Byrd and Igloo: A Polar Adventure: Chapters 3–4

The sweater felt bulky and cumbersome, and it somehow seemed wrong for any self-respecting dog to have to wear it.

But it did fend off the bitter Arctic air that chilled his bones. And all of the men were wrapped up in warm winter clothes, too. So Igloo grudgingly accepted it.

There was a flurry of nonstop action on deck, and Igloo didn’t want to miss out.

Byrd politely asked Amundsen to help make arrangements for the Chantier to be moored to the only dock in the harbor.

The wind felt raw and snow fell steadily, accumulating chilly, thin layers on their backs.

By early morning the makeshift raft was built.

The snow was falling harder now and the ice floes were getting thicker in the water.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the wing was secured to the fuselage.

Luckily, Byrd received some much-needed help from Norwegian Captain Astrup Holm, whose cargo ship the Hobby was being chartered by Amundsen and was nearby.

Together, using boat hooks, ice picks, and sheer brute force, they chopped the ice and shoved it out of the way, carving out an opening and exposing the deep black water.

But Igloo was on the raft with Byrd, giving his full support to the endeavor. It was slow going. Many of the men had never rowed a boat before, and one was using his oar backward.

“It surely was a muscle-tearing job for them to get the plane and equipment up to the top of the long incline through the deep snow.”

Although he was stoic and uncomplaining, Igloo was sent back to the anchored ship where he warmed his paws by the heat of the stove in Cook Tennant’s galley.

May 3 was a day of reckoning for Byrd.
“Bennett and I were not half so worried about breaking our necks on the polar ice as we were about smashing our plane on the takeoff,” Byrd said.

The plane’s motors roared to life and it jetted down the icy runway. Suddenly, there was an ominous silence, and the plane skidded uncontrollably right into a snowdrift.

He and Bennett flew the plane for two hours in a test run. They were happily surprised there was low gas consumption. This meant there was a good chance they could make a nonstop, round-trip flight to the North Pole and back.

Haines, who everyone called “Cyclone,” was always calm, slow, and methodical—unless there was an emergency.

His skill as a meteorologist was critical to Byrd’s success. If the weather report was wrong, it could spell disaster for Byrd and Bennett.

It circled around and lowered itself to the ground by its hangar on the snow-covered hill, right behind Byrd’s runway and two hundred yards from his airplane.

“I knew that if the landing apparatus would stand the strain,” Byrd said, “we would eventually take off for the Pole with enough fuel to get there.”

The stuff consisted of trinkets, such as flags, pictures, and hats that the crew wanted to make the trip over the North Pole so they would have souvenirs.

Holding his hands on the throttles, Bennett went full speed ahead.

Byrd also had to take into account the compass’s fluctuations in this part of the world. The force of the magnetism isn’t as strong, causing it to fluctuate. And once the plane passed the magnetic North Pole, which was 1,200 miles to the south of the geographic North Pole (the northernmost point on Earth), the needle of the compass no longer pointed to north—it pointed south.

Igloo settled into his life on board the ship on his return to New York, and with the excitement of the North Pole flight behind him, everything else almost seemed humdrum.

When Byrd and Igloo arrived in New York on the morning of June 22, 1926, it was all-out pandemonium. The crowds were cheering wildly, waving flags and hats. It was an earsplitting welcome home, as airplanes flew overhead, ships blew whistles, and fireboats sprayed water like geysers.

Byrd received the Hubbard medal, the highest award, and Bennett received a gold medal “for his distinguished service for flying to the North Pole” with Byrd.

He was not used to speaking in front of thousands of people, and it was an imposing crowd—full of influential political leaders.

Once Byrd was awake, Igloo would snap to attention and watch Byrd perform his morning calisthenics.

One of the best times of day for Igloo was when he and Byrd took a brisk walk along the Charles River Esplanade.

But like the candy Igloo couldn’t resist—Igloo had the uncanny ability to hear crinkling candy wrappers at great distances—the children’s madcap games and adventures proved to be irresistible.

And if Byrd could successfully fly across the Atlantic in a heavy trimotor plane, then he could prove that commercial oceanic flights were not only possible but practical, thereby opening the doors for the development of an airline industry.

Byrd and Bennett also had catwalks added to the outside of the plane so they could fix mechanical problems mid-flight—they would just have to hang on tight.

They knew the outlook was grim. There was too much weight in the front of the plane, and the fuel tank, which was running on empty, was blocking Byrd and Noville from the back of the plane.

Although Charles “Lucky Lindy” Lindbergh had already successfully crossed the Atlantic in a single engine plane all by himself, Byrd’s enthusiasm had not waned despite the fact that Bennett wouldn’t be flying with him.

Replacing Bennett as the copilot was mustached Bert Acosta, a renowned stunt flier and naval reserve officer.

He saw a beautiful bright rainbow, and it seemed to be moving with the plane.
“I could not help but think it was an augury of a good omen,” said Byrd.

“The ice-barrier, the frightful weather, and the lack of animal life are a few of the things that have hampered exploration,” said Byrd.

“Taken together they form almost insuperable obstacles.”

Flying to the South Pole would be more treacherous than flying to the North Pole.

But four months before the first ship was to set sail to Antarctica, Bennett piloted a rescue flight to save the lives of four marooned flyers who had set out to fly across the Atlantic, but were forced to crash-land on Greenly Island in Canada.