In 82° N. Lat. the fog descended again. The pilot tried for some time to fly under it, and this was a flight which would have delighted people who seek nerve-splitting thrills. The fog came lower and lower till at last it stretched right over the icebergs. With a speed of about 120 miles at a low altitude one gets a new impression of flying. With a rush we passed over the top of the icebergs one after the other. At a great height one does not notice the terrific speed. One is, on the contrary, astonished how slowly one appears to be traveling. Several times icebergs peeped up directly under us, so close in fact that I thought, “We shall never clear that one!” But the next moment we were across it. There could not have been more than a hair’s breadth to spare. At last the conditions became impossible; fog and ice blended into one. We could see nothing. There was another matter as well which was of special weight, namely, the nearness of Spitzbergen. Should we fly into the high cliff walls with a speed of 120 kilometers there would not be much left of us. There was only one thing to do--to fly over the fog and that was exactly what the pilot decided to do. Up 100 meters high--and we were above the fog in brilliant sunshine. It was observable soon that the fog was thinning, it began to lift more and more in big masses, and soon we could see territory under it. It was not inviting; nothing but small ice with a little water. When I speak of the impossible landing conditions it is only to show that to land here would have meant certain death. Such a landing would have crushed the machine and sent it to the bottom. The fog lifted steadily and soon disappeared entirely. It was a fresh southerly breeze which brought about this welcome change. The fog had lain thickest in the south, but now that began to move away as well. Large sections of it tore themselves away from the great mass and disappeared in small driving clouds. Where was Spitzbergen? Had we steered so mistakenly that we had flown to the side of it? It was quite possible. One had no experience in the navigation of the air in these regions. Over and over again the general opinion of the magnetic compass’s uselessness in this district came back to my mind as I sat there. The solar-compass had--as soon as we got the sun--shown a reading in agreement with the magnetic compass, but it was set at ----? At what? If only I knew! There was probably no ground for anxiety, yet I felt dubious. We ought to see land by now. We had not enough petrol to last long--and still no land. Then suddenly a big heavy fog-cloud tore itself away and rose slowly, disclosing a high glittering hill-top. There was scarcely any doubt. It must be Spitzbergen. To the north lay some islands. They coincided with Syvöene and the land stretched out in a westerly direction. But even if it were not Spitzbergen, it was still land--good, solid land. From the islands there stretched a dark strip northwards. It was water--the