Over the Top

While the eyes of the world were sweeping the Atlantic, anxious, fearful of the fate of two flying Germans and an Irishman, a tiny plane droned its way across the unknown waste and terror of the Arctic. Impervious to disappointment, danger, tragedy, Capt. George Hubert Wilkins and Lieut. Carl Ben Eielson took off unannounced from Point Barrow, Alaska, came down for five dismal days on uninhabited Doedmansoeira (Dead Man's Island), arrived last week triumphant at the haven of Spitzbergen.

Briefly, a message from Spitzbergen announced that man had for the first time flown over "the roof of the world" in an airplane. Who sent the message no one knew, for the single wireless operator of this freezing colony of miners and trappers, was killed in an accident weeks ago and the new one had not yet arrived. Perhaps it was Capt. Wilkins himself, announcing success after three years of struggle, three attempted flights, five smashed planes, the death of one man during all of which turmoil Commander Richard Evelyn Byrd flew from Spitzbergen to the pole and back again and the Amundsen-Ellsworth expedition flew all the way across in the opposite direction in a dirigible.

"No foxes seen" said the cryptic message received from Capt. Wilkins by Dr. Isaiah Bowman, director of the American Geographical Society. It meant there was no land between Point Barrow and Spitzbergen and put an end to the fond dream of a vast continent in the "blind spot" of the Arctic.

No trip could be more difficult or more hazardous. Because of the constant variation of the compass in such close proximity to the magnetic pole, navigation is a matter of genius. Because the vast area is unexplored, landing in case of emergency becomes a matter of prayer. No ship patrols the frozen reaches of the Arctic; no lighthouse points the way. Said Commander Byrd: "I congratulate him most heartily." Added Lincoln Ellsworth: "My hat comes off to the pluck of a brave gentleman."

The dangers of the 2,200-mile trip, slightly south of the North Pole on the Greenland side over a region never before seen by articulate man, particularly beckoned to Capt. Wilkins. He finally made it in 20 1/2 hours of flying time, in a small Lougheed Vega plane capable of a sustained speed of 135 miles an hour. His record indicates that he would have made the trip had it taken forever.

In 1925, Capt. Wilkins--Australian adventurer, photographer in the Balkan War, cameraman for Stefansson in his North

Pole dash, World War flier, second in command of the ill-fated Shackleton expedition to the South Pole--induced the American Geographical Society and the Detroit Aviation Society to back an east-to-west flight over the North Pole. This was before either Byrd or Amundsen reached the Pole from Spitzbergen.

Wilkins started for Alaska in the winter of 1926, heading what was then called "the most scientifically planned and thoroughly equipped Arctic expedition ever assembled." His twin objects were "new lands for the United States and an airway across the top of the world." Furthermore, he wanted to prove that an airplane costing about $25,000 had a special utility of its own as against an airship costing about $500,000.

Wilkins spent the entire year 1926 in failure. In January one of his planes, just completed at the Ford Airport in Michigan, was destroyed by fire. In March another of his planes was damaged landing on the Yukon. The very next day his third and last plane damaged its landing gear on its test flight. Palmer Hutchinson, a Detroit newspaperman accompanying the expedition, was then killed by a whirling propeller.

Meanwhile Wilkins was repairing one of his planes, the Alaskan. On April 7, he set out from Fairbanks, penetrated far into the north, came back. Lieut. Eielson was with him on this first aerial thrust into the Arctic; he has been with him ever since.

On April 15, Wilkins set out again; this time he was "lost" 13 days, but came back with the announcement that he was set for the big flight. And then, on May 6 he wrecked his plane while attempting to take off at Fairbanks. He returned to the U. S., discouraged, but more determined on success than ever.

Early in 1927, Capt. Wilkins and Lieut. Eielson sailed for Alaska with two Stinson planes and a Fokker. Their first important flight brought them down in the Arctic, and they saved their lives only by breaking up a plane and building sledges out of the wooden parts. Again Capt. Wilkins returned to the U. S. and again he returned to Alaska. He announced once more that he would make the flight to Spitzbergen, starting early in April. Finally, he set out. . . .

During these dreary preparations and despite the set of the Wilkins jaw, skepticism grew that he would ever make his flight. Still, the newspapers had plenty of time to prepare "obits," or explanatory biographical stories, on every phase of his adventure, so that when he finally did succeed the New York Times was able to devote to aviation 23 of its first 25 columns of news, spreading over six pages.