The mean temperature during the flight had been -13 °c. N 24 kept beside us with no thought of separating. I tried continually to take the sun but unsuccessfully. The sun was all right, but the horizon was useless. Our plane level was fastened to the sextant (a bulb sextant, of American make). We had used it several times at a trial in King’s Bay, but the results were most unsatisfactory, so much so that we had stopped using it. Therefore I was left to use whatever nature placed at my disposal. But nature was not obliging. There was no horizon. Sky and ice blended into one. Two hours after I had taken soundings at the Amsterdam Islands I got an opportunity to calculate our speed and the deviation. What had happened in two hours? It was exceedingly difficult to say. If one does not get an opportunity to calculate speed and the deviation it is naturally difficult to know the direction of the wind when one comes flying at a speed of 150 kilometers. It was quite clear as we came out of the fog with a few high cirri in the east. About ten o’clock a fine mist crept up from the north, but too high and fine to annoy one. The sun was not quite visible, but from the sun’s position and the compass’s variations it was quite clear that we were well over to the west. There was therefore nothing else to do but to steer eastwards. I have never seen anything more deserted and forlorn; at least I thought we might see a bear or anything to break the monotony a little, but no,--absolutely nothing living. Had I been sure of this condition before, I would have taken a flea with me in order to have life near.