Somewhere in my subconscious self, even so long ago as that, there may have been gradually dawning a hope that I might some day reach the Pole itself.

Certain it is, the lure of the North, the "arctic fever," as it has been called, entered my veins then, and I came to have a feeling of fatality, a feeling that the reason and intent of my existence was the solution of the mystery of the frozen fastnesses of the Arctic.
But the actual naming of the Pole as the object of an expedition did not materialize until 1898, when the first expedition of the Peary Arctic Club went north with the avowed intention of reaching ninety north--if it were possible.

Since then I have made six different attempts, in six different years, to reach the coveted point.

The sledging season, when such a "dash" is possible, extends from about the middle of February until the middle of June.

Before the middle of February there is not sufficient light, and after the middle of June there is likely to be too much open water.
During these six former attempts made by me to win the prize, the successive latitudes of 83 deg.