I Let Down My Guard

Tuesday, June 2, 1100 hours. I have made up my mind. Weather reports are good over the whole route. Even though I could wish for a better wind here for my take-off, I am going to chance it. Everything is ready, gas tanks, expanding and overflowing—517 U.S. gallons, 12 more than I first planned, 72 extra pounds! Are these the pounds that will not let 110 Let's Fly off the runway? Or are these the extra gallons needed to break the record? Time to wind up now and taxi out.

We are at the end of the runway, wheels right at the edge so I'll have every inch of those 6,000 feet. I'll need them. I have misgivings. There does come a point when an airplane simply will not fly. Over 3,000 pounds of gasoline! Will she do it? The wind is swinging fitfully, often at right angles to my take-off. If only it would turn north! Well, here we go....

1115 hours. Just a short note of appreciation—oh! of gratitude, that's the word! We had no trouble at all getting air-borne. One bad instant when the air speed dropped from 120 to below 100—panic! I thought the throttle had slipped, but it was only that fickle wind. It went right back up to 125, and then I lifted her off—that dreaded ditch and culvert beyond the runway slid safely past; we cleared the eight-foot fence with lots of room; we climbed 500 feet per minute and I felt so good I just couldn't help acting smart—I pulled her up even more into a climbing turn! Now we're over the ocean at 300 feet, setting our course for Trinidad....

Wednesday, 1300 hours. A day, a night and half a day are gone. All's well; we are coming up on Trinidad. The day is hot and humid, and the air is full of haze. Now and then I hit rain; I long to stick my head into it; I am baking here in this cabin, and I am thirsty....

There's the shore line—trees! Piarco, the field where I must be identified, is on the radio; I tell them I have sighted the shore; they clear me to come down to 500 feet for a low pass over the field. I reply that I am at treetop altitude and may I stay there?—I don't want to have to climb....

This cabin is a busy place now. I am trying to tell Piarco where I am; they are trying to tell me where to go. The chatter is continuous. My ADF points straight ahead to the beacon—there's the field! I burst out over the trees, get one quick glimpse of hangars, planes, people waving; I cut as close to the tower as I dare—now they are gone again. Did they see me? Yes—here they are: "You are positively identified.... Good luck!" And already I am over water again; now I can take a northerly heading. I feel happy and satisfied.

1900 hours. Oh, for a drink of water! I flew through a couple of rainstorms and tried to catch some water in a cup—no good. At 120 miles per hour it is atomized. My coffee is all gone; my tea has turned rancid. It smells so badly it almost turns my stomach; shall I throw it away? No, better keep it; I still have a long way to go....

2200 hours. Am having trouble getting bearings. Those hazy skies ahead must be full of thunderstorms—the ADF is pointing here, there and everywhere, picking up static. I am somewhere near Jamaica, but where? I'm beginning to feel uneasy; this would be an awful time to get lost.

0100 hours. The sunset is unbelievable. I am in a pool of stillness, golden stillness, and below me the white furrows of the sea rush past, giving me a feeling of speeding westward. Ahead is a line of storms, thick columns curtained with rain; behind me an enormous thunderhead fills the sky, a blazing golden mountain. I dream in beauty, I fly in utter calm and peace. For the first time in 38 hours the air is smooth and gentle, I can relax....

Sunrise, Thursday morning. In 30 years of flying I don't think I have ever spent a more terrible night. I let down my guard at sunset, I forgot the danger of getting lost, I dreamed along in that unbelievably beautiful air. And then the darkness hit me like a pall. I suddenly realized that I didn't know where I was. There were storms everywhere. I couldn't get any bearings. Was I over Yucatan? Or Guatemala? I didn't know. But I could feel mountains, out there in the dark. So I climbed. It was a panicky feeling. I turned back, headed northeast, then northwest again and finally found myself with a bearing on New Orleans.