When it's wrong to see it through
I once stood on the peak of mountain with a famous climber who told me there was an important difference between being persistent and being stubborn.
Our group had had an unexpectedly exhausting climb: sleepless, aching and hungry, with weather conditions worsening and a planned descent by an even more challenging route, he revealed he’d decided to cancel the rest of the expedition and we’d be taking a cable car back down. While personally I was thanking God for the cable car – there were some strong objections from others.
“We must finish what we have started – come what may” said some (fitter) team mates.
The cold mist and drizzle swirled around us as the mountaineer explained his rationale:
“In mountaineering there is a difference between being persistent and being stubborn” he said, “And that difference is death”.
We quietly got into the cable car.
This moment has stayed with me -the weighty sense of perspective delivered by someone with impeccable credentials. His intervention helped us re-evaluate goals of a plan in light of new information. Without his interruption our descent would have undoubtedly led to an unacceptable and undesirable level of risk. Someone might have got hurt (probably me).
Stopping something, once you’ve started, is typically frowned upon. Reconsidering – let alone giving up - once a plan is underway is not easily done. Instead we’re encouraged to just keep going. But perhaps we should think more carefully about the circumstances, social momentum and objectives that create unreasonable pressure to persist. Sometimes we need to find a way out.
In my ongoing research into the Explorer’s Mindset, I find the 1897 case of the Swedish polar expedition of Salomon August Andree particularly absorbing. S.A. Andree, as he was known, was an engineer, physicist,, published scientist and for a time a Director in the Swedish Patent Office. He was passionately devoted to new technology.
On July 11th 1897, S.A. Andree, with two young colleagues embarked on an extraordinary expedition to claim the as-yet unconquered North Pole for Sweden. His mode of transport, eagerly funded by the public, sponsors, newspapers, King Oscar II and Alfred Nobel (yes, he of the prize) was cutting edge: the expedition would travel by dirigible hydrogen balloon.
Andree's dramatic plan appealed to his compatriots’ ambitions to lead in Arctic exploration. Sweden had fallen behind politically subordinate Norway whose hero, Fridtjof Wedel-Jarlsberg Nansen had a world leading reputation. It rankled. Andree’s plan to use emerging technology to float over the North Pole and drop a buoy to claim it for Sweden while conducting aerial mapping of as yet unknown Arctic territory engaged their modern imaginations. Andree planned, after his astonishing voyage to land in Russia, Alaska or potentially Canada in a great flurry of celebration. Formal attire including dashing pink cravats were added to balloon’s luggage in anticipation.
Andree was a persuasive speaker. He thrilled the audience of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences with the idea of a balloon-powered polar expedition. He was infectiously and compellingly optimistic: it would easy to construct a balloon capable of staying aloft for the required duration of the voyage (up to 30 days, more than 5 times the expected length of the journey); the balloon could be filled conveniently with mobile hydrogen manufacturing units and be steered with drag-ropes acting as a kind of rudder in a method he had pioneered.
Andree told his credulous audiences the Arctic summer was uniquely suitable for ballooning; the midnight sun would allow geographical and meteorological observations around the clock. Precipitation was unlikely and its risks negligible.
“Precipitation above zero will melt, or below zero will blow off, because the balloon will travel more slowly than the wind”.
Andree’s assertions about the Arctic weather were unchallenged. No one knew any better.
Donations equivalent to about $1m poured in to support the expedition. As news spread, enthralled international readers from Europe and America were also captivated by the idea of an aerial scientific expedition to the North Pole.
But with increasing profile came scrutiny. S.A. Andree was Sweden’s first balloonist and while no one had sufficient knowledge to challenge him at home, in both France and Germany more experienced aeronauts were sceptical of both his plan and its methods. They queried the potential of the balloon to stay aloft for the required time and dismissed the “drag rope” steering method as unfeasible.
Photograph from the 1890s of the Paris balloon factory of Henri Lachambre.
Andree, however, celebrated by sponsors and high profile donors, simply batted aside criticism. He went on with his plan and commissioned a varnished three-layer silk balloon, 20.5 metres (67 ft) in diameter, from a top workshop in the world capital of ballooning in Paris. It was made by stitching together 3,360 silk squares of Chinese silk and had 8.5 miles of seams, each sealed with a varnished silk band. Composition of the varnish was a commercial secret. The balloon, named “the Eagle” was delivered from the workshop o Andree. It was untested.
Launch was scheduled for the summer of 1896 from Danes Island in Norway's Svalbard archipelago in the Arctic Ocean. Such was public support for the expedition, Andree had many volunteers from which to select his crew. He chose a former boss from a previous terrestrial expedition, Nils Gustaf Ekholm an experienced Arctic meteorological researcher and Nils Strindberg, a brilliant young science student and keen amateur photographer. The three received a rapturous send-off from crowds in Stockholm and Gothenburg.
The summer of 1896 however, was a failure. Winds blew from the North directly into the balloon hangar making it impossible to launch. Eventually the attempt was abandoned.
Nils Gustaf Ekholm meanwhile had collected measurements of the balloon’s buoyancy and become increasingly concerned about its ability to retain hydrogen. His records convinced him the balloon was leaking badly - too much to ever reach the Pole, let alone fly beyond it to Russia or Canada. Eight million tiny stitching holes along the seams could not be fully sealed, no matter what the recipe for the varnish. He warned Andrée he would not take part in the next attempt, scheduled for the following summer unless a stronger and better-sealed balloon was bought.
Andrée was bitterly disappointed by the failure of 1896 and it is likely his frustration was exacerbated by several factors:
His polar plan relied on a southerly wind. During the summer, winds had blown from consistently from the North. It is now known northerly winds are to be expected at Danes Island; but in the late-19th century, information on Arctic airflow and precipitation existed only as contested academic hypotheses. His plan was not founded on data.
Scrutiny from sponsors and media was intense. Nationalist expectations ran high. Admitting he had no credible knowledge of Arctic airflows and that there was a significant operational problem with the much hyped technology – the balloon – would spell personal ruin. He had to go on.
As he travelled home to Stockholm, news broke of Nansen’s dramatic return from the daring Fram expedition, which although it had failed to reach the North Pole, had established the furthermost northerly point yet achieved in polar exploration. The prize was still unclaimed but for how long?
Andree, a persuasive speaker under pressure to deliver promised results, had become a prisoner of his own successful fundraising. He had no choice but to go on.
On the boat home Ekholm, an acknowledged expert, learned from the chief engineer of the hydrogen plant that anomalies in his measurements were attributable to Andrée who had secretly ordered hydrogen be topped up without disclosing this to his team on at least seven occasions. Ekholm resigned.
The following summer of 1897, the expedition returned to Dane’s Island. While the balloon had not been replaced, instead of the critical Ekholm, there was a much younger, newly graduated civil engineer called Knut Frænkel. The new expedition crew had spent the winter calculating and recalculating wind velocities, air pressures and altitudes. There had been a lot a theoretical testing of limits and plans.
Finally on 11 July, a wind from the south-west sprung up and Andree, Strindberg and Frankel climbed into the heavy basket. Andrée dictated one last-minute telegram to King Oscar and another to the paper Aftonbladet, holder of press rights to the expedition. The support team cut away the last ropes holding the balloon.
The Eagle moved out low over the water, pulled down by the friction of the drag ropes against the ground and causing the basket to dip into the water. Friction also twisted the ropes causing them, freakishly, to simultaneously unscrew and 530 kilograms (1,170 lb) of rope were suddenly lost. At the same time, in response to the balloon hitting the water, the crew simultaneously dumped 210 kilograms (460 lb) of sand ballast overboard. Suddenly lightened, the balloon rose rapidly to 700 metres (2,300 ft), an unimagined height, where the lower air pressure made the hydrogen escape all the faster through the eight million little holes.
Even before it was clear of the launch site, the Eagle had turned from a purportedly steerable craft into an ordinary hydrogen balloon with a few ropes hanging below it at the mercy of the wind. Its crew had no means to direct it and had too little ballast for stability.
The Eagle disappeared beyond view. Andree, Strindberg and Frankel were never seen alive again.
The frozen remains of the expedition were found, by chance, 33 years later surrounded by warm clothing, food and ammunition and a primus stove that could still ignite. Their cause of death remains one of Sweden’s most enduring mysteries.
From Andree’s diary of the expedition, recovered with his body, it is clear the balloon was out of equilibrium, sailing much too high and thereby losing hydrogen faster than even Nils Ekholm had feared, then repeatedly threatening to crash onto the ice. Free flight lasted only 10 hours and 29 minutes and was followed by another 41 hours of bumpy riding with frequent ground contact before the inevitable final crash. Desk based calculations had originally suggested the balloon would stay aloft for 30 days.
What can we take from this sad tale of optimism and ambition so unfounded as to make one want to shake one’s fist at the page? Of Andree’s blind faith in technology? Of a mistaken priority of theory over any form of data or practice? Is Andree to be praised for his unshakeable persistence in seeking to claim the North Pole for Sweden or was he stubborn and reckless in dismissing criticism and falsely representing the ease of the endeavour?
Ultimately did Andree become trapped in a bind of his own design – incapable of responding to criticism, deceiving himself and those who depended on him and blind to risks inherent in his own behaviour because he believed he could not back out?
My thoughts return to the comments offered by my mountaineering friend. “…there is a difference between being persistent and being stubborn... and that difference is death”.
Still, let us remember them today.
The crew of 1897 and a friend, from left to right: Wilhelm Swedenborg, Nils Strindberg, Knut Fraenkel and S.A. Andree.