As soon as the nose of N 24 had been slowly and carefully steered round outside the fjord, I started to look out for N 25. It is surprising how difficult it often is to discover a plane in the air from another one. But at last I saw it, and apparently on board N 25 they were also on the lookout for us. All the circumstances which could possibly arise had been thoroughly discussed before starting and the main thing was, if possible, to keep together. Written orders were therefore not necessary, and only one written order was issued as a guide in case we should be separated, and it read as follows: “In case the two planes and their crews should lose contact with one another, N 24 and its crew shall continue operations under Lieutenant Dietrichson’s leadership as agreed. Lieutenant Dietrichson has the right in the name of His Majesty the King of Norway to take possession of any land that may be discovered.” As we then glided northwards along the west coast of Spitzbergen past the seven glaciers and further past Dansköen and Amsterdamöen, it was certainly our mutual wish that luck would favor us so that we should never lose sight of one another. This wish was strengthened when early in the course of the flight thick clouds and fog met us, forcing us to rise to about 1,000 meters, where we found the sky beautiful, blue and sunny, whilst the fog lay below us like a blanket stretching out northwards as far as the eye could see. The arrangement was that the flight up to the north coast should be considered as a trial flight, and that both planes should return to King’s Bay if everything was not going on all right; but if the contrary was the case, to continue. With a feeling of relief I saw that N 25 continued its course northwards, so that everything on board there must be in order. But shortly afterwards I noticed by the cooling-gauge that the temperature of the water had risen alarmingly. Omdal, always practical, had been prudent enough to fix a bell from my compartment to the petrol-store and to the engine-gondolas, and as soon as I had pressed the button Omdal was beside me. I pointed to the thermometer, which was steadily rising, and Omdal disappeared aft again like a rocket. He is a phenomenon in wriggling round the engines, where (to use a mild phrase) space is scarce. I glanced aft and saw that the radiator blinds were not quite open, but even after they had been opened wide, the temperature continued to rise. The indicator had passed 100° and I felt sure that we would have to make a forced landing. Through small holes in the fog we could see the drift ice below us where a landing would certainly mean a wrecked plane. The temperature rose higher and the last I saw was that it indicated 115°, when the thermometer burst and my hopes sank to zero. I rang again for Omdal, but a little time elapsed before he came, and I judged that he was busy. Meantime I was astonished to see that the engines still went as well as ever.