For one man to have conquered the Northwest Passage, the North Magnetic Pole,
and the South Pole is almost beyond imagination, yet Roald Amundsen
accomplished all three in less than 10 years in the early 20th century. What
enabled this unassuming Norwegian to achieve such feats? In this interview, the
noted polar historian Roland Huntford says it was something—indeed, many
things—in the Norwegian character that made Amundsen the man to secure
some of the final trophies in the race to explore the planet. "After him,
what's left?" says Huntford. "Only the moon."
A youthful ambition
NOVA: For 400 years men had thrown themselves at this challenge of the
Northwest Passage. When Amundsen was a child in the 1870s, how was this epic
place and challenge viewed?
Huntford: In Amundsen's day, the challenge of the Northwest Passage was in a
sense the beginning of modern times. It was one of the last of the great
geographic goals, and it ushered in the last chapter of the final discovery of
the Earth.
NOVA: For a boy like Amundsen, how much of an iconic story was the Franklin
disaster?
Huntford: The Franklin story was one of these romantic tales that has the power
to grip people, especially adolescents and, dare I say it, women, because it
had this wonderful sense of self-sacrifice. Amundsen reacted to this in the way
you would expect. He says in his autobiography that he was so inspired that he
too wanted to suffer for a cause in the frozen north. He had the insight,
though, to understand in retrospect that this was very much part of adolescent
mania.
However, it wasn't the ultimate disaster of Franklin that he was talking about.
He was talking about the other expeditions, where Franklin survived and
discovered parts of northern Canada and had earned the sobriquet of "The Man
Who Ate His Boots."
NOVA: What was this mini polar academy he set up for himself as a young man?
What does it tell you about who he was?
Huntford: Amundsen's childhood and adolescence tell you a great deal about what
he was. One of the things you have to understand is that Amundsen's psychology
is one that is very strange to Anglo-Saxons. He is the typical great man from a
small country. So he has this feeling all the time of being, as one of the
Norwegian poets put it, "like an eagle in a cage that can't get out."
I think that Amundsen had this sense of inner greatness from childhood, and he
was subconsciously looking for a challenge. Consider where he was living: in a
sparsely populated country where natural and untamed country was outside your
door. It was natural for him to look to the great outdoors for the challenge
that would drive him. And he grew up when modern skiing was being developed in
Norway, so from childhood he was always running around on his skis, usually in
almost deserted country. He could go skiing for an afternoon after school and
perhaps not see another human being. This led naturally to an interest in the
Arctic.
Why the Arctic? Well, Amundsen's feelings really expressed something that was
going on in Scandinavia in general, Norway in particular. The country was
looking for some great deed to do.
NOVA: What was he doing during that time, do you think? What physical tasks was
he giving himself?
Huntford: Amundsen seemed to be preparing himself for great things in the
Arctic from a very young age. This is quite extraordinary, because in any
country in any age, it's very rare to find a person who is preparing himself
for his life's work practically from childhood. However, there is an
illuminating comparison, and that is the artist. If you take the great artists
of the Renaissance in Italy, they were preparing themselves from childhood.
“There is no virtue in suffering, and the real hero avoids
suffering.”
The comparison is apt, because Amundsen was an artist in action. He had the
psyche and personality of an artist, and his work was his exploration. Like a
real artist, he was virtually free of personal egotism: he wanted his work to
be admired, not his person.
In Nansen's footsteps
NOVA: What was so revolutionary about what his countryman the polar explorer
Fridtjof Nansen was doing?
Huntford: Of course, even artists have to have a model, and one of Amundsen's
great models was Nansen, who basically founded modern polar exploration. Nansen
revolutionized modern exploration by turning it into a matter of technique and
technology. The heart of that revolution was the application of skis to polar
exploration.
If Amundsen is to be believed, the incident that inspired him to become a polar
explorer and indeed to be the first man to navigate the Northwest Passage on
one keel was when Nansen returned to Oslo in 1889 after his first crossing of
Greenland, which he had accomplished in 1888. The first crossing of Greenland was
another of these last great geographical goals, and what Nansen had done there
was to show that crossing Greenland—in fact, polar exploration—was
no big deal. It was just another ski tour.
This leads to another very interesting difference between Amundsen and
explorers from other countries. Nansen was a hero, and, of course, Amundsen
also wanted to be a hero. (This is not inconsistent with his being an artist;
you can be a hero and an artist.) But what kind of hero?
The English hero, particularly Franklin, is the romantic hero, and it is always
associated with suffering. But the kind of hero that Nansen was, the kind of
hero that Amundsen aspired to be, and the kind of heroism that is embedded in
the Scandinavian psyche, is the diametric opposite. The hero is the survivor.
It's the Homeric hero, in the wonderful opening words of the Odyssey:
"Tell me, o muse, of the man of many wiles."
That kind of hero is the man who doesn't punish himself but uses his cunning
and his intelligence to avoid trouble. There is no virtue in suffering, and the
real hero avoids suffering. A later explorer put it this way, that "adventure"
is a sign of incompetence. This just about sums up what Amundsen and his kind
were and were not.
Working with nature
NOVA: There's also a difference in the attitude to nature that this new school
of exploration exemplifies, isn't that right?
Huntford: Yes, it's another very important aspect of Amundsen, his attitude to
nature. Whereas the English attitude—and, in fact, that in most other
countries—is that man is outside nature, the Scandinavian view is that
man is part of nature. Nature is not an enemy to be conquered. Rather she is a
phenomenon that is neither good nor bad; you simply have to know how to work
with her.
The English explorers, for example, regarded nature as an enemy to be fought as
if in war, whereas the Scandinavians felt nature is a friend with whom you must
ally yourself. Admittedly, she is a founding member of the Dirty Tricks
Brigade, but nonetheless you must learn to work with her. This was the great
lesson that Nansen taught, because his great innovation on the first crossing
of Greenland was to work with nature. This comes very naturally to a skier,
because the skier has to work with the snow, so he has an unadorned connection
with nature.
The other thing that Nansen launched was the concept of the small expedition.
He only had five companions with him on the Greenland crossing. This was the
diametric opposite of what Western polar exploration was up till
then—safety in numbers. Nansen proved that it was better to have fewer
people because, first of all, it was easier to lead a small group. Secondly,
the possibilities of tension within the group were reduced. Finally, it is very
difficult, if not impossible, to cultivate a sense of identity with nature if
you are in a large group of human beings.
NOVA: Was Nansen's position, then, the polar opposite of the idea expressed in
Victorian paintings—of man commanding the landscape?
Huntford: If you look at Victorian paintings, you will find that when you have
pictures of the natural world, men dominate. You have a huge figure of a man in
the foreground, as if he is commanding the natural world. The Norwegian artists
took entirely the opposite view. When you have people, they are tiny in
comparison with the enormous landscape around them.
“Norwegian explorers are always looking for the silver lining, even
if it is the sun shining for a nanosecond in a blizzard.”
This has lasted to our day. I saw an amateur photograph not long ago that
consisted mostly of snow-covered mountains; in fact, the photograph was a mass
of white snow. The only relief was a ski track, and at the end of the ski track
was a tiny, tiny dot, which on closer inspection turned out to be a skier. The
title of that picture was simply "The Human Insect." To me that expresses the
Scandinavian attitude to nature in a way that no words can.
In other words, you have a proper respect for nature. And the other side of it
is, you are never surprised by any dirty trick that she plays on you. Again
this is the diametric opposite of the English in particular, who expect nature
always to do their bidding and always to produce good weather. Amundsen and his
kind would regard good weather simply as a bonus in an otherwise unforgiving
world.
NOVA: Is the lesson here that in these two attitudes toward nature, one plans
for success while the other plans for failure?
Huntford: Whereas the English kind, if you like, plans for success and is
surprised when things don't happen as you plan, the psychology of a man like
Amundsen would be neutral. He planned neither for failure nor for success; he
planned simply to do what nature allows him. This is a fundamental
difference.
And it has a very interesting corollary. When you look at the reports of
English polar exploration, they always feature the horrendous difficulties and
setbacks they had, and there never seems to be any bright spot. But if you read
Amundsen and the Norwegian explorers carefully, they're always looking for the
silver lining, even if it is the sun shining for a nanosecond in a blizzard.
Size Matters
NOVA: So how did he apply Nansen's concept of smallness to his assault on the
Northwest Passage?
Huntford: The smallness was in two parts. First of all, he wanted a small group
of men, carefully selected and, as far as he could ensure, psychologically
compatible with one another. The other question was the ship. His reading told
him that the waters of the Northwest Passage were foul and full of shoals,
therefore there was safety in smallness. You had to have a small craft with a
shallow draught that if necessary could be "walked" or otherwise manhandled.
That is why he settled on this wonderful ship the Gjøa, which came from
the herring fisheries of western Norway and was only 47 tons. She was basically
a small yacht.
He'd also learned the value of smallness from two other sources. One was his
background both as a skipper in the Norwegian merchant fleet and in the
particular society of Norway that he came from. These produced very good
leaders of small groups, and Amundsen, having great insight, understood that he
could not lead large numbers. His metier was to lead small groups.
He would have also learned this from another stage of his preparation. He went
up to northern Norway and talked to the whaling and sealing skippers up there.
These were absolutely, in every fiber of their being, the apostles of
smallness. They were great individualists, and they worked in small groups.
NOVA: So when they slipped out that night at midnight at the start of the
expedition, what were the hazards that faced them, the nature of what lay
ahead?
Huntford: Amundsen was very conscious at all times of the risks he was facing.
He never underestimated the risks. For that reason, he had a superstitious
distaste of making a fuss on departure. He was afraid of tempting fate, so he
left in what was perhaps a rather operatic way, at midnight, not far from
mid-summer's day. He slipped away from an obscure jetty and sailed down the
fjord to his expedition. We mustn't forget that his finances were a little less
than organized, and he had to get away from his creditors. Nonetheless, what he
was really concerned about was not celebrating before he'd succeeded.
Paying historic debts
NOVA: When he reached Beechey Island [where Franklin overwintered in 1845-46
and where three of his men were buried], how much do you think he was sensing
all that had gone before in that landscape and the cost of error or a misguided
scheme?
“This is proverbial in their culture: to turn back with an
unaccomplished errand is the ultimate horror.”
Huntford: When he came to Beechey Island, Amundsen says he sat out in the night
meditating about these people who had paid with their lives. He was not afraid
of sharing their fate, because he believed that he was of a different kind. But
he was very, very conscious of paying his historic debts. That's why he always
used to say he was not going to accomplish the Northwest Passage, he was
going to complete the Northwest Passage, which other people had
pioneered before him.
This notion of paying your historic debts is the key to his attitude, because I
think he felt that if he had not paid that debt, if he had not sat there in the
Arctic night and meditated, then things would have gone ill with him, because
he would have been overconfident and boastful.
NOVA: What was it like for him when he ran aground off King William Island?
That must have been a terrifying moment.
Huntford: When the Gjøa, shallow of draught as she was, ran aground on
an uncharted shoal, it was probably the most terrifying and doom-laden moment
of the whole expedition. They had to throw valuable cargo overboard, but
Amundsen's real feeling was not one of fear. It was one of fury with himself,
because that incident of running aground was his fault, as he freely admitted.
He should have been sailing with one man in the crow's nest and another in the
chains continually sounding.
He was worried that he'd have to turn back with an unaccomplished
errand—which, incidentally, is one of the worst things that a Norwegian
could know. This is proverbial in their culture: to turn back with an
unaccomplished errand is the ultimate horror. But the dominant feeling was
self-anger, self-contempt, and when they finally got through, which they did by
a combination of using the wind and tide and current and all the tricks that a
sailor knows, he then says never again will he sail those waters without one
man in the crow's nest and another sounding.
Learning from the Inuit
NOVA: Later, when he encountered the Inuit, what did he see around him? What
would he have realized he was witnessing at that moment?
Huntford: That first moment when he met those Eskimos was a moment of
tremendous emotional turmoil, because he'd prepared himself—he'd tried to
learn some of the Inuit language—but suddenly he was brought face to face
with these people. On the one hand it was the realization of a wish. On the
other it was both confusion, because of meeting somebody of a completely
different kind, and a bit of fear, because he had no illusions, and the Inuit
can be violent—history tells you this. So he was in a state of total
confusion.
NOVA: After the initial shock, though, what did he begin to understand? What
was the importance of the skills he began to get the Inuit to teach him?
Huntford: After his original confusion, Amundsen proceeded to accomplish a plan
that he'd conceived when he first thought of going on the Northwest Passage,
and that was he wanted to learn all he could about survival and travel in the
polar region from the Inuit. He very soon simply used them as technical
teachers, because he had discerned that the polar Inuit were a highly
technological tribe, and he knew that polar travel was a highly technological
occupation. This was his real university, and the Inuit were his professors.
Now, he had brought with him two very important technical devices. The one was
the ski, which is a highly technological object. The other was the primus
stove, which was a comparatively recent invention, a Swedish invention. This
was the invention that extended the range of unsupported travel, and therefore
was the one that in a sense founded modern exploratory travel.
But that's about all. What he had to learn from the Inuit was how to travel
with dogs and sledges, and especially how to dress for a cold climate. On that
last point he rapidly discovered that all preconceived ideas from civilization
were wrong. You didn't need piles of tight, thick, warm clothing. What you
needed were loose garments, which enabled the air to circulate. What he learned
from the Inuit was that the enemy in polar regions is not cold but warmth. You
must never sweat, because that is the enemy of survival.
You must have continual air circulation, which not only is a very good
insulator, but it dries you, so you don't get clammy. If you get clammy by
sweat, all your insulation is destroyed. There he learned something that the
English explorers had never understood, because when you read their reports,
they say how the Inuit are lazy and they never listen to orders. Amundsen
discovered they're not lazy, they just don't hurry. They don't hurry because if
you hurry, you sweat. If you sweat, your garments become wet and you become
cold.
Another thing he learned was how to travel in very, very cold conditions. One
of the peculiarities of snow is that below a temperature of about -40°C it
becomes rather hard to make anything slide. But the Inuit knew how to deal with
this. They would coat the runners of their sledges with water, sprayed on in
such a way that it formed an elastic layer of ice, and on that you can even
travel on sand, which is what that kind of drift snow's like anyway.
NOVA: Amundsen was not only learning for himself but recording, like an
anthropologist.
Huntford: Yes. He began by observing the Inuit, or living with them, to learn
from them. But at a certain point he crossed over to an academic interest in
their whole culture, and he turned into an anthropologist. Most of his
observations of the Inuit, oddly enough, were not utilitarian; he was just
recording their culture. He turned out to have a natural gift for anthropology,
because he could empathize with these—for want of a better
word—primitive people.
“He rushed up on deck, saw this ship bearing down on him, and
realized he had accomplished the Northwest Passage.”
I think this illuminates another very important aspect of Amundsen's
personality. He was one of those people who is never quite at home in
civilization. They have to get out of civilization, and in a way they have much
more in common with these primitive tribes.
NOVA: Do you think he opened a Pandora's box that led to this population
changing in a way that could never be reversed?
Huntford: Amundsen understood instinctively and regretfully, in a way that most
professional anthropologists do not seem to understand, that by the mere fact
of observing people, you change their nature. He was fully conscious that by
his contact with the Inuit, there was change, in fact, in two directions. They
had definitely changed him for the rest of his life, but in the same way, he
understood that he was destroying their life not only by bringing civilized
artifacts but by the sheer contact, because you cannot be in contact with human
beings, at whatever level, without changing them. He understood that he was
beginning a process that was going to lead to the destruction of their
culture.
A battle won
NOVA: So when his men sighted the whaler and he realized he'd accomplished the
Passage, that must have been an enormous moment for him. How would you
characterize that moment of drama?
Huntford: Well, when they came out into the fairway, which had been reached
from the west, he had accomplished the Northwest Passage. But it didn't really
sink in until the moment when he was resting in his cabin, and he heard the
clatter of feet on deck and the people came down shouting "Vessel in sight!
Vessel in sight!" He rushed up on deck, saw this ship bearing down on him, and
realized he had accomplished the Northwest Passage.
However, it wasn't pleasure that filled him, it was fear, because he knew that
the most dangerous thing that can happen to you is to have your wishes granted,
because you're going to have to pay for it. So it was a tumultuous vortex of
emotion. One thinks of the Duke of Wellington's saying, "Nothing except a
battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won." So it was a very, very
ambiguous moment.
There is another aspect to this, I think. There is a conflict within Norwegian
society, always has been. On the one hand, there is a great admiration for
conspicuous achievement; it's a cultivation of individuality that is rarely
found in other societies. But at the same time, there is a jealousy and a
mistrust of anything beyond the mediocre. This has been noticed by their own
writers; in fact, Ibsen puts it very neatly in one of his plays. He says that
the Norwegians can only unite on one thing, and that is every great man must be
toppled and stoned.
NOVA: So in a broad context, what did it mean to have accomplished the
Northwest Passage?
Huntford: The Northwest Passage ushered in the last chapter of terrestrial
discovery. It was, in fact, the last step before the leap into space. When
Amundsen set out on the Northwest Passage, he was a transitional character. He
was helping to close the chapter of terrestrial exploration and open the
space era. After him, what's left? Only the moon.
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