BYRD’S STORY QUESTIONED

Greymouth Evening Star, 4 December 1929, Page 7

BYRD’S STORY QUESTIONED

NORWEGIAN’S CRITICISM SENSATIONALISM ALLEGED (Sy Came—Press Assn.—Copyright." COPENHAGEN, December 3. Major Tryggve Gran, the explorer and airman, who was a member of Scott’s expedition in 1910, and also of the party that found Scott’s body declares: “Norway must be considered in any claim for sovereignty at the South Pole. It was a Norwegian who first planted a national flag there, and all of the territory from Shackleton’s southernmost point to the Pole itself was christened “Haakon the Seventh Land’ ’ by Amundsen. It was therefore Norwegian territory. If a second country claimed' a portion of Antarctica, it should be Britain, in view of Scott’s enterprise.” Major Gran doos not doubt that Commander Byrd flew over the Pole, but he says: “It is curious that, after 17 years, he observed traces of Amundsen’s and Scott’s camps. Their huts, being snow tbuilt, would crumble away. ” ’ He said that Byrd’s report of Polar mountains seemed mistaken. Ranges existed 250 miles from the Pole, and possibly further south, between Scott’s and Amundsen’s routes; but further south than 88 .degrees. He asserts that Byrd’s whole expedition appears to be a speculation in sensation’s. Major Gran adds-.—“ After the way in which . the Americans are acting, the Polar explorer will no longer have any honourable name —only money ; not’ scientific qualities, nor the yearlong preparations now required to. become an explorer. The terrible mountains which Byrd describes are a fantasy. The land is, on the whole, a plain on which—except for clefts and ravines which must be crossed and got round —the trip might be accomplished on a motor-cycle.”

CONSUL’S COMMENT. CHRISTCHURCH, December “Whatever 'Major Gran’s opinions may be, it is most unfortunate that he gave public expression to them at the present'time,” said Mr. H. P. Bridge, United States Consul at Christchurch, witfan asked to comment on the Norwegian explorer’s criticism of the Pole flight story attributed to Commander Byrd. “I consider his remarks were in very bad taste. lam not able to express a competent opinion on the accuracy, or otherwise, of Byrd’s story, but there is no gainsaying that his flight over the South Pole adds still further to his already formidable list of achievements.”

•NARRATIVE CONTINUED. STAKING ON THE UNKNOWN. BAY OF WHALES, December 2. Continuing his account of-his Polar flight, Commander Byrd says:—“We headed for Axel Heiberg Glacier. We knew that Amundsen bad reported that the highest point of the pass there was ten thousand five hundred feet, with towering peaks on each side, but the question was: Would they be so close together that -the air currents would dash us -to the ground, hovering, as we would be, with one heavy load near the absolute ceiling of the plane, near an altitude where the controls. would no longer function? To the right there was another 'great glacier, which we had seen on our base-laying flight. It looked passable, but was it wide enough? Were there mountains beyond that, which would block us —over which we could not fly? The top of the pass was partly cloud-covered. Would the Axel Heiberg Glacier be entirely cloud-cov-ered? Clouds 'so frequently hover around the tops of these mountains. Even on the clearest days the sun on the bare vertical ricks sends up warm currents, which, striking the cold above, form clouds. Foi’ a while, Bernt and I conferred as to whether he would choose the unknown glacier. If we should fail to get over, and have to turn back down the glacier to get another pass, we could not reach the Pole. The gas would be too low. We would have to turn back to Little America. It seemed a matter for the flip of a coin! We decided to stake our success on the unknown glacier to the right.” “White clouds round the mountains, that bounded the top of the pass to the right and left, merged with the white in the centre of the pass. Was it snow or clouds? And if clouds could we fly above them? Would the clouds stretch over the plateau to the Pole, making flying impossible? We would have to keep out of the clouds while dodging around amongst the mountains for if in the clouds, we would almost certainly collide with a peak. Soon we had passed near our little cache of food and gasolene, being more than a mile above it. It was, of course, too tiny to be seen from our altitude. When we had landed at that base earlier on our previous flight, the mountain range running in an easterly and westerly direction, for about four miles, there had loomed a very large mountain. Now we could see that behind it and- towards the south and south-west, there were towering peaks that made our base mountains look like a pigmy range. We realised forcefully then that it is very little indeed,' that the foot traveller sees. Now, below us, was the ice line of a great glacier, which for a distance was

TERRIBLY CREVASSED. / The cracks were running parallel, looking like a great washing board. It would be a bad landing place. The mountain peaks and formations that were in our view were awe-inspiring in their majesty, and terrible in their colossal shapes, that had been carved into extraordinary jagged and rounded forms by the ice cutting through them for the untold years that the bottom of the world has been in the clutches of the ice age. As we eagerly looked around we felt very insignificant and small among those lofty, eternal peaks which, since the childhood of mankind have symbolised its inspiration. Everywhere we looked, as some formation which probably no living.thing had ever before seen—for this area is the coldest on earth—it was dead; but there was little time for such

thoughts. Our plane was busy—a great contrast to our lifeless surroundings. » > “There was Mac., with his great aerial camera, elated at this opportunity to record for geography the unknown things about him. He was snapping picture after picture, and panting from his strenuous efforts in the rare air of our high altitude. The air dumps were throwing him about as he aimed his fifty pounds camera through the window, but all of it did not prevent him from looking around and smiling at us • occasionally. There was Harold cranking away at the moving-picture camera to get a panorama of the mountains, or dashing over to radio to report our position. A critical time had come now. This was the moment that we had discussed a thousand times. What had been our gasolene consumption? Would we have enough left to reach the, Pole? Would we have too much aboard to climb over the humps? Calmly, even tranquilly, Harold stands examining the gauges of the five gas tanks in the great wing?. Then he unscrews the cap of a tank in the fuselage, and measures, with a graduated stick, the gas left there. Then he cuts open some sealed five gallon tins, and dumps the gas into the tank, so that we can throw the tin overboard. Each can weighs hardly one pound, but every pound counts at this critical ceiling of the plane. He figures for a moment on a pad, and hands me the results with’ a smile. We had enough gas to go beyond the Pole, if we don’t have to dump any away! Then Harold looks at the engines, listens to their humming, and examines the gauges. Harold is as expert a mechanic as he is a pilot and radio operator.

There was Bernt concentrating on his fight to gain altitude —still with uncertainty ahead —for the glacier was a long one, and the lowest point of the pass before us was still above the nose of the plane. Confused air currents from the cliffs had begun to toss our plane about more violently. We could note the tenseness and strain on Bernt’s face as he put himself into the job that he was doing so well. In the . air and on the ground he plays the game always—a true, capable, and dependable man. The air began to get rougher. Bernt hugged the peaks on the lee side of the pass, where the bumps would be more likely to carry the plane up and down. We were getting close to

, THE HIGHEST ALTITUDE that the plane could reach.. A nine thousand foot peak was near us on our right, and the wind from our left was striking it. Being shot upward, it was helping us. We thought the altimeter showed ten thousand feet, but we could not depend on that. The barometer here was likely to read the same as over Little America, because of the local pressure change. Our weight was a bit over thirteen thousand pounds. To the right we saw some deep gorges that surely would mean turbulent air. Bernt, eased over to the left, where there was a long and fairly smooth slope, running up to a peak fifteen thousand feet high. He avoided, the turbulent area, but the down currents here made more difficult the fight for altitude. The ailerons failed to respond, and the wheel turned loosely in Bernt’s hands. Still we were not high enough J.o safely get over the pass ahead. “We saw now., a great plateau through the clouds hovering around the peaks to the right and left. It was a critical moment. The air was too rarified to hold up our heavy , loads. Bernt yelled in my ear, above the roar of the engines; “Must drop 2001bs immediately, or go back!” Harold was standing by the dump valve of our fuselage tank. A little pressure on the valve, and we could let go six hundred pounds of gasolene. If we dumped that gas we could not reach the Pole and get back to the base. Food was the only thing left to throw overboard, but would it be fair to those three fellows if we dumped the precious food? We would be a long time on the plateau if we should have a forced landing. We had the food packed in. 1001 b and 251 b bags near the trap door, ready for quick action. “Bag of food overboard!” I yelled to Harold. He signalled to Mac, who was standing by the trap door. “Shall I do it, Commander?” Mac. shouted. I nodded. Over went one of , the brown bags. Bernt looked around and smiled. That little weight had an immediate effect.' A plane, when it is hovering near its absolute ceiling, is like a balloon. A few pounds overboard will make her shoot up. Things were better now, tut I was not sure that it was fair to those fellows to dump the food. Bernt was easingover to the right.

Luckily, it was clear over the lowest part of the pass. We would get out of the descending currents, and probably be helped by the ascending ones. We were not high enough yet. I looked around. Mac. was hard a,t work with his camera. No matter what would happen, he had to record those mountains! I felt then that if we had gone down in a tail spin, Mac. would have taken pictures on the way down —if there had been time. I might have told Mac. that he would have to throw liis heavy camera overboard to gain altitude. Mac is a true soldier, and lie would have obeyed orders; but I am sure he would have followed his camera through the trapdoor.

“Harold went nonchalantly about his many duties as if it were all in the day’s work. When he listened to the engine, his pleasure plainly showed in his face. The great cyclone and whirlwinds went on roaring sweetly If one of them should step down, we would go to the glacier, unless we could dump many hundred pounds. Very luckily, we had gradually gained more altitude, but not enough. A few hundred feet might now make the difference between success or dismal failure. How much hung up on these few hundred feet! It was very rough now, and Mac and Harold could hardly hold their feet. Very slowly we went up. Suddenly, the wheel turned loosely in Bernt’s hands. “Quick, dump more!” he shouted. I pointed to another bag of food. Mac shoved it through the trap door, and we. watched her hit the glacier. It was 2501bs of food —a month’s supply for four men. It lies out there on that lifeless glacier. Again it did the trick! We seemed to shoot up. We could not let any more food go—nor could we dump gasolene and have any reserve supply left for reaching the Pole. There was nothing more to dump. We must make it. The minutes went very slowly. At last we reached the pass, and we had a few hundred feet to spare. Bernt gave a shout of joy. There wtere not mountains beyond the A plateau stretched away, cloudless and glistening in the sun, giving an unobstructed route to the Pole. We , were over the dreaded hump. The Pole lay dead ahead, over the horizon.”