In 1914 I managed to get sufficient means to buy my first aeroplane for use in Arctic exploration. As an independent means of transport in those vast tracts it certainly could not be used where all circumstances seemed to be against it, but, in conjunction with a mother-ship, would be of invaluable service. It was therefore my intention to take it on board the “Fram,” which at that time was ready to begin its journey north, and there to use it in the best possible way. What immense areas would it not be possible to observe in an Arctic trip if one only was able to rise a few thousand yards? By what I had seen of the ice I was certain one could always find flat places to rise from and to land on. But later experience showed me that it takes an aviator to express an opinion about landing conditions amidst Polar ice, and not an Arctic explorer. What the second considers to be a flat plateau can be absolutely useless in the opinion of the first. My first aeroplane was a Farman biplane mounted on skis. We scarcely could have got any benefit from this. Later years’ experience shows me that. The war broke out in the meantime and put a stop to that part of my program. But then, as so often later in life, I experienced the fact that an apparent obstacle often had the opposite effect. Flying technique at that time took enormous steps forward; the child shot up, grew, and learned to move on its own account. In 1921 the world’s record for the longest sojourn in the air reached about twenty-seven hours on a Junker machine in America. It was a monoplane, built entirely of aluminum, and therefore specially suitable for working in the Polar regions. Sun, cold, snow, and rain would not hurt it. I was living at that time in Seattle, Washington, where “Maud” lay, being equipped for a new journey north. As soon as that news reached me my decision was made. Such a machine I must have at all costs. With such an apparatus the impossible would become almost possible. The door to the Unknown seemed to me to be opening, but my hopes were dashed and the door remained locked for many years still. The machine at last was obtained and Lieutenant Omdal appointed to be its pilot. In May, 1922, we decided, as soon as we had learned to know the machine, to fly from the works in New York over America to Seattle. The engine failed as we were over the town of Marion in Pennsylvania, and we had to make an irritating forced landing in the Oil Fields. The machine was entirely ruined; a new one was hastily ordered, sent through America by rail just in time to be taken on board the “Maud.” Simultaneously the well-known American Curtis Aeroplane Factory put at our disposal a small reconnoitring machine. Therefore, as the “Maud” sailed in 1922 she was completely equipped, not only for a trip through the ice, but also for exploration from the air. The Curtis machine should be used for reconnoitring and accompany “Maud” all the time. I promised myself endless results from it.