tonnes of herring. As of the late 1960s more capelin thanherring was delivered to Norwegian ports. And in the 1970s capelin represent-ed Norway’s last great industrial fishing adventure.

By 1986, however, capelin stocks in the Barents Sea had been so heavilyexploited that all fishing was halted the following year. In 1991 the fisheriesstarted up again, but since then yields have varied considerably.

An important precondition for this new capelin fishing was new techno-logy. Trygve Olsen from Havøysund could not have predicted what he startedin 1957 when he outfitted his boat, Ola Ryggefjord. He was the first Norwegianfishing boat owner to fit a power block onto his purse seiner in order to haulthe nets. After some trial and error, the block worked well. Other fishermensoon realised what the new technology could mean for increased catch effi-ciency. Olsen himself had several new vessels built, and during the 1960s theHavøysund firm had grown to become the largest company in pelagic fishingin all of Finnmark County.

Use of the power block became immensely important. Previously purseseine nets had to be set from small boats, or dories. Using the new technolo-gy, purse nets could be set out directly from the main ship, and crew require-ments could be reduced from around 20 to twelve or thirteen. The block wasoriginally an American invention, but it was soon adapted to Norwegian condi-tions. Then another revolutionary American invention came along: the herringpump. Previously herring had been hauled onboard with a landing net fixedunder a crane; but now the vacuum pump moved the herring directly fromthe purse nets in the sea, up into the hold. Shortly after the introduction ofthe power block, the ring net was introduced into use. The Torgersen brothersof Askøy, just outside Bergen, were the pioneers – with their herring purse seinerthe Radek. With financial support from the Fishery Industry Research Fund,they developed a new purse net which was much larger than ordinary purseseines. The first ring nets were tested in 1962, with excellent results, and ring-net fishing grew exponentially. In 1963 there were 58 ring-net vessels; andfour years later there were 460.

Winter capelin fishing began in the late 1950s and early 1960s, as herringdeclined. Capelin did not just save the ring-net fleet, but the herring-mealand herring-oil industries, as well. The latter had significantly increased theircapacity after World War II. In July 1968, capelin grounds were discovered nearHopen, which prompted the start of summer capelin fishing. The yield the firstyear was 400,000 hectolitres, which was modest when compared to wintercatches of five million hectolitres. But in all, the 1968 catches set a new record.


Hauls reached a new peak in 1970: almost ten million hectolitres of wintercapelin and 3.5 million hectolitres of summer capelin. The following year eventhis record was beaten.

Both herring and capelin are the main source of food for the most impor-tant species in the Barents Sea ecosystem: the Norwegian Arctic cod. In the firstyears after 1945, most of the cod hauls were salted. During the 1960s, thedemand for fresh fish increased, however, because of the many fillet-freezingplants that had been established since the 1950s. Some of them, like the largeFindus factory in Hammerfest, were exclusively dependent on delivery of freshfish from trawlers. Trawl use had been a bone of contention in fishery legisla-tion prior to the Trawler Act of 1939, which had only licensed eleven vessels.After World War II, the trawl use question remained controversial, but in the1950s regulations were loosened. The authorities wished to accommodatedemands for unprocessed fish from the new, fast-growing frozen-fish indus-try, despite strong protests from coastal fishermen.

Up until 1961, all Norwegian trawlers were equipped with a side trawl. Butthen Hekktind arrived; it was the first stern trawler. Approximately 30 men wererequired to operate the ship: the captain and his pilot, a chief and a steward,the foreman and the ‘netman’, 14 fishermen, two engineers, the mechanic,two greasers, a cook and two mess boys. Newer fresh-fish trawlers required onlyhalf the crew. Trawling expeditions in the Barents Sea usually lasted ten days,until the hold was full.

The Hekktind had many successors; but at 630 GRT, she dwarfed themall. The new stern trawlers built in the late 1960s and early 1970s were between250 and 299 GRT. The ones weighing 299 GRT were known as ‘regulationtrawlers’. In 1961, when Norway’s territorial fishing limit was expanded fromfour to twelve nautical miles, all trawlers under 300 GRT could fish as closeas four miles from land. Most companies using stern trawlers for fresh fishtrawling were completely or partly affiliated with the filleting industry, eitherby proximity of location or ownership. Compared to the side trawler, the sterntrawler had many advantages. The trawl could be set and hauled quicker. Itwas easier to manoeuvre because the trawl was dragged behind the ship, sofishing could continue under much harsher weather conditions.

In 1962, the year after the Hekktind put to out sea, Norway’s first factorytrawler, the Longva, was launched. At around 900 GRT and measuring 202 feetin length, it was also the biggest fishing vessel in the country. John Longva ofÅlesund was responsible for its creation. The project met with scepticism andcriticism from many quarters. When the ship was launched, the fishing indus-try had entered a difficult period, and many felt it would be impossible for sucha large vessel to be profitable. It had a crew of 52, all of whom needed salariesand shares of the haul. The factory had a freezing capacity of 15 tonnes a day


which required a continuous supply of fish. The land-based fishery industryvoiced concern that the factory trawlers would impoverish local communi-ties. If offshore processing were to become the norm, the industry and localcoastal vessels would lose their basis for existence, and the Norwegian coastalfishing business would lose its unique qualities. Nonetheless, the factory trawlerwent on to become a permanent feature in the fleet, operating in Arctic watersand remoter seas. After the Longva, these vessels grew steadily in number, andby 1972 nine factory trawlers were participating in the fishing industry.

Growth in the industrial fishing had its ecological consequences. It high-lighted the relevance of the question about how best to regulate fishing, bylimiting the extent of its activity and by protecting its natural resources.

Who owns the fish?

Increased catch capacity and the higher demand for fish products led to a short-age of resources. So the state was forced to intervene and regulate access tofishing. This in turn also raised the question of distribution of resources, bothamong countries and among groups within the countries themselves, and hencethe question of ownership.

During the early post-war years, the chief objective of regulations was toachieve a fair division among interested parties. Another purpose was to contri-bute to controlling the product flow into the market, and to keep supply fromrising too steeply and causing prices to fall. The state was very active in develop-ing the fishing and fish processing, and the industry received large direct subsi-dies, especially after the 1964 General Agreement between the state and thefishing industry. Additionally, in another and more indirect way, the authori-ties supported the development of a seagoing fleet, by heavily subsidizing ship-yards and workshops for the construction of equipment and newbuilds.

Beginning in the early 1970s, a central concern was to regulate the fisher-ies to protect fish stocks. The Participation Act of 1972 was an attempt by thestate to limit and control the capacity of the haul. Meanwhile, state supportof the fishing industry contributed to its over-capacity, both in fleet size andscale of production. The result, in no way unique to Norway, was that over timefishing capacity was developed which was, and still is, out of proportion toavailable natural resources.

Before the introduction of the exclusive economic zones in 1977, it was diffi-cult to manage resources efficiently in the seas around Norway. Governmentmeasures applied only within the fishery limit of twelve nautical miles; andmeanwhile many of the fish stocks were outside this zone, where fishermen frommany nations participated in extensive, unregulated fishing. Foreign trawlers


The crew of the Coast Guard’s KV Nordkapp boards a

Russian trawler for inspection near Bjørnøya in 1998.

were not a new phenomenon in the north, but now activity increased greatlyover a short period of time. West Germans had caught 2,000 tonnes of cod inthe Barents Sea in 1972, but this rose to 76,000 tonnes in 1974. Spanish trawlersincreased their cod catches from 200 tonnes in 1973 to 45,000 tonnes the follow-ing year. Portuguese and French vessels also increased their catches by twofoldor more. In international waters, regulatory authority rested with the North EastAtlantic Fisheries Commission (NEAFC), but it was inefficient and did littleto limit fishing activities. A trilateral cooperation among Norway, the SovietUnion, and Great Britain in 1974–75 did not achieve much, either.

What took place in the Arctic region was not unique. Coastal areas world-wide experienced increasing pressure from ever-growing and more efficientfishing fleets. In many places, the consequences began to take the form ofreduced fish stocks, and conflicts over resources. The concept of free and openoceans (mare liberum) where everyone had the right to harvest had dominatedmaritime law since the 17th century; but it was coming to an end. The solutionto global exploitative fishing was to award coastal states jurisdiction over fargreater sea areas than before. In 1974 the UN’s third Convention on the Lawof the Sea (UNCLOS), ruled that the coastal states should have sovereign rightsover natural resources in an exclusive economic zone extending 200 nautical miles(the equivalent of 360 kilometres) from the coast. Rights within this zone,however, were not as extensive as within territorial waters.The coastal states weresimultaneously required to establish systems of sustainable management of theirnatural resources in partnership with other countries. Many states set up suchzones in the second half of the 1970s. But not until 1982 was agreement reachedon a Convention of the Law of the Sea, which incorporated the principle ofthe sovereignty of coastal states over the natural resources within an econo-mic zone. The convention became effective in 1994.

On January 1st, 1977, Norway introduced a 200-mile economic zone afterpainstaking negotiations with a number of countries that had fished heavily offNorway’s coast and within what were now Norwegian waters. Later that year,Norway established a Fishery Protection Zone of 832,000 square kilometresaround Svalbard. Sea areas that had previously been accessible to all were nowunder Norwegian control. The Fishery Protection Zone around Svalbard aloneis twice as big as the total land mass of Norway. This has strengthened opportu-nities to manage the Arctic fishing, but is also of economic importance. Thevolume of catches for all countries made off Svalbard, in the Barents Sea, in theNorthern Norwegian Sea and off the coast of Northern Norway add up to overtwo million tonnes per year. The total primary value of the catches is estimatedat approximately 15 billion kroner. Norway and Russia are the two main players,but the EU, Iceland, the Faeroe Islands, and other countries also fish in these areas,in agreement with the two coastal nations, Norway and Russia.


New maritime laws stipulated that as a point of departure, other nationscould not fish in what were now Norwegian waters. However, because the mostimportant fish stocks in the north often span the zones of several countries,international cooperation on resource management was essential. Relationshipswith Russia and the EU have been of particular importance. From 1975 to1980, an extensive resource management regime was developed. A Norwegian-Russian commission for fisheries was established in 1975, and a bilateral agree-ment was signed in 1976. Bilateral fisheries agreements have been signed withthe Faeroe Islands, Iceland, Sweden, and Poland, respectively. Quota regula-tions for Norwegian Arctic cod were first introduced in 1976.

The introduction of the 200-mile zone implies that most of the fishingresources are under either Norwegian or Russian jurisdiction. The easternBarents Sea was Russian; the western was Norwegian. But an area of 55,000square kilometres in the northern and eastern areas of the Barents Sea, out-side the 200-mile zones, remained open sea; and it is called ‘the loophole’.Fish stocks in this so-called ‘loophole’ tend to be insignificant, but during the1990s it was possible to fish here. Fishing in the ‘loophole’ lead to unregulatedcod fishing that caused serious conflicts between Norway and Russia on the onehand and Iceland in particular on the other.

The Barents Sea constitutes a continuous continental shelf area. With thedevelopments in maritime law of the 1950s and ’60s, particularly the UN’s 1958Continental Shelf Convention, Norway wished to define its continental shelfborders with its neighbours. In the North Atlantic, these questions were re-solved in the 1960s by drawing the border at the midpoint between states. In1967, Norway invited the Soviet Union to enter negotiations about the shelfborders in the Barents Sea. In 1970 informal discussions took place, and formalnegotiations began in 1974. They soon proved extremely difficult. Even today,a solution has still not been reached.

The position taken by Russia in negotiations is founded on the ‘sectorprinciple’. Russia claims sovereignty over the entire land mass and all islandswithin a triangle between the easternmost and westernmost points of itsmainland and the North Pole. Canada had proclaimed the sector principle in1925, and the Soviet Union followed suit in 1926. Neither Canada nor theSoviet Union achieved a breakthrough for this sector principle during the inter-war years; but the question resurfaced when discussions got under way on thedivision of the Continental shelf, and where borders should be drawn betwe-en the economic zones of two countries.

The ‘median line principle’, upon which Norway bases its argument, invol-ves drawing a borderline at the midpoint between Russia’s and Norway’s posses-sions in the north. In practice, the conflict between these two principles leadsto claims with considerable overlap, and creates an ‘area of contention’ of about


Novaya Zemlya

Svalbard

ICELAND

Greenland(Denmark)

Jan MayenBjørnøya

Faroe Islands

Franz Josef Land

Hopen

NORWAYSWEDEN

RUSSIA

FINLAND

Davis S

trai t

Denmark S tra i t

Baren ts Sea

The ‘Grey Zone’

The ‘Loophole’THE WESTERNICE FIELDS

THE NORTHERN ICE FIELDS

THE EASTERNICE FIELDS

The ‘LoopholeSea’

Tromsø Murmansk

Reykjavik

Longyearbyen

Kangerluarsoruseq (Færingehavn)

Myggbukta

85°

80°

65°

30°

70°

Arctic hunting- and fishing-grounds.The map also

indicates the claims with respect to maritime law in

theBarents Sea.The red line is drawnaccording to the

‘sector principle’, and the dark blue line is drawn

according to the ‘median line principle’.

155,000 square kilometres.The Russians emphasized geographical, defence, andeconomic reasons as to why the border should lie further west than the medianline. The Norwegian position has been that the median should be taken as astarting point, and that the parties should be flexible. Norway has also rejectedjoint arrangements. If the two states disagree over who should have jurisdictionin an area, then who carries responsibility for compliance with fishing regula-tions? The solution came in the form of the so-called Gray Zone Agreementof 1978, whereby Soviet authorities enforce fishing regulations with respectto Soviet vessels and third-country party vessels that have been licensed in thearea by the Soviet Union, while Norwegian authorities enforce regulations withrespect to Norwegian and third-country vessels licensed by Norway. The agree-ment covers the southern part of the contested area, as well as portions of theNorwegian economic zone west of the sector line and a smaller area east ofthe median line in the Soviet economic zone. The geographical imbalanceinherent in the agreement, i.e. the fact that the zone includes far more uncon-tested Norwegian territory than Russian, caused heated debate in Norway.Nonetheless, the agreement functions, and it has been renewed every year since.

The two countries now agree on more than 80 percent of the border be-tween their economic zones and continental shelf. The parties have the greatestproblems reaching an agreement regarding the southern Barents Sea, where antici-pated petroleum resources are greatest. The reason why this question remainsunresolved is probably that neither partner has any pressing need for a solution.

Further west in the Norwegian Arctic region, around Jan Mayen, bordersalso had to be drawn as a result of developments in maritime law during the1970s. A 200-mile fishing zone around Jan Mayen was established in 1980.Following a deal with Iceland, the border between Jan Mayen and Iceland wasdrawn in such a way that the Icelandic economic zone was extended its full200 nautical miles, while the fishing zone around Jan Mayen was pulled backcorrespondingly. As for Greenland, negotiations on a boundary were ongoingfor many years, without any agreement being reached. Denmark brought thecase before the International Tribunal at The Hague, and in 1993 the courtdecreed a border which represented a compromise between the Danish andNorwegian positions. The court did, however, take Norway’s position as astarting point, which was that the median line between the two countries hadto be the starting point for the drawing of the border.

Who owns the seas around Svalbard?

Another problem has been jurisdiction over the seas around Svalbard. The fisharound Svalbard, in the Barents Sea, and along the northern Norwegian coast


belong to the same ecosystem. It has therefore been important to establish amanagement regime for fish resources that allows for a holistic approach tomanagement. On the whole, this has been achieved, but Svalbard’s internationalstatus has complicated matters. Norway claims that the Svalbard Treaty is notapplicable to the sea areas around Svalbard, i.e. outside its territorial limits,but that these areas are fully subject to Norwegian control. A number of othercountries, however, claim that the treaty must be applicable here, too. Thequestion has wide practical and economic implications, not least regardingpossible petroleum extraction.To preserve calm and stability in the area, Norwayopted to establish a Fishery Protection Zone around Svalbard. The regulationsconcerning the establishment of the Fishery Protection Zone were issued pur-suant to Norwegian law on economic zones. This suggested that these areaswere in principle equal to the mainland, yet the rules were formulated so asnot to conflict with the Svalbard Treaty. Norwegian and foreign fishing vesselswere to be treated on an equal basis with respect to regulation of fishing inthe area. The main purpose of this zone is ‘the preservation of the living mari-time resources and the regulation of fishing and hunting’.

Sceptical of Norway’s action, the U.S.A., Great Britain, Germany, andFrance supported Norwegian sovereignty, but presupposed that sovereignty wasbased on the articles of the Svalbard Treaty. The Soviet Union, however, wasfar less sympathetic, and made a formal protest against the establishment ofthe zone. Meanwhile, the meanings of such terms as ‘non-discrimination’ and‘equal treatment’ were, in practice, unclear. Foreign fishing in the FisheryProtection Zone has thus led to repeated international incidents. Since a numberof stocks are distributed across large areas of the Barents Sea and the NorthernNorwegian coast, in addition to the Fishery Protection Zone, Norwegian andRussian fishing is regulated by quotas fixed for the entire area following recom-mendations from the Joint Norwegian-Russian Fisheries Commission. Since1986, however, separate quotas have been set for third-country fishing withinthe protection zone. The governments had to amend the regulations in 1994because of the increased level in conflicts over fishing rights based on third-country quotas. Furthermore, it was determined that ‘only vessels from count-ries that have traditionally caught Norwegian Arctic cod within the FisheryProtection Zone around Svalbard may fish up to the set quantity of 28,000tonnes. These will include vessels from the EU, the Faeroe Islands, and Poland.’The principle of equal treatment was used in this situation so as to affordaccess to countries that could indicate they had a historic presence in the zone.

Finland and Canada have openly supported the Norwegian view; and intime a number of other treaty signatories have accepted it in practice, whileretaining their rights under the treaty. Soviet resistance was rooted in the factthat Norway established the zone unilaterally and in accordance with


Norwegian law. According to the Soviet authorities, the zone was at odds withthe Svalbard Treaty’s regulations on equality. Since then, the Soviet Union,and later Russia, has maintained a fairly consistent policy of refusing to acknow-ledge Norway’s jurisdiction in the zone. Russian vessels are instructed to followRussian, not Norwegian, regulations when fishing in the zone. They are notto report their catches to Norway or sign inspection papers. In practice, thisis of little consequence, since Russia and Norway have fixed a single overallquota for the northern seas. The greatest difficulties arise when Russian vesselswork within areas that contain sizable percentages of small fish. Usually,however, Russian fishermen abide by Norwegian Coast Guard requests to leavesuch fishing grounds. The then EEC also had its reservations about establishingthe zone. While various EU member states have differing views on the FisheryProtection Zone, several, especially Great Britain, have expressed reservationsabout Norway’s interpretation of the Svalbard Treaty.

The problems surrounding the Fishery Protection Zone are equally relevantwith respect to the continental shelf.The Norwegian view has been, and remains,that the shelf around Svalbard is an extension of the mainland shelf, and thatthe Svalbard Treaty principle of equality between the treaty signatories is onlyvalid for the territorial waters. Norwegian opinion is that the relevant legisla-tion outside these waters should be the Economic Zone Act and Norwegian shelflegislation (i.e. the Petroleum Act). This position was, and remains, a matter ofdispute.The Soviet Union claimed that the SvalbardTreaty regulations on equali-ty should also apply beyond the four-mile border. Iceland has made similarprotests against Norwegian policy on this point, and other countries have alsoexpressed reservations about this interpretation of the Svalbard Treaty.

Still a superpower?

The label ‘Arctic Fishing Superpower’ is meaningful when we look at the largesea areas and major fish stocks that are under Norwegian jurisdiction. But super-powers are generally characterised by their independent actions, which are oftenarbitrary and without regard for others. Viewed from this perspective, the ‘super-power’ analogy needs modification.The management of resources in Arctic watersdoes not take place in a vacuum, but in cooperation with other countries. Quotasare set after a long and laborious process of negotiations with neighbouring states.And at the core of these negotiations are the recommendations of the InternationalCouncil for the Exploration of the Sea (ICES). Norwegian Arctic cod is aNorwegian-Russian joint stock, and the quotas are divided equally between thetwo countries after a smaller proportion is set aside for third countries.

The most critical problem area concerning the fishing in the north has been


the Fishery Protection Zone around Svalbard. The establishment of the FisheryProtection Zone has been successful both as a managerial tactic for the protec-tion of fish resources and as a political framework to maintain calm and orderin the area. In the main, Norway has basically avoided challenging the count-ries affected by the zone to a great extent and has thus avoided serious confron-tation, except in the case of Iceland. The most serious conflict arose in 1994.The Icelandic vessel, Hagangur II, was fishing illegally. A confrontation withthe Norwegian Coast Guard culminated in the firing of an inert grenade intoHagangur II’s hull, after which the vessel was escorted into Tromsø. The subse-quent trial went as far as the Supreme Court, which in 1996 asserted that thefisheries regulations did not contravene the equality of treatment clause in theTreaty.The Icelandic authorities and fishery organisations have repeatedly threa-tened to bring Norway before the International Court at the Hague. Probably,these threats have been aimed primarily at securing increased access to theNorwegian economic zone. The conflict with Icelandic fishermen caused theregime for the Fishery Protection Zone to be tightened in several ways. Theuse of force to uphold these regulations was made possible by applying thefull penal provisions of the Economic Zone Act to the Fishery Protection Zone.The principle of ‘lenient enforcement’ was abandoned when the provisionsauthorising confiscation of vessels and catches, were also made applicable to theFishery Protection Zone. The authorities are also free to determine the totalfishing allowance in the zone and to distribute fishing quotas (not just for cod)among different countries.

After the mid 1990s, incidents in the Fishery Protection Zone have mainlybeen associated with enforcement of regulations vis-à-vis Russian fishermen. In1998, 32 Russian trawlers were fishing in the area, which had been closed forseveral weeks because it contained a high level of young fish. One vessel wasarrested by the Norwegian Coast Guard and brought into Tromsø. This causeda flurry of diplomatic activity; and 24 hours after the arrest, all remaining Russianvessels withdrew from the zone, while the seized vessel was released without charge.A similar incident took place in April 2001, when the Russian trawler Tsjernigovwas arrested for illegal fishing. Again the situation escalated, and Russia formal-ly protested against the Norwegian action. In the autumn of 2005, an incidentoccurred involving the Russian trawler Elektron, which refused to follow ordersfrom the Norwegian Coast Guard regarding an inspection in the Svalbard zone.It slipped away into the Russian zone right under the noses of the NorwegianCoast Guard, with two Norwegian inspectors onboard. Incidents like these arehardly accidental. Of the 423 inspections of Russian vessels in the FisheryProtection Zone in the year 2000, warnings were issued in 418 cases.

The outcome of these incidents has generally contributed to a strength-ening rather than weakening of Norway’s authority and position. All of the


countries that fish in the area have accepted the Norwegian arrangement inpractice. In addition to conserving resources, overall stability has improved. Itis questionable whether it matters any longer, on just what basis the frameworkfor the Fishery Protection Zone is legitimised. The episodes in the 1990sbrought with them a new willingness to use force to uphold regulations. Thisprobably had less to do with a general Svalbard policy and more with recogni-tion that increasing global pressure on fish resources required a more resoluteapproach. One consequence is that Norway’s position in the area has beenstrengthened by Norwegian determination to vigorously enforce policy.

In sum, the management of fish resources in the North has undergone consi-derable change in the last decade. As a result, the criteria and aims of stockmanagement have been significantly tightened. Since the end of the 1990s, thepolicy goal has been to manage stocks so that they remain above what is calleda ‘precautionary approach level’.This is because the management of living marineresources is increasingly linked to global and regional cooperative initiatives.More than anything else, environmental considerations are now the central focus.This is also the case in Norway’s neighboring areas in the North, which thegovernment wants to be ‘the best managed wilderness in Europe’. New measu-res like marine protection zones may be of significance in this respect.

While the implementation of global environmental agreements has a posi-tive influence on stock management, other global trends are having the oppo-site effect. In the last few years, so-called IUU fishing (illegal, unregulated,unreported) has increased in a number of sea areas. Vessels fishing under flagsof convenience are primarily responsible for this, and in the Barents Sea vesselsfrom countries including Sierra Leone, Belize, and Honduras have been ob-served. Actually, the ship-owners behind this business are often found closerto home, in Iceland, the Faeroe Islands, and Norway. Other threats to the existingregime are the incidents of direct unloading of catches on the continent and inIceland, as well as reloading at sea, which entails failing to report to the autho-rities or the International Council for the Exploration of the Sea (ICES). Largequantities of raw materials traded on the fish markets of Europe are likely tostem from illegal fishing in the Barents Sea. To ensure that the harvesting ofresources is not too high, new measures are also required to investigate un-clear ownership structures. These trends in international fishing challenge theregime which has been developed, based on economic zones.

Despite good surveillance systems, illegal acts are difficult to expose. Oneexample is the dumping of young fish. Small fish are dumped because largefish command a higher price. The Norwegian Coast Guard has exposed illegaldumping on the part of vessels from several nations, including Norway, Russia,Iceland, and the Faeroe Islands. Nobody knows the exact extent of this prac-tice, but in some years it has been considerable.


At the outset, the establishment of economic zones gave coastal states controlover the resources within each zone. But fish resources are a limited asset, andconflicts over access to resources have proved to be potentially serious; there havebeen a number of incidents involving Spanish, Russian, Icelandic, Greenlander,and other fishing vessels. Since the mid 1980s, Norway has, more or less pur-posely, followed a ‘fish-for-peace’ strategy. Conflicts with other countries havebeen resolved by giving them quotas, particularly for Norwegian cod. This hasbeen the case with the EEC and Spain in 1986, Greenland in 1991, at thenegotiations on the EEA agreement in 1992, in the membership negotiationsin 1994, and the ‘Loophole’ agreement with Iceland and Russia in 1999. Theindividual quantities at stake in these concessions may not seem large, but takenin total and viewed over time, they add up to a considerable amount.This policyhas helped reduce uncontrolled exploitation of the stocks in the north.

Norway’s relationship to the EU is particularly challenging regarding theseissues. If Norway were to join the EU, the Norwegian fishing industry wouldhave to conform to its policies. The seas presently under Norwegian jurisdic-tion would become EU seas, with Norwegian fisheries incorporated into a jointEU fisheries policy, with the possible exception of the Fishery Protection Zonearound Svalbard, should Svalbard issues be maintained separately from anypotential agreements.

The greatest uncertainty for the future management of fisheries, however,lies in climate changes in the circumpolar regions. Some prognoses suggest thattemperatures will be relatively stable in the near future in both the northernNorwegian Sea and the Barents Sea, but that in the longer run, we will experi-ence considerable warming. The polar ice sheets may even disappear in thesummer. This would have serious implications not only for the fisheries, be-cause stocks would change their locations and routes. It would also open newtransportation routes to Asia and North America. A scenario like this providesnew and problematic perspectives on Arctic business and politics.

The petroleum industry brings another challenge. When, in the future,licences are granted for year-round exploration for oil and gas in the southernBarents Sea, results will reveal whether there are any commercial reserves, apartfrom the proven Snow White Field. Environmental organisations are scepticalto drilling activity, which they believe will disturb the production of essentialorganisms on which cod feed. It is probably safe to say that exploration, develop-ment and production of oil and gas will likely be among the most importantissues in the Arctic of tomorrow.


What will happen to Barents sea fishing and fish resources if there is full-scale oil production?

Fridtjof Nansen died in May of 1930, and a magnificent funeral service washeld as a part of the Norwegian national festivities on May 17th, the NorwegianConstitution Day. Nansen’s bier, wrapped in a Norwegian flag, was placed inthe entrance hall of the University of Oslo, and while the children’s parade filedpast it. At one o’clock there was a cannon salute at Akershus Fortress in Oslofollowed by a nationwide ‘moment of silent meditation’. Both Prime MinisterJohan Ludwig Mowinckel and President of the Parliament Carl J. Hambroeulogised over Nansen’s coffin, and a huge crowd of people joined in the funeralprocession. By having the funeral on Constitution Day, Nansen and his countrybecame one, and Nansen won his place in the firmament of symbols and imagesfrom which patriotic rhetoric derives its nourishment. The transformation ofNansen into a national icon had developed throughout much of his life, andNansen himself had made important contributions to the process. The funeralservice completed that process; it would be some immense task to try to‘denationalise’ Nansen, but then no one has tried to do so, either.

The funeral had something of the character of a coup d’etat. By the timehe died, Fridtjof Nansen was a not a politically unproblematic figure. Thiswas most tangibly expressed in his role in the nationalistic organisation,Fedrelandslaget (The Fatherland Party). With his undisguised elitism and hisanti-democratic attitudes, Nansen represented a different kind of nationalismthan the egalitarism which was on the rise in the early 1930s. Then again, inthose days Constitution Day had a greater political significance than it doestoday. Indeed, in many ways, May 1st and Constitution Day were competingholidays, associated respectively with the labour movement and with Norwegiannation builders from both the conservatives and the liberal left parties. In thiscontext, Nansen’s funeral had a clear political significance. In reaction to hisdeath, the public attributed a number of qualities to Nansen, the leader that

t h e m e m o r i e s 451

THE MEMORIES

transcended the trends toward social and national disintegration. This kindof mythologizing serves to obliterate differences and antagonism and to establishharmony. The solemn ceremonies on Constitution Day not only meant honour-ing Nansen himself. They also placed the symbol he already was in an unambi-guous, unifying, patriotic context which was broader than and, to some extent,different from what Nansen and his inner circle actually represented. At thesame time, they also attempted to build bridges with the socialists, who identi-fied national symbols and values with the non-socialist camp.

Two years earlier, the nation had said farewell to Roald Amundsen. Thereis much to suggest that he was also perceived as a problematic figure by bothNorwegian and foreign leaders. However, this was mainly due to his persona-lity, not his political sympathies. Public commemorations of Amundsen’spassing could therefore function in a more uncomplicated manner, as an expres-sion of farewell by people and state to one of the nation’s great men.

Several weeks went by after Amundsen’s disappearance in June of 1928before it became accepted that he was gone for good. Items discovered that musthave come from the Latham, gradually proved beyond a doubt that there wasno hope of finding him.The government designated South Pole Day, December14th, as a national memorial day. Commemorative events were held aroundthe country, and there was a moment of silent meditation at noon. The mainevent, attended by the King, the Crown Prince, and Nansen, was held in Oslo,where the radio operator from the airship Norge gave a eulogy at AkershusFortress. Earlier in the autumn, Nansen had given a memorial speech on theradio that many regarded as the nation’s real farewell speech.

A number of witnesses have described the nationwide swell of emotioncaused by Amundsen’s death. Many Norwegians actually refused to acceptthat he was dead, and continued to gaze expectantly out over the northernseas, unable to believe that he would not be coming back. Another indicationof Amundsen’s status as a popular hero is the large amount of money donatedto the memorial fund established in his name in December of 1928. In 1929,a marathon fund raising campaign was arranged in order to provide the fundwith its capital stock. The campaign was professionally and efficiently organ-ised. An advertising agency made the posters and flyers, and designed the appeal.Amundsen’s familiar profile served as the campaign emblem. One slogan read:

By deeds he honoured his country. By deeds we will honour his memory.Remember to make a donation ‘of honour’ to the Roald AmundsenMemorial Fund.


Narratives of national heroes

Norwegian literature about Nansen and Amundsen is extensive. There areseveral full biographies of Nansen, and an immense number of shorter biogra-phical sketches. For the authors of many of these works, the intention hasobviously been to present a Nansen who emerges as a national monument orsymbol. Amundsen literature is less voluminous and less monumental. Itconsists largely of memoirs; but Amundsen, too, has had his biographies. Themost recent, published in 1995, was written by Tor Bomann-Larsen. Bomann-Larsen is highly critical of Amundsen’s heroic image, but the book still becamesomething of a bestseller. Many of the other accounts can fairly be describedas heroic narratives.

A hero does what others can not, dare not, or will not do. At the sametime, a hero is also a representative of the group to which he belongs, and isthus one of many. He personifies shared group values; and he performs deedsthat everyone admires. If not, he is no real hero, but an asocial figure. The polarheroes embody national values, but their stories are also accounts of more univer-sal moral values and qualities in action. These two aspects fuse, so that the goodman and the good Norwegian become two sides of the same coin.

More than anyone, it was Nansen himself who introduced patriotic rheto-ric into a polar context, and linked polar exploration with the construction ofNorwegian national culture that took place in the 19th and early 20th centuries.In the preface to their 1896 biography, Brøgger and Rolfsen write that the bookgrew ‘out of [their] interest in depicting the development of a character atonce as representative and as sterling as Fridtjof Nansen’s, and in illustratingits connection to the character of the Norwegian people.’ The book openswith a poem by Bjørnson, one stanza of which reads as follows:

It is as if he had on boardyoung Norway’s happiness,as if he brings home to us from the northin the midnight sun – our jewel of victory.

In Brøgger and Rolfsen’s heroic epic, Nansen becomes the man who toldNorwegians who they were and where they belonged.

In his 1973–74 biography of Nansen, Tim Greve says that Nansen caredlittle for honour or acclaim. As patriotic rhetoric provides part of the frameworkfor Greve’s account, Nansen’s modesty emerges as a typically Norwegian trait.In Jon Sørensen’s 1931 biography, we are given a detailed description of thephysical traits and appearance of the ‘national type’. Sørensen begins with artistErik Werenskiold’s use of Nansen as a model for the drawings of Olav


Tryggvason in the 1899 edition of Snorre Sturluson’s Chronicle of the Kingsof Norway. The impression is created that Nansen and Olav Tryggvason actual-ly resembled each other; but as Sørensen says, with the difference that ‘we knowmore about Nansen’. The postulated physical similarity is presented as morethan a coincidence; Viking blood is a reality and still flows in Norwegians’ veins.Nansen is the Viking and the nation reincarnated, all in one.

When Amundsen first stepped into the polar and national arena, polarresearch was already defined as a heroic patriotic activity; and there was acommon understanding that the expeditions to discover and map polar areaswere of national significance. On the one hand, this made Amundsen’s tasksimpler; he did not need to work to win recognition for polar exploration as such.On the other hand, he faced challenges that Nansen had never encountered.He had to deal with the fact that Nansen had created the role of national polarexplorer to perfection. It would be difficult to develop its heroism further.

In Amundsen literature, patriotism figures prominently in remarks report-ed from his homecoming from the 1926 Norge expedition. The episode hasbeen quoted in a number of books, and has also been frequently cited inmemorial speeches, at the unveiling of monuments, etc. The reported remarkswere part of a speech Amundsen gave when his team was received atHonnørbrygga. In a ‘manly voice that resounded everywhere’, he said:

I have been asked so many times what it was that impelled me, what I wasworking for. It was this. (He held up the Norwegian flag that he had takenwith him on the expedition.) The flag is worn out and in tatters. But Ican assure you: it is pure. May God protect it, and all Norwegian people.Long live Norway.

Amundsen presents himself as the fatherland’s humble servant; he has donehis job and honoured the flag; but at the same time he emphasises his hero statusand his personal uniqueness.

In retrospect one may be struck by the banality of the scene; the hero, theflag, the fatherland, and God become ingredients in a patriotic rhetoric thatis simplified and clarified to the point of cliché. National symbols are withoutambivalence or ambiguity. This simplification can be related to Amundsen’spersonal qualities, but the historical context is equally important. In 1926,the patriotic rhetoric of patriotic honour no longer had the same creative poweror political relevance as when the dissolution of the union between Norway andSweden was the dominant political issue, in the beginning of the century.

Other qualities of heroes are presented against this backdrop of patrioticvirtues, thereby imparting a patriotic aura to more general virtues that are notparticularly linked to the fatherland. In Nansen narratives, the patriotic theme


In 2002, the polar heroes were accorded a key role

in marketing when a newly established airline

sought to identify itself as ‘Real Norwegian’.

is so dominant that it pervades everything else. Strictly speaking, Nansen’shumanitarian work may be considered beyond the realm of his polar activi-ties, but the narratives nonetheless give the impression that this work was possiblebecause of his achievements as a polar explorer and a national hero. On theice, alone in the polar night, Nansen faced the ultimate challenge. These experi-ences gave him the qualities that form the basis of his reputation as ‘a moralgenius’, someone who did not die of heart failure, but because he had a ‘heartthat never failed’.

A number of narratives about Amundsen explicitly dramatise his goodqualities. His sobriety and modesty are emphasised; he is described as a simple,good-hearted man of action and willpower, with nothing false or boastful abouthim, and with a childlike Christian belief. Oscar Wisting writes about theplanting of the flag at the South Pole:

After we had attended to the dogs, Roald Amundsen asked us to gatheraround the flag to plant it together. ‘It’s not for one man alone to performwhat is for us such a solemn act. It’s for all those,’ he said, ‘who have riskedtheir lives for this cause.’ Every man grasped the pole, and together weplanted Norway’s flag at the South Pole, where until now no one had everset foot.

Roald Amundsen was first among equals. This was true when he was surround-ed by his men at the South Pole, on the Maud or the Gjøa; but it is meant toreflect a general truth. Amundsen is like that, and so in fact are all goodNorwegians – the narratives imply. By contrast, Bomann-Larsen’s portrait ofAmundsen suggests that if he was a man of few words, both in speech and inwriting, it was because he had nothing to say. Bomann-Larsen presents us witha man who – in his dealings with subordinates, with his family, and with thewomen Bomann-Larsen believes figured prominently in his life – failed in situa-tions where sensitivity or sacrifice were required, who could not commit himselfto intimate relationships, and who over time developed an egocentricity thatbordered on madness.

Odd Arnesen and Jan Østby explain that when Amundsen heard the newsof the wreck of the Italia, he was asked to take part in a rescue attempt.

‘Right away,’ were Amundsen’s only words. Those who were present at theparty say that they had never seen Amundsen look so handsome, with his manlyface, the powerful furrows, and the silver hair. It was as if a halo hung overhim as he spoke the words.

That Amundsen and Nobile had had a falling out only makes the gestureall the more admirable. The sacrifice which the hero is ready to offer, is at thesame time a magnanimous offer of reconciliation. The heroism of the death


that ensued is a central theme in most of the accounts of Amundsen’s life.Bomann-Larsen also believes that it was this heroic death that rescuedAmundsen’s posthumous reputation. The unsuccessful search made him amartyr. The record-seeking polar explorer became a timeless moral hero. Withhis death, he attained the highest of all (Christian) ideals: he sacrificed himselffor someone else.

The biographies and memoirs present this as a logical consummation ofthe life he had lived, and most of the authors present Amundsen’s life as a prepa-ration for this end. On the last page of Østby’s book, Amundsen’s life and deathare transformed into a message for young people, and his polar exploits are allbut subordinated to questions of ethics and character:

Never had he fought for money. And yet he became so rich that millionsof determined young people have inherited something from him. Throughthe ages he will stand as the indomitable hero of the great white expanses.‘Work toward a goal,’ he said. ‘Put all your willpower into it, and you willsee that this works.’ His entire life was one unyielding struggle to solvethe riddles that engulf the unknown territories on this earth. And placinghis own life at stake, he went north to the Arctic to save people in danger.A more worthy end could not be imagined for a life so rich in virtue.

The heroic narratives about Nansen and Amundsen have lived in the collectiveNorwegian memory for a century. But the stories have changed somewhatover time. This is especially true in the case of Amundsen. Kåre Holt, authorof the 1974 book Kappløpet (The Race), was the first Norwegian to publiclycriticise Amundsen’s conduct in the race for the South Pole. The earlier criti-cism of Amundsen, which was made in particular by British writers, had mainlybeen concerned with his stealing the polar conquest from Scott, who had firstrights to the honour. Holt’s book supplies new dimensions because it also pro-vides, though in the form of a novel, a psychological portrait of Amundsen inglaring contrast to the gentleman, Scott. The book created quite a sensation.The Norwegian Polar Club passed a resolution condemning its publication.When it was learned that The Race would be translated, the club sought tominimise the ‘damage the book can do abroad’.The Norwegian Seamen’s Union(Sjømannsforeningens Landsforbund) was worried, too, and in a pointed letterto the publisher Gyldendal, expressed dismay ‘that our country’s great menshould be besmirched so that a publishing house can make money.’ TheNorwegian National Broadcasting (NRK) film Kappløpet drew similar reactions,but in that case it was the representation of Hjalmar Johansen in particularwhich caused nationwide concern.

Tor Bomann-Larsen’s critical biography of Amundsen did not cause such


controversy. It may instead be described as a typical 1990s ‘deconstruction’ ofa great man and of ‘given truths’. This kind of reaction against a bygone cult ofheroism need not be viewed as destructive. On the contrary, the book has re-ceived a response that may reflect the fact that Amundsen remains an interestingand relevant figure even today, just because he is not a one-dimensional hero.Criticism and myth-puncturing may help to improve Amundsen’s believability,and transform him from a one-dimensional hero on a superhuman scale to afar richer and more complex figure. Such representations can be both morefascinating and more credible.

No biographer has given us a portrait of Nansen that can be compared toBomann-Larsen’s portrait of Amundsen, though there have been critical voices.Tim Greve’s biography presents a more complex picture than do the previousbooks, but it does not really question his heroic status. Rather, the idea seemsto be that the hero has the right to be different from others, even in a negativeway. Roland Huntford’s Nansen: The Explorer as Hero (Norwegian subtitle wastranslated as ‘The Man Behind the Myth’) takes a harsher view, yet has had onlya limited impact on Nansen’s public image. The lack of Norwegian Nansenstudies with a critical edge is notable in itself. Today, Nansen serves as an apoli-tical national icon, linked to personal qualities and values that are so undis-putedly positive as to be beyond question: charity, outdoor life, humanitarianwork, and altruism. The development of this iconography was gradual. Despitethe politically precarious aspects of Nansen’s association with the the FatherlandParty (Fedrelandslaget), and Quisling’s exploitation of him in his obituary, aswell as the negative attitude toward Nansen in the radical 1970s, Nansen isstill most commonly portrayed as he was during the 1930 memorial ceremo-ny. He is presented as a harmoniously heroic figure representing values thatcorrespond well with a social-democratic world view.

‘It is dangerous to play Nansen.’

In 1962, free from scientific pretensions, but equipped with a great admirationfor Nansen and his achievements, two young men named Bjørn Staib and BjørnReese decided to follow in Nansen’s footsteps, on skis across Greenland. Theyfollowed approximately the same route that Nansen and his team had taken in1888. Moreover, they were without radio contact and lived on pemmican. Theskis, like Nansen’s, were made of wood; but unlike Nansen, Staib and Reese usedsled dogs they had bought in Greenland. Still, just like Nansen, they struggledon the ice. When they reached the west coast of Greenland, they had travelledfor 31 days, were out of food, and had only one of their 16 dogs left, Nanok,who was ‘the only one that dared to jump over the almost bottomless crevasses.’


Staib and Reese were not the first to follow Nansen into Greenland’s icyinterior. But since they followed his exact route, they had a persuasive claimto be ‘team number 2’. They skied on ‘historic ground’. They called it a ‘sportstrip’ and inaugurated an epoch marked by a new interest in polar feats andaccomplishments. Like so many of the new epoch’s sportsmen, the young BjørnStaib had delighted in books about Nansen. For him and his fellow traveller,Greenland’s inland ice exerted a strong attraction. The two men belonged tothe generation of post-war youth for whom Nansen could serve unproblema-tically as a hero and role model.

Not everybody was equally preoccupied with Nansen in the 1960s, and the‘general public’ was rather reserved, viewing Staib and Reese with a mixtureof confusion and admiration. The admiration was felt by those who saw suchfeats as a confirmation that manly Norwegian virtues were still to be found.Confusion was created by those who noted that it had, in fact, been done before;and who asked the eternal question about this kind of trek: What, exactly, wasthe point?

All the same, Staib and Reese’s trip heralded a new interest in polar journeysand a new type of journey that took into account the fact that ‘everything hadbeen done’, but that did not become inhibited by this fact. The poles had beenconquered, and the passages found, but most of what had been done beforecould be done faster, better, and in a more extreme fashion. One could alsotry to do something in a more or less ‘original’ and ‘authentic’ way, even if itcould never be as dangerous, or have the same significance as the great expedi-tions of the classical period.

During the last decades of the 20th century, a dramatic new interest devel-oped in competitions and tests of strength in the ‘polar regions’. Not only inNorway, but in many countries, a new breed of Arctic adventurers stepped forth.What was distinctively Norwegian was the tradition in which the Norwegianadventurers were placed: those who sought to maintain the Norwegian polarheritage had to live up to certain expectations when it came to their conduct,preparations, use of equipment, and especially their success.

Retracing Nansen’s steps had whet Staib’s appetite. Not long after the tripacross Greenland, he chose to follow in his idol’s footsteps, again. This timehe pushed toward the North Pole with a bold plan. He planned to cover a longerdistance than anyone had done before. In 1964, none of the new generationof polar explorers had managed anything like what Staib proposed. He wouldconquer the pole using dogs, skis, and sleds. After the great discoverers of theclassical period had fought for the polar trophy itself, and with Robert Pearyas the apparent winner, it was no longer considered particularly exciting to makethe attempt using sheer muscle power. More than 50 years passed before some-one had the idea of getting there ‘the hard way’. In the meantime, the North


Pole had been flown over and sailed under, with the help of modern techno-logy: planes, submarines, and eventually nuclear-powered icebreakers.

The first to reach the North Pole in this new era was a Canadian-Americanexpedition in 1968. Four men, led by Ralph Plaisted, used snowmobiles in, andthey were airlifted out. That same year, a British group departed for the journeyin somewhat less mechanised fashion. Led by the polar pioneer Wally Herbert,the expedition travelled with 40 dogs. Massive air support helped the travel-lers endure the journey, until they reached the pole in 1969, after a 407-daytrip. They returned on their own to Nordaustlandet (North East Land) inSvalbard, where they were picked up by ship.

In this context, Staib was doubtlessly ahead of his time, when he and hiseleven-man team set out in 1964 on a far less motorised journey. Staib had withhim dog-sled drivers, telegraphists, and navigators. In the beginning, he alsohad a procession of journalists, one from Aftenposten (with exclusive Norwegianrights), one from the Swedish Expressen, and four from National Geographic,which sponsored ‘a significant part’ of the expedition. Norwegian television alsowent along as far as the first stop, Thule in Greenland.

Staib’s expedition encountered great difficulties. There were many contri-buting factors to what was the worst possible start: illness, even death, problemswith Canadian military authorities, poor weather, virtually impassable ice barri-ers, and materials that did not tolerate the stress. When the team decided toquit, criticism had to be expected. The newspaper Aftenposten expressed ‘under-standing’ and praised the leader’s courage and judgement. However, two otherNorwegian newspapers, Dagbladet and VG, excoriated the expedition, especi-ally its leader, who in their view had proven to be both unqualified and unpre-pared. The newspapers took it for granted that Norwegian polar adventurersshould be able to handle ice floes, holes in the ice, and pack ice. The commen-tary grew increasingly acerbic and merciless. ‘We observe with pleasure, thatyoung Norwegians follow Nansen’s example. […] But it’s dangerous to playFridtjof Nansen. It’s wrong to use a great name and a great role model to createundeserved publicity. We believe that this is the lesson to be learnt from Mr.Staib’s North Pole expedition.’

The criticism abroad was not quite so strict. It is striking that the book Staibwrote about his trip to the North Pole was never published in Norwegian. Itcame out in Sweden and the U.S.A. Royal Geographic Magazine in London wrotea good deal about it, as did its sponsor National Geographic. It was appropri-ate, then, that Staib mentioned Robert Peary as one of the truly great men –someone who had been well prepared and had learned from the Arctic’s indige-nous people, the Eskimos.

No longer the boyish youth who had crossed Greenland in 1962, Staibhad by 1964 become more ideological in his arguments for the importance of


polar excursions. He appealed to the nation’s polar future. Organising suchundertakings was ‘in keeping with our obligation to maintain [Norwegian]traditions’, and Norway could not compete with ‘today’s heavily equipped,machine-encumbered expeditions’. It would take some time before anyone triedagain. And this time it would be without skis.

New rules of the game

Norwegians were relatively late in making a new attempt at reaching the NorthPole. They found themselves in the middle of a long line of motorised and non-motorised explorers from around the world. During the 1970s (North)Americans, British, Chileans, Italians, Danes, Japanese, and Soviet Russians,plus a large Inuit-Canadian expedition, had reached the pole. Later, in the1980s, these expeditions were joined by teams from Finland, the U.S.A., andFrance, as well as new Canadian, Japanese, and the Soviet teams. So, when


There is still no easy route to the North Pole. Bjørn Staib’s expedition cuts through the pack ice.

Ragnar Thorseth decided to make an attempt in 1982, there was nothinguniquely Norwegian about the journey. If he could no longer be the very first,he could still come up with his own twist: Thorseth would be the firstNorwegian to reach the top of the world.

For Amundsen, Nansen, and Staib had never stood at the pole itself. WhenThorseth reached it on April 29th, 1982, he received a good deal of attentionin the Norwegian media. The feat confirmed a national self-image. Couldanything be more natural than Norwegians at the world’s northernmost point?So long as they were Norwegians, it really didn’t matter that the heroes weren’twearing skis. Using snow scooters, they started out from the Eureka base inCanada and took only 56 days to complete their mission. Along the way, theyreceived supplies by air; and after reaching the pole, they were airlifted out.

Thorseth had no technological scruples. The objective of the trip – whichwas to be the first Norwegian at the North Pole – determined what equip-ment would be used. Snow scooters were nonetheless a tool that would quicklybecome regarded as beyond the limits of acceptability by those who wished tobe real polar explorers.

The increased interest in polar outings bred a new ‘first-man culture’ amongNorwegians and foreigners alike. At the beginning of this epoch, the non-Norwegians were the ones who set polar records. In 1978, Naomi Uemura ofJapan travelled alone with a dog team from Ellesmere Island in Canada to theNorth Pole. Afterwards he was flown to the northern tip of Greenland. Fromthere he continued with his dog team to cross Greenland (with air support),from north to south; and became the first man to do this, too. In 1986, theFrenchman, Jean-Louis Etienne, was the first to ski solo to the North Pole.He received air support every tenth day. In the same year, the American WillSteger and his companions went by dog sled to the North Pole, and they werethe first to do so ‘unsupported’. This marked a turning point at a time whenthe concept of being ‘un-supported’ was taking shape and was creating a lotof discussion. Since then, the main complaint against Steger’s expedition hasbeen that dogs were used. In any event, Ann Bancroft, one of Steger’s team,was the first woman to reach the pole. Steger’s intention had also been to returnfrom the pole without assistance, which he viewed as being more ‘in the spirit’of the earlier pioneers. It might perhaps be more accurate to say more in linewith their possibilities.

The 1988 centennial of Nansen’s journey inspired the adventurer Stein P.Aasheim and Asle T. Johansen to follow increasingly well-trodden paths. Themain point of their expeditions was that equipment and provisions should bejust as they had been a century earlier. Altogether, a total of 35 Norwegianshad crossed Greenland up until the centennial. While there were only threesuch efforts in the 1960s and 1970s, activity exploded in the 1980s. During the


anniversary year of 1988, no fewer than 42 men from eleven nations travelledacross the icy interior in various ways. Two years later it was ‘the girls’ turn’ totry. Of course, international ‘mixed expeditions’ had included women, likeMyrtle Simpson from Scotland as early as 1965, and Monica Masuda of Swedenin 1975. But in 1990 Norwegians Marit Sørensen, Anne Marte Pensgård, andKatinka Mossin became the first all-woman team to cross the ice, at least asfar as the glacier cliff along the west coast. There they needed assistance, andwere helped off the ice 50 kilometres before reaching their ‘goal’.Two years later,Liv Arnesen and Julie Maske earned the distinction of being the first womento cross the entire Greenland glacier.

Half a century would pass after the 1911–12 race between Amundsen andScott, before interest was rekindled in strenuous journeys to the South Pole.At first the expeditions were highly motorised. The continent – with the excep-tion of the shelf ice – is more suited to motor vehicles than the Arctic Ocean.In 1957–58 the conqueror of Mount Everest, Sir Edmund Hillary, along withVivien Fuchs, had led a ‘Commonwealth expedition’ that crossed Antarcticawith Snowcats. When British adventurer Sir Ranulph Fiennes crossed Antarcticaon a kind of snow scooter in 1980–81, this was a clear signal that the conti-nent had attracted new adventurers.

The distances and costs involved in a South Pole expedition, however,were on an entirely different scale than was the case with a trek across thesouthern tip of Greenland. As a consequence, would-be, non-scientific travel-lers did not come forth so readily. In 1985–86, Scott’s route to the South Polewas retraced on foot and with sleds, by a group which was appropriately fromGreat Britain. The next year, Monica Kristensen set out on her long-planned,75th anniversary journey along Amundsen’s route to the South Pole. However,her party had to turn back at 86° S, 440 kilometres from the South Pole.

Monica Kristensen was the first Norwegian, and the first woman, in moderntimes to try to reach the South Pole on skis and by dog sled. Recognition camemore quickly, and was greater, beyond Norway’s borders than it was in herhomeland. Particularly in Great Britain, she was hailed for being an outstand-ing polar researcher and was awarded the prestigious Royal Geographic Societygold medal in 1989. She is the only recent Norwegian polar explorer to recei-ve this great honour. In the 1990s, Kristensen would participate in two additi-onal Antarctic trips.

The centennial celebration of Nansen’s crossing of Greenland can be seenas a major turning point. Much had changed from Staib and Reese’s ‘originalrepetition’ in 1962 and to the 1988 centennial of Nansen’s expedition. Onceviewed as sensational, Greenland missions in particular were becoming almostroutine. The equipment, hence the degree of physical difficulty, was also verydifferent; the wooden skis and wool and parka outfits of the 1960s had given


What doNorwegians do inGreenland?TheydowhatNansen

did. Between 1996 and 2002, 58 out of 81 registered

Norwegian expeditions to Greenland followed in Nansen’s

tracks. Two 1988 expeditions evenusedoriginal equipment.

way to the 1988 expeditions’ far more labour-saving, durable, and light-weightequipment.The 1988 expeditions emphasized that the old equipment was signi-ficantly heavier than ‘normal’. So there was a significance in trying to do thingsthe way they had been done a hundred years earlier, in order to recreate theachievements.

Both before and after the centennial, the use of motorised aids was un-problematic, at least as a means of getting started. On both Børge Ousland’sand the Mørdre brothers’ Greenland expeditions in 1986, helicopters trans-ported the participants up on the ice plateau. What many of the first expedi-tions had in common was their use of dogs, and the fact that they spent oneor more days at the American DYE II station in the middle of Greenland. TheNansen jubilee inspired some to try managing without this kind of initial assis-tance. The result was a series of expeditions that emphasised pure muscle powerand enhanced ecological awareness; and toward the end of the 20th century,this created a new concept of what ‘correct’ polar journeys ought to be like.As a result, Norwegian explorers had to decide whether to buy into the newpolar credo of going ‘unsupported’.

The new polar explorers

At the beginning of the 1990s there were no ‘blank spots’ on the polar map, buteven so, the fascination with the poles did not disappear. What had already beendone could be done again, only in an even more extreme and special way thanbefore. Polar explorers became more involved with the sport as a test of strength,a race, or an attempt to push limits. In addition, a series of new products enteredthe market that facilitated certain aspects of polar expeditions; the result wasthat trips to the world’s extreme points became increasingly commercialised.Those who wanted financing had to get media exposure, and in order to dothat, it helped to appeal to a nation’s polar heritage. The most conspicuousaspects of the polar trips of the 1990s, were the tests of strength on the border-line between high-tech contributions and purely human efforts.

Groups from several countries had already announced their intention ofheading for the North Pole when Børge Ousland, Erling Kagge, and GeirRandby set out on March 8th, 1990, with the intention of being the first to reachthe North Pole without support. Teams before them had little by little revealedobvious weaknesses; they had used designated depots; had equipment and pro-visions airlifted in for them, or had sled dogs to help them transport provisions.When the Norwegian trio set out, they agreed with one of their rivals, SirRanulph Fiennes, that ‘everything that helped us physically to travel north,should be regarded as support’, and thus be excluded.


It was an international race, and a dramatic one. Teams from five countrieswanted to be the first to reach the pole, exclusively, and under their own steam.The contest began without a starting shot or any specific departure point; theparticipants themselves were able to decide when and where to begin duringthe late winter or early spring. By the time Kagge, Ousland, and Randby leftEllesmere Island in Canada, a Canadian group had already had to give up. AKorean expedition, led by Mount Everest climber Heo Young Who, also startedfrom Ellesmere Island. They received air support early, and had thereby, accord-ing to the Norwegians, ‘resigned from the race’. Two parties departed fromRussia, one of them consisting of a single man: the Soviet polar hero FyodorKonyukhov. He required helicopter assistance along the way, and was thus outof the running. Sir Ranulph Fiennes and Mike Stroud of Great Britain, whohad been viewed beforehand as the most formidable competitors for theNorwegians, had also received permission to start in the Soviet Union. Theywere the first Western expedition to do so since 1917.

After 57 days on skis, Kagge and Ousland reached the pole on May 4th,1990. None of the others had made it. Geir Randby, the real prime mover ofthe team, injured his back early on, and eventually it became necessary toevacuate him by air. Illustrative of this altered view of what a polar expeditionwas and ought to be, was the discussion surrounding the expedition’s statusin the wake of this misfortune. After Randby’s withdrawal, Kagge and Ouslandcontinued to the pole without him and without receiving provisions from theplane that evaculated Randby along with his share of the food, equipment andkindling. The only thing they kept was the emergency beacon, which was inRandby’s sleigh. But the evacuation led to a protest by Sir Ranulph Fienneson what one might call ethical grounds; When Kagge and Ousland’s team waspresented at the Royal Geographical Society in London, Fiennes claimed thatair contact was a rule-breaker for ‘unsupported’ trips. He compared it with drugabuse on the part of Olympic athletes.

Kagge and Ousland were the first big-time duo in modern Norwegian polarhistory. The parallels with Norway’s polar heroes were drawn both by the mediaand by the two men themselves. VG claimed that they had now written theirnames in gold ‘in the chronicles of the polar heroes’. Adventurer Stein P. Aasheimdescribed their achievement as ‘one of the toughest things that has been accom-plished since Nansen and Amundsen’s expeditions’, Prime Minister Jan P. Syseinvited them to a reception in his office.There was no lack of international atten-tion, which in turn brought more interest at home. The 1990 competition toreach the North Pole was not ‘the last race’, the title of Erling Kagge’s book aboutthe journey. Rather, it was the start of a new era, when a purer variant of polarextreme sport would be practised. And many would be the challenges.


After this trip, Kagge turned his gaze southward. It was now easier to obtainsponsorship for a costly retracing of Roald Amundsen’s Antarctic steps.However, not just Norwegians were active in this seemingly ‘Norwegian touristdistrict’. In Antarctica, ‘the world’s greatest living discoverer’ had his greatestsuccesses. Together with his partner Mike Stroud, Sir Ranulph Fiennes was,among other things, the first to cross the interior without support in 1992–93.However, they did not reach civilization in McMurdo, on the Ross shelf; and,in a state of complete exhaustion, they had to be airlifted out by helicopter.

In an act typical of the era, Erling Kagge, having ceased all attempts to legiti-mise his efforts scientifically, decided to make the journey to the South Poleon skis and without support. After a 1300-kilometre trip that took 50 days,he reached his goal on January 7th, 1993. Being the first to ‘walk’ alone to theSouth Pole brought its rewards in the form of fame, honour, and rather lucra-tive lecture tours. Kagge ended up on front pages and in advertisements; and hegave lectures at the Royal Geographic Society in London and at Yale University,in the U.S.A. The Norwegian Prime Minister Gro Harlem Brundtland congra-tulated him for one of ‘the most outstanding [expeditions] in the history ofthe polar regions.’ She said that the nation had been with him; and ‘we havefollowed you every step of the way.’

Thanks to that successful North Pole expedition, the solo Antarctica tripbecame a media event. The British, German, and American media followed itclosely. Norwegian National Broadcasting (NRK) and VG were on the spotwhen Kagge departed from Punta Arena at the southernmost tip of Chile; andthe three largest Norwegian newspapers carried daily reports about Kagge’s ownpersonal struggle. Though it occurred in the irony-laden 1990s, the trip wastaken seriously. Kagge was presented as a steward of the Norwegian polar tradi-tion, sponsor labels were shown off; and when he got back to Norway, recog-nition poured in from various high-ranking personages, from the PrimeMinister to the Minister of Defence to the head of the Norwegian Olympiccommittee.

While Erling Kagge was busy in Antarctica, his former partner, BørgeOusland, was planning his trip to the North Pole. Within one year, the smallcountry of Norway had again ‘conquered’ both poles.This suited the Norwegianpolar self-image, in the rather exclusive sport of skiing alone and withoutsupport to the furthest extremes of the earth. Norwegians had come out ontop yet again. Once again, the Prime Minister sent congratulations out ontothe ice, for a journey that was ‘one of the most important in polar history’.The trip provided the newspapers with good copy. Dagbladet and VG metOusland at the North Pole (April 1994), and sent home articles about ‘primalNorwegian strength’. The victor did not neglect to place himself and his accom-plishments in a historic context; ‘I am proud to be Norwegian on a day like this.


Børge Ousland starts out for the North Pole in 1994.

Ousland claims there is absolutely no difference between

whatdriveshimandwhatdroveNansen, Amundsen, Kagge,

and Gjeldnes. The basic motivation, he says, is ‘exactly the

same, and when you come right down to it, it is entirely

about the need to reach out and do great things.’

I am convinced that I have been able to do this because we Norwegians havestruggled for centuries against the forces of nature. It is our Viking heritageand the legacy of Fridtjof Nansen and Roald Amundsen that inspired me.’Ousland had conquered the North Pole, both in partnership and by himself.‘It was a great and important victory for me,’ he said. In the opinion of VG,he had now entered his name in ‘Norway’s proud polar history on the samefooting as Roald Amundsen, Fridtjof Nansen, and Erling Kagge.’ Now he couldturn his gaze southward.

It became a race among three men to reach the South Pole. Besides Ousland,there were the notorious Sir Ranulph Fiennes of Great Britain and MarekKaminski of Poland. Ousland, who had experience from both, compared thepoles. ‘While the North Pole is pack ice and crevasses, always intense and unpre-dictable, Antarctica seems endless and much more monotonous.’ Antarcticawas a test of patience and endurance. There, he could sleep in a tent withoutworrying that the ice floe on which he had pitched camp would drift away, orthat a huge fissure would open up under him, or that a polar bear would sudden-ly appear. After only 35 days, he passed the South Pole, a ‘confusing place’ forsomeone who based his personal philosophy on ‘being unsupported’. Here heencountered civilization in the form of warmth, food, and the possibility of ashower. Ousland had to steer clear of all this. He turned down a cup of coffeehe could have drunk outside. Human communication, however, was permit-ted. He was photographed with his sponsors’ flags. After five hours, he contin-ued on his way. On January 17th, 1997, after 64 days, he reached McMurdo,Scott’s original base and point of departure.

Ousland could confirm that both of his competitors had suffered rever-sals. Fiennes had got a kidney stone; and when he ran out of painkillers, hehad to be picked up by an airplane. Kaminski had suffered a serious accidentat the start, but injured and in pain, he struggled on, far behind Ousland.Kaminski reached the South Pole at about the same time that Ousland reachedMcMurdo. Børge Ousland’s repute as a polar hero and ‘adventurer’ grew. Hebecame an international ‘polar star’, and had won a reputation that he couldlive off.

Nice girls don’t go to the South Pole?

To be a woman in what was still purely a Norwegian man’s world would bechallenging. Monica Kristensen had learned this in 1986, but during her nexttwo Antarctic trips she experienced a good deal of poorly disguised scepticism.Both expeditions had as their goal to find Roald Amundsen’s tent and bring ithome to display as a national treasure at the 1994 Lillehammer Olympic Games.


The idea, which in a way was patriotic (indeed, some called it chauvinistic), wassupported financially by the Lillehammer Olympics Organisational Committee(LOOC) and the Norwegian State Oil Company, Statoil. On her first try,Kristensen was unsuccessful and had to return without the treasure. She wasdetermined to carry out the project, however, and just before Christmas 1993she departed, again.

Kristensen’s group travelled over land by snow scooter, but ended up in apart of the Shackleton Range that was full of fissures. Here a tragic accidentbefell them; two of the participants fell into a crevasse, and one of them, JosteinHelgeland, died. The expedition had to be called off. It has retained the reputa-tion of being, at best, a very different sort of expedition. Costly in many ways,help had to be summoned by air to bring back the survivors.The criticism madeby the American rescue party afterwards was hard for Norwegians to take; theAmericans used words like ‘unprepared’ and ‘lack of adequate training andexperience’. Kristensen’s expedition was accused of placing not only the livesof their own at risk, but also of endangering the lives of the rescue team. Thetragic event dominated the press coverage. Kristensen returned home not inglory, or with Amundsen’s tent, but rather with a significant debt and a decided-ly negative media image.

One may wonder whether female polar explorers are more likely to be criti-cised when things do not turn out as planned. Perhaps no Norwegian polarfigure suffered more because of latent suspicions of (female) physical inadequa-cy and general incompetence, than the woman expedition leader, MonicaKristensen. Then again, Liv Arnesen also encountered a good deal of preju-dice when she announced plans to go to the South Pole. Arnesen became thefirst woman to march alone to the South Pole, arriving on Christmas Eve of1994. Some people claimed that her route was ‘too short’. Like most others, shewas flown in to Patriot Hills, a landing base slightly inland, on the ice. Someearlier Norwegian expeditions had chosen to fly ‘back’ from Patriot Hills, sothat they could begin near the edge of the ice shelf and thus be ‘authentic’. Partlyfor financial reasons, Arnesen chose to leave from the Ronne Shelf. Arneseninterpreted the criticism as a sign of prejudice against women polar explorers.It might also have meant, that trips to the South Pole had by now become‘ordinary’ (even if women participants were still a novelty); and that increasing-ly long and difficult routes eventually became necessary to give expeditionscredibility and meaning.

Liv Arnesen planned a low-budget trip, but the usual sponsors were notso ready to contribute. In 1994, after Kristensen’s last debacle, no one in Norwaywas eager to support a new expedition to the South Pole led by a woman. Beforethe next trip, Liv Arnesen found her ‘soul-mate’ not in Norway, but in Canada.Ann Bancroft was an experienced polar traveller. In 2000–01 they went togeth-


er to Antarctica, this time crossing the entire continent. The trip was success-ful, apart from the fact that they had to be picked up on Ross Ice Shelf so theycould get to their the boat before it was frozen in for the season.

On the same flight as Arnesen – from Punta Arenas, Chile, to Patriot Hills –was another Norwegian team on its way to the South Pole. A key member ofthat expedition was Cato Zahl Pedersen, who as a young man had lost all of onearm and half of the other. He was accompanied by two men: Odd Harald Haugeand Lars Ebbesen. The expedition had not been Zahl Pedersen’s idea, and hisfirst concern had been that there might be a ‘toilet problem’. After he realisedthat this was hardly the greatest challenge, the preparations began. The threemen had a considerably larger budget than Liv Arnesen did. Hauge and Ebbesenhad experience from having crossed Greenland; while Zahl Pedersen had a sportsbackground. Hauge was also skilled at working the media, and he knew howto exploit the special aspects of the expedition. Its motto, ‘Unarmed to the SouthPole’, was hatched at an Oslo café over a cappuccino, and would prove to bevery catchy.

Sports doctors and former polar explorers alike expressed scepticism aboutZahl Pedersen’s chances of completing the course. Could an armless man,however well trained, manage to drag a heavy sled under Antarctic conditions?As it turned out, he carried it off as well as anyone else. To be sure, his handi-cap proved in several ways to be just that. For example, the steel claw on theend of his half-arm was uncomfortably good at conducting the cold. Cautionhad to be exercised. ‘Even Cato would hardly take lightly to yet another amputa-tion.’ After having turned their underwear around at the halfway point, andhaving made their way laboriously to the South Pole, the three men were ableto plant the obligatory Norwegian flag upon their arrival there on December28th, 1994.

So during the Christmas season of 1994, the South Pole was conqueredseparately by a woman and a man with a handicap, both from Norway. Thisnaturally caused people to view a polar conquest as a less extraordinary pheno-menon, something the explorers themselves did not appreciate. OutsideNorway, the sensational aspect of their trip was emphasized. Zahl Pedersen,Hauge, and Ebbesen travelled to New York to meet the international media andmake television appearances. The star of the expedition had his picture on thefront page of the New York Times. He spoke of the individual’s struggle toprove that nothing is impossible.


How do female and handicapped polar explorers affect the heroic myth? Odd Harald Hauge, Cato Zahl

Pedersen, Liv Arnesen, and Lars Ebbesen at Patriot Hills in Antarctica.

An advantage to being Norwegian?

By reaching their goals, Norwegian polar explorers seemed to be affirming thebelief that Norwegians excelled on the ice. There were advantages to beingNorwegian. ‘A splendid foundation for polar exploration,’ said Bjørn Staib ofhis Norwegian upbringing and what he saw as typically Norwegian activities:hunting and skiing in the snow and cold, an all-around outdoor life, in short‘an athletic background’. For his 1964 expedition he sought out men who couldski, work hard, and endure the cold, while starving on ‘half rations’, all withoutlosing heart. Appropriately, Staib had no shortage of inquiries from interestedparties who wanted to accompany him to the North Pole.

In the 1990s, Norwegians received confirmation of the myth that they wereparticularly well suited to encounters with snow, ice, and polar cold. From thePrime Minister’s office, congratulatory telegrams poured out to the Norwegianwinners at the winter Olympics. Amidst this torrent of Norwegian gold medals,Erling Kagge reached the South Pole.

Perhaps the Norwegian man’s distinctiveness reveals itself most clearly inthe struggle for polar glory against competitors. Norwegian-British rivalryremains at the heart of this competition. In modern times, Amundsen’s racewith Scott had both its successors and its chroniclers. In recent accounts, theEnglish emerged as losers because the Norwegians, in accordance with theirtradition, were smarter, which is to say, better prepared. Norwegians spoke ofa ‘gap between ability and ambitions’. Sir Ranulph Fiennes was depicted as anarrogant colonial lord, who refused to learn from the mistakes of others andcontinued to haul excessively heavy sleds. Called the ‘Sisyphus of the PackIce’, he kept trying, but met with no success. In Kagge’s view, the only diffe-rence between Scott and Fiennes was the Twin Otter that rescued the latter.Such accounts downplay the fact that Fiennes had led successful expeditions,and not just in polar regions. Norwegian narratives prefer to emphasise whatmay have been his last trip: his 2000 attempt to walk alone, without support,along the ‘direct route’ to the North Pole. While others could be accused ofhaving given themselves a head start by departing from the northern coast ofRussia, Fiennes emphasised that he would be taking the hard route, starting outfrom the north coast of Canada, which was one of the few polar achievementsthat no one had so far managed. After only a few days on the ice, however,Fiennes had to give up because of serious frostbite. Several of his fingers hadto be partially or entirely amputated, and he had to undergo long-term medicaltreatment. Viewing their polar history as illustrious and seeing their countryas a polar nation, the Norwegian public was hard on people like Fiennes, Staib,and Kristensen.

The 1990s was also the decade of irony. The halo of seriousness and rever-


ence that surrounded Kagge and his successors inspired Vetle Lid Larsen toexclaim: ‘The North Pole is now so tightly packed with bearded mugs and frost-bitten and amputated toes, that it’s almost impossible to find the soda machi-ne.’ Nor could one ignore the trivialisation of the phenomenon. ‘The SouthPole? Well, well; did you have good weather or were there many of you on thetrail?’ said researcher on outdoor life, Bjørn Tordsson.

Have trips to the South Pole become a pointless test of endurance, ‘a reboil-ing of heroic but dead bones’? The millenium provided an opportunity forthe expression of long held views, for irony, and for fresh thinking about thereal significance of these heroes. While hints of similar attitudes in Staib’s daywere still met with anger and hopeless resignation, such admiration for Nansencould by now be viewed as quaint or ironic. There is much to suggest, however,that the Norwegian heroic myth is still alive. What this myth consists of issomewhat less clear. On the one hand, the Englishmen of the epic period couldbuild on their history of men who were brave together, men who had visions,expressed with an almost ‘repellent understatement’ that could not disguise adismal incompetence. On the other, the Norwegian spirit was far simpler andless refined, at least when viewed by others. The Norwegians were the ones whosucceeded, at least those of them who were held up as the true representativesof the nation’s polar tradition.

In modern times, the great men have grown more distant. They can stillbe admired, but not in the same way as they were admired in their lifetimesor in the years after their deaths. Today’s versions of the myth need not encom-pass the entirety of the original story, and need not include what contempo-raries remember. These myths include cherry-picking details that are rich inmeaning and association. Associations from the classic era thus become signi-ficant symbolic elements for our times.

The modern myth can also borrow from the contemporary British cri-tique of heroes. While the Englishmen of the epic period turned out to be royal-ly and singularly unprepared, the successful Norwegians had to be the opposi-te; that is, well prepared. This particular aspect of the contemporary Norwegiannarrative was singled out by Kagge and Ousland, with the hearty approval ofmost Norwegians, as embodying the very essence of Norwegian polar attributes;i.e. ‘what we’re good at’. This view has found a happy whetstone in Sir RanulphFiennes. Although he has, in fact, accomplished great feats, he is viewed inNorway as a later edition of Scott, only with access to modern equipment,someone who lacks not courage, but perhaps competence. It was thus easy to writeFiennes into the story, and so it was easy to understand who Amundsen was.

The Norwegian polar myth, which is revised at regular intervals, has placedincreasing emphasis on aspects other than willingness to take risks and to strug-gle. With the right preparation, it is not necessary to be brave! Such an approach


to what is, without doubt, a remarkable physical and psychological feat canseem an almost conformist, social-democratic attempt to reduce the distancebetween the polar hero and the ‘man in the street’. If this is not the intention,it is rather striking that so many of the books by Norwegian polar explorers –and most of them write books – suggest that any of us who grew up in theNorwegian outdoor tradition and were well prepared could pull off such atrip. Such suggestions echo Nansen’s words about the boon of skiing; it wasNorwegians, more than any other people, who had the opportunity to feel itscharacter-building effects upon their bodies.

Polar self-images

Stuffed polar bears are not that uncommon in Norway. Both the Ski Museumand the Polar Museum use polar bears to market themselves, as do various scien-tific and public institutions with polar associations. Each year, ChristianiaGlasmagasin, a venerable department store in Oslo, also places the great beastalongside Norwegian sweaters and pewter candlesticks. What does it mean?In addition to being a reminder that the tourist season has begun, this juxta-position implies a connection between polar bears and the very essence of whatis ‘Norwegian’. Though, polar bears are not really common in Norway; they arenot typically Norwegian in the same way as moose, brown goat cheese, andpaper clips. Nonetheless, the inclusion of a polar bear in a store display feedsinto a relatively widespread understanding of Norway and of what is distinc-tively Norwegian: simply the idea that Norway is a polar nation.

In other words, Norway’s sense of connection to the polar areas is kept alivenot just by modern races to the poles. In Norwegian culture, certain icons andcultural monuments embody the collective memory of a national, heroic polarhistory. The icons Amundsen and Nansen are two examples of this; the polarbear is a third. This aspect of Norwegian national identity draws not only onthe awareness that parts of the country are north of the Arctic Circle, but alsoon the distinctive significance ascribed to things polar. Things like the polarbear weave geography into a wider symbolic meaning as part of a collectivememory. The polar bear is a reference to Arctic regions and to that symbolicentity: Norway, the polar nation.

Such polar icons and memorials represent hardiness, endurance, adapta-bility, and the ability to confront nature’s most extreme challenges. The extentto which these qualities are widespread among Norwegians must remainunknown. Not all Norwegians are well informed about polar history or regions.Only a fraction have personally skied across Greenland or visited the Arcticor Antarctica. Thus, the memories in question are not personal, or based on


Fridtjof Nansen was buried in his own garden. In 1955, Prime

Minister Einar Gerhardsen placed a wreath on Nansen’s grave

on the 25th anniversary of his death. The scientific research

center ‘Polhøgda’(Polar Heights) was dedicated at the same

time. The King and Crown Prince were present at the ceremony.

individual experience. Rather, they comprise a common national heritage. EveryNorwegian, thanks to his or her education and upbringing, has a share in thiscollective memory. In this way Norwegians possess symbolic ‘memories’ ofthings they have never actually experienced, but identify with and think of astheir own.

Various commemorative practices invite continuous and collective parti-cipation, and keep collective memory alive and current. Commemorationceremonies can be quite grand, as in the case of anniversaries and large exhibi-tions, but more subdued commemorations also have great significance. Oneexample is postage stamps and first covers. Of the 1,453 different stamps issuedin Norway in the years for 1855 to 2001, 53 have featured polar-related themes.Nansen is depicted on a total of twelve stamps, two of them issued in connec-tion with his winning of the Nobel Peace Prize; Amundsen is shown on fourstamps. Stamps have also celebrated the Fram, Gjøa, and Maud, the airshipNorge, and the plane N 25. There are also 13 stamps that depict polar bears.Other polar stamps feature images of Svalbard, Jan Mayen, and Antarctica.Several of these stamps have been issued in connection with anniversaries, andhave therefore been a part of a broader public commemoration. However, theyalso have another, more everyday function. To buy a stamp and stick it on aletter is not usually an act of deep national significance. Yet, with their ordina-ry mundane quality, stamps with polar images serve to preserve the polar, cultu-ral icons as memories that are part of Norwegian daily life. They are ‘just there’.

Many commemorative practices are heavily localised. Geographical associ-ation is important if Norway’s polar cultural icons are to live on in the publicconsciousness. A tangible expression of this is the naming of streets. About thirtytowns and cities in Norway have streets and places named after RoaldAmundsen, and the same goes for Fridtjof Nansen. In some instances there isa local connection; Fridtjof Nansen Road in Lysaker is located near Nansen’shome; Roald Amundsen Street in Sarpsborg is near Amundsen’s birthplace.In most cases, however, there is no such prior connection. Instead, the namingof streets demonstrates the will of local communities throughout Norway toplace themselves in the national, heroic universe created by these great men.

Politicians have exploited polar narratives to promote their policies. In 1993the Norwegian government used the following argument to win popularsupport for polar research. ‘Norway has been a pioneer in the exploration of thepolar regions. After a long series of unsuccessful expeditions by several nationsin the 19th century, often with tragic consequences, it was Fridtjof Nansen andRoald Amundsen who in large measure demonstrated how successful polarexpeditions should be conducted. Their expeditions have been used and furtherdeveloped by other Norwegians. These traditions form a part of our culturalheritage.’ However, it is unlikely that in our own time we will see measures


like the one passed in 1928 by a local school board in Northern Norway, which,by a vote of 17 to three, resolved ‘to obtain pictures of Roald Amundsen andLeiv Erikson to hang up in all the classrooms’.

Skiing has been an important means of transportation for Norwegian polarexplorers. At the same time, skiing has become a central element in theNorwegian national consciousness. There are clear tracks leading from polarnationalism to sports nationalism. Nansen wrote that ‘skiing is the most nation-al of all sports’, and maintained that ‘we have what it takes to tolerate the cli-mate better than most other people, and our skiers exhibit a superiority thatis quite significant.’ When Norwegians received several medals in the first winterOlympics ever in Chamonix in 1924, the newspaper Idrætsliv (Sports Life) wrotethat ‘We Showed the World the Winter Way.’ This has since become a familiarexpression in Norway.

Polar history and winter sports became firmly intertwined when OlavBjaaland, who went with Amundsen to the South Pole in 1911, lit the Olympictorch in Morgedal before the Oslo Olympics in 1952. According to a traditi-onal myth, Morgedal, in Telemark, is considered the cradle of skiing. At theOlympic stadium, the torch was passed to Egil Nansen, Fridtjof ’s grandson.The connection between the North Pole, the South Pole, and Norwegian skiinghad never been so clearly and symbolically linked. This theme was rekindledthe next time Norway hosted the Winter Olympics, in 1994. On that occa-sion it was Princess Märtha Louise who lit the torch in Morgedal. Then, theNorwegian Olympic Committee wanted to commemorate the heritage of thepolar heroes by supporting Monica Kristensen’s project of bringing homeAmundsen’s tent from the South Pole, and using it for the opening of the games.The Prime Minister regarded Roald Amundsen’s tent as ‘a Norwegian nation-al treasure and a symbol of international discoveries’, and the state-owned oilcompany Statoil provided six million kroner in support of this concept. Whenthe cultural program for the Lillehammer Olympics was being developed, clearparallels were drawn between contemporary skiing and the polar traditions. ‘ForNorwegians, skiing across an ice flow and taking a victory lap are old, familiarsports [...] What these two things have in common is the challenge; manmeasures his strength against nature. This theme runs through our history fromthe Vikings and Nansen to the epic oil adventure in the North Sea.’

On January 20th, 2006, Børge Ousland and South African Mike Horn left CapeArtichesky, the northernmost point in Russia. Their goal was to be the first toreach the North Pole in the winter darkness, and then watch the sun rise atthe pole. At 90° N, about two months later, Ousland said that ‘this trip has beenso tough that I think it’ll be a long time before somebody tries to emulate us.’

The nature of today’s polar expeditions can be viewed as a normal exten-


sion of recent developments. The trips have become increasingly long andchallenging, and there have been more and more explorers out to break records.Greenland has been traversed lengthwise. The Arctic Ocean has been crossed.In Antarctica somebody has travelled between the two geographic points thatare farthest removed from each other. Even so, while Ousland and his SouthAfrican fellow traveller put themselves through one of the era’s great polar testsof manhood, the Norwegian media were conspicuously silent. Even thoughOusland appeared live from the pole on Norway’s most popular talk show, themedia coverage cannot be compared with the 1990s coverage of polar races.The explanation may be that this time the element of international competi-tion was missing, and consequently the event lacked sufficient drama. It isprobably just as significant that polar races simply do not have the same newsvalue that they once did. We have had our fill, and we do not quite grasp whatthe ‘next great challenge’ or ’the last polar trophy’ is.

It is interesting, nonetheless, that while these men were struggling with highlatitudes, polar bears, and darkness, Norwegian newspapers were filled withanother polar story: the new government’s report on the Arctic. New and differ-ent signals were issued regarding permission to drill for petroleum in the BarentsSea and other northern waters. A wave of optimism about the Arctic swept overNorway. Conflicts between oil extraction and environmental protection seemless problematic than they once were, and confidence in Norwegian techno-logy appears to outweigh the fear of oil spills in vulnerable, fish-filled waters.

This could be a coincidence. However, one has to ask oneself whether thisis not also an expression of change in the priorities of Norway, ‘the polar nation’.Simply put, when it comes to the ‘polar regions’, Norwegians nowadays maybe more preoccupied with how they will harvest their share of nature’s abundantriches, rather than with the cultivation of polar heroes.

into the ice

Documents

polar explorer

usanorwegian polar history

leading polar nation

modern polar expeditions

history of norway

legendary polar journeys

department of history

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