Whilst “Maud” went on right into the ice and explored sea, ice and air, Omdal and I went ashore at Wainright on Alaska’s north coast from whence we intended to trek as far as possible into the unknown territory to the north of that Coast, but everything went to pieces. On account of the stormy summer and autumn Omdal and I could not leave the place as arranged, but must build a house and spend the winter there. In May, 1923, we were ready for flight, but already on our first trial flight the Junker broke the whole of its underpart in landing and became so damaged that all hope of repairing it had to be abandoned. Thus we gathered no experience. Things went somewhat better however with the little machine on board the “Maud.” A wireless telegram announced that it had been twice in the air with Odd Dahl as pilot and Wisting as observer, but it was crushed in the second landing. So far as I understand these two flights had not been of long duration; therefore it was scarcely possible to have studied anything of the immense area. It is, however, certain that these two were the first to fly over the actual drift ice. Thus we hear from them, for the first time, of the great difficulties which flying in this district presents. It was impossible from the air to determine the condition of the ice they said; it appeared to be absolutely flat, but it was quite different as results showed. The prospects now were not any brighter. On my return to Seattle I had only my two empty hands and a ruined aeroplane which nobody would have. I did not, however, give up, but continued to work in order to get a new equipment. Nineteen twenty-four passed, up till now, without luck. In September of the same year I went to the Norsk Luftseiladsforeningen (Aero Club of Norway) and proposed that they should work with me; I was received with open arms. Whilst they should try to do what they could at home I should travel to America to see what I could do there. I had already held some lectures on the subject, and sat one morning in my hotel deeply engrossed in reckoning out how long it would take me with my earnings to pay my creditors and start a new flight. The result was not heartening. I found out that if nothing unforseen happened I should be clear by the time I was 110 years old! But see, the unexpected _did_ happen just then. The telephone rang and a voice said, “Are you Captain Amundsen?” (They always called me Captain Amundsen in America, but as all the negro conductors receive the same honor it does not make me proud.) “Yes, I am.” “Well,” continued the voice, “I am Lincoln Ellsworth.” That was how I became acquainted with the man to whom I should later owe so very, very much. The Luftseiladsforeningen (The Aero Club) will certainly agree with me when I say that without his assistance the expedition could hardly have taken place. It is not my intention by this to belittle the great and excellent work which the Club did;