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A man is waiting for the wind.

Specifically, he's waiting for a northbound wind. To carry him, his two-man

crew, and their balloon, from an island in the Arctic Ocean, all the way to the North Pole.

They plan to map their journey, note the weather, the ice, and whatever else might be up there,

and continue on their way.

To Alaska, if they're lucky, Russia if they're not.

It's 1897.

For centuries, people have tried to reach the North Pole by boat or by foot or dog sled.

But no one has come close. No one has ever tried going there in a

balloon. Few have even dreamt of anything like this, except one man. Our man, Salomon August

André. He is tall and blonde, with a broad forehead and a dangling feathery mustache.

For the past 20 years, he's spent his spare time flying and studying balloons. He's become an

expert of sorts. Enough that by July 1897, he's confident and ready. The balloon has been

sewed, sealed, and triple-checked. There's extra equipment and plenty of food. Andre has even

packed a tuxedo. For all of the celebratory dinners, he imagines, he'll attend upon landing.

Now they just need that wind. Finally, on the morning of the 11th, clouds blow in from the south.

The wind has picked up. It's time. A gentle snow falls as the three men climb into the balloon's basket.

Andre gives a clear and simple command.

Cut! Out comes a knife. The ropes are severed and the balloon rises.

It catches that northernly wind. The men are on their own now. And all the rest of

...