Oceania - Amelia Earhart - Last Flight

Our course from the coast inland over the Senegal and Niger districts lay almost exactly due east. Loafing along at a trifle under 150 miles an hour, the 1,140 mile journey ended pleasantly in the early afternoon. A third of the way we crossed the River Senegal, and four hundred miles further the scattered lakes and upper reaches of the Niger River with a hilly country to our right. North, perhaps within sight had we known where and when to look, was fabled Timbuctu, four hundred miles up the river from Gao. This outpost of the Sahara has a population of about five thousand Gao remain, chief among them a truncated pyramid and what is left of the tomb of Mohammed Askia and a great mosque, dating back to the seventh or eighth century.

Gao is the terminus of the trans-Saharan motor traffic from the north, a transport of increasing importance. From the city southward the Niger is navigable for over one thousand miles until it empties with many mouths into the Gulf of guinea, where the name "Slave Coast" is reminder of unsavory activities of not so many years ago. In our hasty visit, the beginning and the end of Gao for us was the airport. We wanted the keys of no city so long as the hangar doors were open and the ground crew ready. Always they wee and it was. And always we found my usual calling cards, fifty-gallon drums of gasoline, each with my name printed large upon it in white or red lettering. The exact quantity of fuel, all as arranged months before, waited at each stopping place and additionally at many which changed schedules or leap-frogging eliminated. The first thing we were apt to see as we rolled into any hangar from Caripito to Port Darwin was an orderly group of these "Amelia Earhart" drums, their contents waiting to be consumed by the thirsty Electra. The metal barrels, empty, were left behind as souvenirs.

As usual, our arising at Gao was before dawn, a start made notable by a marvelous breakfast, whose chief d'oeuvre was a mushroom omelet supplemented with cups of fine French chocolate. thence our revised route took us to Fort Lamy about a thousand miles away. this central Africa is a land of generous distances. thousand mile hops seem routine. One quickly becomes accustomed to the feeling that when places are separated by a paltry five hundred miles they may be considered practically neighbors, aeronautically speaking. As a matter of fact at this stage we did no very long long-distance hopping. but even so, four separat4 flights accounted for 4,350 miles. That means a daily stint of about the distance from New York to St. Louis which, cumulatively, without replacement of ship or pilot, is a strenuous schedule, especially if it be but a part of a program with a prologue and an aftermath.

On this day's flying to Lamy and the next, we crossed stretches of country barren beyond words, a no-man's land of eternal want, where the natives cling tenaciously to an existence almost incomprehensible to westerners. First we followed down the Niger river one hundred and seventy miles, checking over the military post at Niamey. Later I learned that French authorities were at the field to receive us. In retrospect I was sorry that I did not drop down to pay a call. but at the time, with the weather treating us well, it seemed wise to press on. Much of the terrain of that portion of Central Africa over which we flew is remarkably like the southwestern part of the United Stat4es. so much so that often it was almost necessary to pinch myself to realize how far from Arizona and New Mexico I actually had strayed. It is, of course, a hot country, with broad stretches of arid desert land, hemmed by regions rough and mountainous. And all beautiful. for from the air the broad views, of whatever country, ever changing, ever shifting in coloring, light and shadow hold beauty which only the willfully blind could ignore.

The difference between this part of Africa that I saw and our own "badland" country lies principally in what humans have accomplished. In these wild lands highways appeared entirely lacking. The rods were mostly trails, crookedly wandering far and wide. And, of course, thee were few of those welcome emergency landing fields of our own "West, and no aviation luxuries like radio beams and lights But at that I sometimes felt that the names on the map might just as well have read "Albuquerque" and "Yuma" instead of "El Birni" and "Abu Zabbad." From a flyer's standpoint, the cross-Africa route, given good weather, is not a difficult one. for much of the way level places for emergency landing are easy to find. Thee are excellent natural airports and creditable service even including first-rate weather forecasting In addition to military flying - the French and British have much equipment stationed throughout northern Africa - there is considerable transport aviation A definite airway stretches eastward from Dakar to Khartoum, where it joins the Cape to Cairo route. But with all that has been done, maps for the most part are far from satisfactory. This desert mid-region is a difficult country, and years of work will be required to map it well. We had the best maps available, supplemented with information from pilots at each stop. but even so, it was not easy going where we had to depend upon them.

Normally over land one utilizes contact flying, b y which is meant following a map with landmarks spotted below. But in a strange country a periodic check of position by celestial navigation can be comforting. In Fred Noonan's judgement finding one's way over Africa was more difficult than over oceans. *

Aviation has come to loom large in the life of these remote posts. In years gone by it took weeks and months to get from one to another, or to the railroads that led to civilization Mostly such travel was by camel. Now a couple of days' flying can link almost any isolated community with the outer world. While familiarity with aviation has bred enthusiasm among the personnel which is served by wings, if there is no contempt at least thee is no wonder about airplanes in the eyes of the natives. once the miraculous man-made birds filled them with awe. today largely, they are accepted as being almost as commonplace as camels or tractors. In my study at home hangs a cartoon that tells the story. A blase and technically informed African native with spear and shield regards a plane winging overhead. Says he: "H'm, a new Lockheed!"

From Zinder the land below our air trail dropped into the broad valley of the Yobe River, the largest western affluent of Lake Chad. Long arms and bayous of brown water backed up across the land. Later i learned that all of this had once been a part of the lake itself, whose boundaries, in the very flat country which surrounds much of it, are amazingly elastic. Unusual rains will spread its area unbelievably. Lake Chad lies almost exactly half way across the continent, a huge shallow body of water which sprawls over some 30,000 square miles. As we saw it from the air, Chad has no distinguishable shorelines. For miles back from the open water were indeterminate swampy regions as much lake as land. Islands of many sizes and fantastic shapes, some of grass actually afloat, lay outlined darkly against the paler water. Looking down on these islands i glimpsed pictures o strange creatures and outlandish. things, with lumpy paws, flat heads and ghoulish abnormalities. My mind flashed back to our departure from Newfoundland nine years ago when queerly shaped lakes depicted gigantic footprints, a buffalo, a prehistoric animal, so clearly that I set down sketches of some of them in my notebook. that time the pictures were made by water against land. now it was land against water.

Fleeting as such impressions were (a pilot has little time for scenery, however ent4rtaining) one Grotesque remained clear in mind. It was a Goop-unmistakably a sprawling, ugly Goop somehow strayed to the Sudan. You remember, of course, George Adolphus, the Goop who made his mother cry?

A vagrant memory that, of flight over Africa. This watery region offers a happy feeding ground for cranes and maribou storks whose business in life is scooping up fish with their bills. blue herons also are plentiful. birds in great numbers we saw below us but seldom close enough to be recognizable. While I was told that game abounds, we saw none of the much-advertised elephants, or even crocodiles. but then, a pilot busy with the hundred and one gadgets of her cockpit has little time for game seeking. A landing field located where one expects to find it is quite as exciting a sight as any herd of giant tuskers. At that, we did glimpse a considerable number of hippopotami, who seemed to resent our presence mildly. Mostly, though, we were flying high, or visibility was impeded by haze which rose almost like steam from the sweltering lands beneath, so our opportunities for intimate sightseeing were limited. the villages have a character all their own. Their formations were curiously irregular. Nowhere were they laid out in squares, and such as we passed over were, for the most part, colorless.

Between times at stopping places I was able to see a little of some of these habitations near the airports. Mostly the natives live in huts hat look like bee-hives, made from dried millet stalks. Incidentally, this is a land of opposites. One writes from right to left, takes off one's shoes and leaves one's hat on when entering the house. In land transport one travels by night and sleeps by day. And in constructing these huts, the roof goes on first and the rest is build downward. About the villages the women do the work. Killing time appears to he the chief occupation of the males. wives, I am told, are plural. if the husbands are prosperous, very plural.

Children are carried on the mother's back. there is a fine technique in getting them there. the youngster is caught b the wrist and adroitly swung up on mamma's shoulders, legs on either side of her waist, and there tied in place, encompassed in a piece of clothing, with arms inside and head alone sticking out. As the infant's hands are not free, it has no way to dislodge the flies that gather on its face, particularly about its eyes. the stolid patience of the youngsters is amazing, the flies usually having a field day before they whimper. If and when baby does make a fuss, mother throws the end of the "tobe" over the child's head and waggles him to sleep. many boys and girls have tribal marks cut in their cheeks. I was told that salt is rubbed in to keep the slits open. The little girls wear a short skirt made of strips of leather hung from the belt, which swings like a kilt when they walk. If there is enough cotton cloth to go around, the boys are adorned with a single garment - a large sack-like shirt with holes for the arms. Otherwise their birthday suits suffice.

Wells, of course, are the beginning and the end of desert villages. Where there is water there are habitations. when the well dries the village moves. Speaking of water, to the east of Chad is a strange phenomenon. Throughout that region the tebeldi tree is used as water reservoir. Natives scoop out the inside of the trunk, which can be done without killing the tree, thereby making a tank which ma hold from 500 to 1,000 gallons of water. this is doled out through a spigot that is plugged into the tree at lowering heights as the water supply diminishes, and is borne away in leather buckets for individual use. Under such circumstances bathing ranks far down the list of necessities.

Daybreak starts has been the order of our going because it was wise to get flying finished by noon when possible. Normally, the greatest heat came after midday, to be avoided both by man and machine. Not that either Fred or i particularly minded the occasional broiling of cockpit or fuselage (often the outer coating of the plane's metal was too hot to touch, while the temperatures of its innards sometimes were so high for our peace of mind we avoided recording them). But very hot can make difficult flying. It is thin and lacks lifting power. On equatorial fields, with the sun reflecting from the sands, one has to watch landing speed, which must be faster than normal. Also after a day of heat the air is apt to be particularly rough. Despite our plans we were held until half past one in the afternoon. at Fort Lamy. that was because of a small leak in a shock absorber of the landing gear. Air from one oleo escaped. to pump it up again taxed the manpower resources of the little station almost to capacity. thee are more pleasant diversions than hand-pumping at a temperature well over one hundred degrees.

Because of the late start we made the objective of that day's flight El Fasher, in French Equatorial Africa. With a following wind we negotiated the journey to something over three hours. As expected, thanks to the day's heat, which caught up to us, it was particularly bumpy flying, with a particularly desolate region below us. Because of detailed information given me, I was on the lookout for the "eight foot thorn hedge" surrounding El Fasher's airport, which hurdle, coming and going, we successfully negotiated. Its purpose is not so much to herd planes within as to keep animals without. the airdrome itself was a splendid natural landing field, though with few facilities. There we were met by Governor and Mrs. P. Ingallson of Darfur Province, who took the wayfarers to their home, once a Sultan's palace, whee my room was next door to the harem of other days.

Here again I was impressed with the gracious informality of officialdom in the field. All this African crossing had been pictured to us as "difficult" from the standpoint of red tape. but once arrived on the ground, formalities were forgotten. all concerned did their utmost to make matters easy for a property accredited flyer, even of the feminine gender - or, perhaps, for all I know, especially of that gender. even the unavoidable disinfecting on landing seemed to irk those who conducted it far more than the disinfectees. It would be impossible for flit guns to be handled with greater grace and discretion than were those directed on us. everything within the plane was squirted with germ-destroying vapor. Our personal luggage being infinitesimal and our cargo nil, the operation did not offer much of a problem - there just wasn't sustenance for self-respecting bacteria.

After a night at El Fasher we flew further into Anglo Egyptian Sudan, on the morning of Sunday, June 13th. the map of the region around El Fasher and eastward holds more and larger blanks than that of any other territory we traversed. On it El Fasher is the one metropolis of sorts with miles of dotted ed lines (which, according tot he map's legend, are native tracks) and a limited number (five to be exact) of "cleared roads fit for motor traffic" burgeoning out from it. West of the town is a hilly country wherein the map optimistically indicates various rivers (being the dry season, we saw none) which start bravely but after an inch or two (on the map) end i the oblivion of the thirsty sands. Back in California such maps covering the entire journey had been meticulously prepared. on them the routes to be followed, and often alternate routes, were drawn i, with the compass courses in both directions. The distances between landmarks, and between airdromes, were marked, as well as major elevations of the terrain. Every landing field was shown by an inked-in circle easy for a pilot's eye to locate. they were, I think, thoroughly practical.

East of El Fasher our route crossed a cartographical blank space as large as an outstretched hand with not a contour line on it or a river or the name even of a "village of the sixth grade," than which, one imagines, there can be few hamlets more lowly. 'five hundred miles separate El Fasher from Khartoum. The first half is utterly flat, arid, uninhabited, and lacks landmarks altogether, at least for the uninitiated. that dreary locality is labeled "Dabbat el Asala." it would be fun at leisure to explore these maps even without ever visiting the territory they concern. Text in the upper left corner of one records that: "In the bed of the Wadi Howar two heglig trees about four hundred meters apart were ringbarked. They mark the intersection of the twenty-fourth meridian." Other notations sprawled about the wide open spaces include the following: "Rolling desert no trees"; "Many remains of animals"; "Swamp of rain, salt pan"; "Standing water until Nov."; "Wells. Water never entirely fails"; "Large rahad and grazing ground." There are, too, such priceless names as Qala-en Hahl, Umm Shinayshm, Abu Seid, Idd el Bashir, Fazi, Marabia Abu Fas. Such offer fine stimulus for geographical cross-word puzzlers.

On m lap as we approached Khartoum, clipped to the larger map on which the compass course was laid out, was a detailed drawing of the city's airports in relation to their environment. Facts about the local situation stared me in the face. As, for instance, "Dimensions 2,700 x 1,950 ft. Surface, sand and cotton soil, soft after rain. Landmarks, junction of blue and white Nile, town and racecourse. Remarks, landing in the area near racecourse should be avoided after rain." How many months had passed since the last rain I did not know, and no one seemed concerned about the next. Heat waves danced up from the surface of the desert. The temperature was 110 degrees in the shade. If there was an softness about the field, it came from dust, not mud.

Khartoum is the capital of Anglo Egyptian Sudan, situated beside the Nile 1,150 miles south of Cairo, with which it is connected by rail and steamer. since leaving, Fortaleza in Brazil it was our most considerable metropolis, with a population of about 50,000. Seen from the air one was struck by the symmetry with which the city is laid out. I failed to realize it at the time, but was later told the squares and streets form the design of the Union Jack. It was Kitchener who drew the plan for the city in 1898, after his troop took it from the successor to the Mahdi, who had besieged and killed Gordon at Khartoum in 1885. Names and deeds great in the military history of England are interwoven with the story of this region. And beside it flows the Nile, "asleep in lap of legends old." Seeing this cradle-land of history for the first time and having come so far one could weep to pass so briefly, not lingering.

So . . . we refueled, and paid our respects to the cordial British officials whose language sounded so very pleasant to our ears. That done, and our bill for 3 pounds 22s. landing fee settled, we were on our way again toward Massawa in in Italy's Eritrea on the eastern edge of Africa. The hop from Khartoum was as interesting as any part of the trip. the country, except that near the Nile, was bleak desert for many miles. Only a few caravan trails were visible, and now and then a camp with a tent or two in the midst of the stretching sand I could see fine lines on the surface, whether from camel trails or wind streaks I do not know. Possibly only wrinkles in the ancient face of the wasteland.

Exactly two hundred miles out we crossed at right angles at Athara River which flows northward into the Nile. Thence the low desert roughened and rose, first into sloping sandy foothills, then mountains where green vegetation, almost the first we had seen in Africa, began to appear below us. Well into Eretrea we flew over the headwaters of a second considerable river, the Khor Baruka, which drains this highland region northward into the Red Sea. Heated air blasted up from the mountain slopes, buffering the ship unkindly. Even above 10,000 feet it was rough going. We flew not far from Asmara, 7,000 feet high, Eritrea's capital. to the comparative coolness come those who can escape from the furnace of Massawa in the summer months. Later I learned that on this Hamasien plateau is being constructed a large new airport. It is named for Colonel Umberto Maddalena who accompanied Air Marshal Balbo on the mass flight across the Atlantic to Brazil in 1931. I had hoped that by some happy chance General Balo himself might be "in these part". My last memory of that colorful soldier (whose beard so strikingly resembles the adornment of the other great flyer, our good friend Sir Hubert Wilkins) concerns a ride he gave me in a low-slung racing car from Rome to Ostia. He elected to show the woman pilot something about speed on the ground. He did!

To our right neighboring peaks reared to perhaps 14,000 feet as the range reached southward into Abyssinia. As the visibility was good doubtless we looked over into that forbidden territory. While the Italian authorities had been gracious in granting permission as regarded Eritera, foreign flying over Abyssinia itself is discouraged. The mountains over which we flew gained their crest of about 10,000 feet only thirty miles from salt water and our destination. Our slide down those abrupt eastern slopes was, perforce, no straight coasting, but the way of a snake. I had to spiral down. From the heights we saw the Red Sea. It is not red, but blue. (Both the Blue and the White Nile were green.) Beyond it we sighted a shimmering land of mirages that was Arabia. Across it, or around it, our course lay from the blue Rd Sea to Karachi, India, a jump as long as spanning the Atlantic. The airport at Massawa was of ample size with large hangars. While I do not speak a word of Italian, and it was some time after our arrival before anyone could be found who understood English, yet in short order mechanics were at work changing the oil, checking spark-plugs and the like.

Massawa admits to being one of the hottest cities in the world. In the summer the thermometer often hits 120 degrees in the shade. for a typical July the mean temperature was 94, twenty degrees hotter than the average for the hottest month in New York - truly a mean temperature! On the evening of our arrival the thermometer registered 100 degrees, but that night it became comparatively cool. Our hosts assured us, however, that as yet the season was too early to be truly hot. The later summer months apparently provide the town's torrid reputation. Massawa has a population of about 15,000 natives and a few hundred Europeans beside the military. It stands at the north and of a broad bay, built partly on one larger and two smaller coral islands, and the neighboring mainland. the fine harbor lies within the islands when we saw the local nondescript sailing craft called "sambuks," and a couple of "baby clippers," miniature square-rigged ships built of teakwood. b chance i learned that such a pocket size "square rigger" recently acquired in Ceylon by our friends the W.A. Robinsons was anchored in Aden as I passed over a day later.

Mostly visiting vessels are freighters, come to Massawa for salt. As we flew down into the evening shadows I saw beside the town great gleaming heaps which I thought to be white sand-dunes. Instead they wee huge piles of salt. The blistering sun is Massawa's potent manufacturer. It draws off countless gallons of water daily, leaving behind thick coatings of salt in the shallow evaporating pans whence barefoot natives gather up the crystal crop, much of it destined for shipment to Japan. We wee lodged that night in Italian army quarters, guests of Colonel De Silvestro Luigi, in command, acting for General Laghi. the neat apartment houses wee as clean as could be, each room with bed, chair, table, and portable closet. electric light, a fan, and a little ice-box for keeping the water cool were luxuries that would delight any housekeeper. It had been a long day, what with the landmarkless desert flying, the stop at Khartoum, the rough going over the mountains the long trip down, and there was fair reason for a pilot to feel famished. (As usual I had forgotten to eat.)

On Tuesday, June 14, we moved down the Red Sea from Masawa to Assab to prepare for the long flight along the Arabian coast to India. Assab was nearer our objective than Masawa, offered better take-off facilities, and a well we had a greater supply of 87 Octane gasoline spotted there. Eritrea stretches along the coast of the Red Sea for 670 miles. One course took us about half that length. Soon we left behind the mountains that bordered the coast-line and bade farewell to everything that was green. Approaching Assab the coast became terribly barren beyond description. It was at Assab that Italy gained first foothold in what is now Eritrea, when an Italian steamship company in 1870 purchased land there for a coaling station. From that beginning Italian influence expanded northward, carving out the Eritrea of today, which in the last few years became the military spring-board for the conquest of Abyssinia. Most of the troop movements for that operation wee through Massawa.

Incidentally, in a phone talk from India to New York (of which more anon) I later learned that our departure from Massawa had been announced as an actual take-off for Karachi. When we became long overdue at that Indian destination naturally there was anxiety regarding us. All the while in reality we were sitting at Assab. Communication thence to London and Paris sometimes required a full day. Apparently we had actually departed from Assab before new York knew we even had arrived there. At this sweltering outpost of Italian authority on the Rd Sea the same cordial hospitality extended to us at Massawa was renewed. with the group of officers and flyers there under Teniente colonel Rinaldo Neri we had he pleasantest possible, though abbreviated, visit. We left Assab early on the morning of the fifteenth, well before daylight. First we cut across a deep indentation on the Eritrean coast, and thence at an angle flew over the narrow southern entrance to the Rd Sea called Bab-al-Mandah to the Arabian shore. that reached, we straightened out over the desolate southeastern tip of Arabia, checking over Aden after the sun was well up, one hundred and seventy-five miles on our way.

Flying by foreigners over Arabia is not welcome. In the early stages of planning our journey a course was advised eliminating the straight trans-Arabian hop between mid-Africa and Karachi. For a time it seemed I might have to go around north by Cairo and Baghdad, and down through Persia on the normal Europe-Australia air route. that detour would have added perhaps another two thousand miles of flying and made a considerable jog north of the approximate equatorial route. Finally the authorities relented. They concluded, I believe, that my plane was capable of making the two thousand mile nonstop flight necessary to carry it from the Red Sea to India, without undue likelihood of forced landing on Arabia's forbidden sands. The British were very friendly and co-operative about it. They gave permission to land at Aden, and permission to fly thence to Karachi, possibly stopping first at Gwadar, 350 miles up the coast at the mouth of the Persian gulf in Baluchistan close to the Persian border. It was stipulated that we were not to fly over Arabia itself but along the edge of the sea.

I understood that unfavorable winds might make the field at Aden difficult for heavy take-off, and so took on a full load of fuel at Assab, deciding to push through at least to Gwadar, and perhaps to Karachi if all went well and daylight lasted long enough. So from Aden, as directed, I held a course along he coast. sometimes the blue Arabian Sea was below. sometimes clouds piled along the ocean's edge forced us shoreward for brief stages. flying high, we were able to see considerable of this forbidden and forbidding country. surely some of the wastelands of the world bordered our route. One could scarcely imagine a more desolate region than that shore, although on the first third of the journey a few villages appeared along the wet front, wedged in between mountains and sea. such a one was Makalle, a metropolis of that portion of Hadramaut, which is the southern region of Arabia. Behind the mountains the map shows the interior an almost unbroken sandy desert. Where rough mountains did not wet their feet in the sea, low sand-hills rolled down to the water's edge. Inland we could see the tips of tilted hills and dry river canons. some regions looked as if mighty harrows had churned the tortured badlands into a welter of razor-back ridges, fantastic mountains and thirsty valleys barren of vegetation and devoid of life. surprisingly here and there in this desolation a number of emergency flying fields appeared.

In no part of southern Arabia is a forced landing desirable. the waterless, treeless desert geography is in itself pretty hopeless, a further negative factor being the probable attitude of the sparse nomadic population, if, as, and when encountered, In some districts the Arab tribesmen might not be hospitable to strange interlopers, especially a woman. Or perhaps under special circumstances too hospitable. I know the officials concerned did not relish such possibilities, however remote. Indeed, neither did we. but the Electra and my Wasp engines never had failed me, and I felt they would carry on so long as fuel lasted. Anyway, as a special precaution we carried a letter written in Arabic, presumably addressed "To whom It May Concern" and bespeaking for us those things which should be bespoken. At least I think so. We had it translated by two people in New York. One linguist, allegedly familiar with things Arabic, said it would be just too bad for us if such an introduction was presented to the wrong local faction. His counsel left me a trifle confused. We carried the document anyway, tucked beside me in the cockpit, ready for emergency. We carried, too, a pretty generous supply of water in canteens, concentrated foods, a small land compass, and very heavy walking shoes. fortunately we did not have to walk!