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National Geographic : 1936 Dec
Contents
FLYING THE PACIFIC of the gorges suggest miniature Grand Can yons. The soil is a deep, rich brown and where there is no foliage it has a reddish purple cast (page 680). Just beyond Kauai, to our left, we see Niihau, but most of it is hidden by low lying clouds. The sun is bright and the clouds below us resemble huge puffs of cotton. RAIN OBSCURES THE SEA Before we realize it we are in a squall and rain shuts out the sea from our sight. The air is rough, but except for an even rise and fall, there is no sign that we are being buffeted. Still it is a different sensation from the steady, even riding we have experienced thus far and, recalling that it is the first flight for the little Hawaiian dynamiter, we look over at him to see how he is taking it. With a blanket drawn over his shoulders, he is sleeping, completely relaxed. We were in the squall for more than two hours and did not see any of the other islands that were on our course. A number of times Captain Tilton climbed the sky to 11,000 or 12,000 feet seeking more favorable winds, but finally we dropped to within 1,500 feet of the water where the air was smoother and we seemed to make better time. Occasionally now we could see the water, the whitecaps, noticeable from this height, indicating the sea was running high. Life on the Clipper was calm. At one time Captain Tilton was reading a news paper in the lounge during his off-watch period. At another, Canaday and Crago were eating lunch and, despite the rough ness outside, they had no difficulty drink ing their coffee and soup. The size of the Clipper ship seemed to make it ride the rough air better than any other plane we had ever flown in. We made three broadcasts during the morning and listeners heard how the Philip pine Clipper was flying serenely out over the Pacific through a squall. About 3 o'clock in the afternoon, we flew out of the squally weather into a hazy, overcast sky. The sun was shining, but its rays were foggy and blurred. Despite the rough weather we were more than half way to our goal. The sun, high in the sky, cast the shadow of clouds on the water and we were fooled several times into thinking land was not far off. Later, what a thrill we experienced when Captain Tilton, after a moment or two of steady gazing, leaned over to Captain Dahlstrom and pointed to what we thought was another cloud shadow! "There's Midway," he shouted. It's a long way off and so flat that we privately believe it is just another cloud shadow that will disappear when we ap proach. Nearer and nearer we fly and now there is no doubt-land is ahead! We drop lower and a foamy reef is beneath us. Inside, in contrast to the darkness of the ocean, we see clear water, suggestive of an artificial swimming pool. Gleaming white sand is visible down through the clear, blue-green water for some distance from shore (page 690). We are over the land now and, even so, how small a spot it is in all this great ex panse of ocean! The main island (Sand Is land) is a mere five miles in circumference. BIRDS, AND A CABLE STATION On the lagoon side, we make out twelve or fifteen yellow buildings topped by red roofs, radio antennae, two water towers, and a pier running out into the water. There is little sign of foliage. We swing down to the far end of the island and it seems alive with birds. Midway is a Gov ernment sanctuary for them, we are told (pages 667, 686, 692, and 693). Turning back, we fly over an area thickly grown with trees on the other side of the island. There is located the Commercial Cable Company station, we learn, its repre sentatives having occupied Midway for more than thirty years. Captain Tilton signals that we are to land. Everyone takes a seat. Swiftly we come-gently we hover-splash, skip, splash-swoosh! Our second leg outbound is completed. The Philippine Clipper is at home on the waters of the sparkling blue and white lagoon at the Midway Islands, Pacific Ocean, 3,708 miles by Pan American route from the mainland of the U. S. A. We taxi in and, as at Honolulu, a boat puts out to attach mooring lines. We are drawn in, our nose snubbed to the barge. Tanned, husky youths come aboard through the forward hatch and greet the crew. They are eager to get mail and news from home. You look in wonder at these chaps who willingly maroon themselves out here for six months at a time. It is splendid ad- 685
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