At 10 a.m. on August 17, Andrée ordered Ornen deflated. On the 20th, Virgo set sail for Gothenburg. Once back in Sweden, Andrée prepared for an 1897 attempt with vigor. Although most of his funds had already been used, he had little trouble attracting new subscribers. Stockholm businessman Axel Burman offered 10,000 kronor, while his old backers–Baron Dickson, Alfred Nobel and the king–promised the rest. The Swedish government offered the services of the gunboat Svensksund to escort the expedition.

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Ornen's gasbag was sent to Paris to be enlarged. The envelope was expanded through its midsection by adding a 3 1/2-foot layer, increasing Omen's perpendicular diameter to 100.25 feet and its capacity by an additional 10,000 cubic feet.

Ornen's new dimensions caused a serious rift among the expedition's personnel. Nils Ekholm argued that the 1896 Ornen leaked too much gas after being inflated at Spitsbergen, and the new version with its increased size would simply leak more gas–too much to maintain a built-in security margin. With growing misgivings, the meteorologist declined an invitation to join the 1897 expedition.

Saloman Andrée had little difficulty in finding a replacement for Ekholm–applications poured in. Andrée chose Knut Fraenkel, a 37-year-old engineer, as Ekholm's substitute.

On May 18, 1897, Andrée's second polar expedition left Sweden aboard Svensksund. The trip was comparatively easy with little ice encountered until reaching Danes Island on May 30. Breaking the ice with its heavy prow, the gunboat cleared a path into the harbor for the more fragile Virgo. By late afternoon Andrée delightedly found the balloon hangar to be in good condition after a year of Arctic storms. Within two weeks the equipment was ashore and the hangar further strengthened.

By June 22, Ornen was ready for inflation. A hydrogen generator pumped gas into its slowly billowing envelope. Workmen varnished the seams, then crawled into the balloon's lower opening to varnish the inside. The envelope was tested by laying strips of white linen impregnated with lead acetate over the bag, then searching for hydrogen leaks where the linen turned black.

June days stretched into July with little change in the wind patterns. Andrée was determined to go aloft after a July 15 deadline, even if the winds were less than southerly. Suddenly, at 3 a.m. on July 11, a puff of breeze tugged at the still surface of Danes Island's Virgo Bay. The wind was south-southwest. By 9 a.m., clouds scudded toward the north with a speed that suggested brisk upper air currents. Andrée's crew sprang into action. The northern wall of the balloon hangar was quickly dismantled as the aeronauts pored over lists of supplies stowed in Ornen's carriage. Strindberg, the photographer-scientist, snapped several photos of the balloon as it tugged at its moorings, then he entrusted the plates and a last letter for his fiancee to a French observer.

At 2:30 p.m., Andrée signaled his ground crew to cut the ropes. The balloon dipped as a southerly gust swept it away from its hangar. In moments, it soared to a height of 300 feet. A sailor from Virgo suddenly shouted, 'The drag lines are lying here on the shore!' Andrée's trailing ropes, designed to provide drag and maintain altitude, had somehow become disconnected from the balloon. Nothing could be done–Andrée was on his own.

As the startled spectators from shore looked on, a vagrant air current forced the bag seaward. The wicker carriage brushed the dark, frigid waters of the bay. Fraenkel quickly clambered into the rigging to adjust the sails, while Strind berg and Andrée heaved 42-pound sandbags overboard. Ornen rebounded with the adjustments, then climbed to an altitude of over 1,000 feet. Sailing over the farthest reaches of Spitsbergen, the balloon was soon a speck against the clouds.

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