Oceania - Amelia Earhart - Last Flight

From the garden that is Java rise the immense cones of volcanic mountains. Northward, in low-level regions of India, we had seen much rise cultivation but no such paddy region as this. Here whole countryside appeared tied like Christmas packages with tawny ribbons of irrigation water, each separate pondlet contained in a diked square of its own, the whole far-reaching grid stretching away to the mountains and even climbing up their sides in a system of stairlike terraces. Bandoeng is an enchanting place perched among densely wooded mountains. There, apparently, everything horticultural is possible, from tea and coffee to European garden vegetables, from spices to flowers. By the way, eighty percent of the world's putput of quinine is grown in Java. Not that there is need for it locally, for Bandoeng has a reputation for a delightfully cool and healthful climate. After a too-brief acquaintance with its attractions I find no reason to question the assertion that it "is one of the modern model cities of the world."

By the way, just an hour after our arrival in Bandoeng a telephone call from New York reached me. It seemed slightly miraculous. I felt as if I might have just dropped into the airport at Cleveland and found a call in Major Jack Berry's office. Jack would probably say, grinning: "G.P. wants you to check in." After my plane had been comfortably put in its hangar and K.N.I.L.M. (a local organization, sister company to Ntherlands Airline, famed "K.L.M.") mechanics had begun their inspection. I went for an inspection trip myself. My first objective was an active volcano, to the crater rim of which one can drive in half an hour up a beautiful mountain road where many people journeyed. some were laughing and chatting, others were carrying baskets and varying loads, not often on their hands as heretofore, but on poles over their shoulders. Rice-fields in terraces bordered the road and on the steepest mountainside I could see cultivated patches. surely no indolent people farm in such a way.

At 5,000 feet the trees began to dwarf and the vegetation became less dense. At 6,500, only scrub trees which bred in and soil persisted. I could smell sulphur fumes for some time before rounding the last curve leading to the lower edge of the pit. Hundreds of feet below, emerald water had collected in a pool at the bottom. Here and there jets of yellow-white steam issued from crevices. while the last eruption was in 1910, a volcanologist still lives near and every day takes temperatures for signs of renewed activity. In his walks he is always preceded by two dogs. they are rated government employers and receive a stated amount each week for their services. They are the first to be exposed to dangerous gases and safeguard their master's life by being first affected. One dog has been three times overcome, and so now is retired on a pension, loafing at home while others carry on.

In one section gases have killed trees in the vicinity and overcome such animals as venture near. At the summit i was really chilly. it was the first time since the start of the trip that I had the opportunity to shiver. We put on leather jackets and liked them. After dining at the home of one of the K.L.M. pilots for international "ground flying" is one of the few social events our recent lives have permitted, we stayed at a very good hotel. My room was filled with flowers and everything was as neat and spotlessly clean as Dutch reputation prescribed. On the 24th June we thought Bandoeng had really seen the last of us when we flew to Saurabaya, 350 miles on our course near the far end of java. And then we turned around and flew right back again.

At 3.45 A.M. we were warming up the engines at Bandoeng, planning, if all went well, to fly through to Australia. when one instrument refused to function everyone present turned mechanic and set to work to help. but it was not until two o'clock in the afternoon that the distemper was sufficiently cured to warrant proceeding. After that late start we reached Saurabaya when the descending sun marked declining day. In the air, and afterward, we found that our mechanical troubles had not been cured. Certain further adjustments of faulty long-distance flying instruments were necessary, and so I had to do one of the most difficult things I had ever done in aviation. Instead of keeping on I turned back the next day to Bandoeng. With good weather ahead, the Electra herself working perfectly, the pilot and navigator eager to go, it was especially hard to have to be "sensible." However, lack of essential instruments in working order would increase unduly the hazards ahead. At Bandoeng were the admirable Dutch technicians and equipment, and wisdom directed we should return for their friendly succor. So again we imposed ourselves upon these good people to whom I shall be grateful always for their generosity and fine spirit. A particular niche in my memory is occupied by colonel L.H.V. Oyen, commander of the air force, H.A. Vreeburg, chief engineer, and so many K.N.I.L.M. personnel to whom I would like again to say "Thank you".

To the cloud of all this delay there was a silver lining. When the ills of the sick instruments had been diagnosed, and technical labors progressed to a point where my presence could no longer be helpful, there was time for a little sightseeing which extended itself to the neighboring city of Batavia, where friends of Fred, Mr. and Mrs. Fadden, urged us to come. By air Batavia is twenty minutes from Bandoeng, but by car more than three hours. We drove there to see the country intimately, and flew back to gain perspective. Batavia is the capital of the Dutch East Indies. it was once a walled city, but now only a gate remains to recall the days of constant warfare. Near the gate we chanced on the fish market just when the auction of the day's catch was in progress. Most of the fish are wrapped in banana leaves. An old canal runs through the town, and there the natives wash their clothes and bathe. Wherever thee are Dutch people I believe one finds canals and the essence of cleanliness.

In Batavia are entrancing treasures for the stranger from the west. Attractive as they wee, we could not weight down the Electra with purchases. To avoid temptation we had a pact to buy nothing at all - shopping must wait for another visit. To this stern rule I made a small exception. It was a sheath knife - a lovely hand-wrought thing bought at a metal worker's little shop. Seeing the fine Javanese handiwork in knives and swords, I remembered the collection adorning the Washington office of our friend John Oliver LaGorce of the National Geographic Society. Its one unbeautiful specimen was a homely knife which flew with me across the Atlantic, bequeathed to J.O.L. I plotted to bear this Javanese purchase at my belt over the Pacific and then offer it to my favorite Geographer. No one visits Batavia without having ryst tafel, that is, a meal of rice with twenty-one different courses, including curried chicken, meat, eggs, fish, relishes, nuts, vegetables, all borne in by a line of waiters. to this custom we wee no exception. After enjoying the feast I was filled with housewifely determination to reproduce ryst tafel myself, adjusted to the limitations of California marketing environment and certainly pared down as regards servitors. In the solo hands of Fred, our Filipino boy, the effort will at least be more personalized.

Finally on Sunday, June 27, we left Bandoeng. I had hoped to be able to keep on to Port Darwin on the northern coast of Australia. but the penalty for flying east is losing hours. Depending on the distance covered, each day is shortened and one has to be careful to keep the corrected sunset time in mind so as not to be caught out after dark. For instance, between Koepang and Australia there is a loss of one and a half hours. So, as our landing in Koepang five hours after our start was too late to permit safely carrying on to Darwin that day, we settled down overnight in the pleasant Government rest house, planning to leave the airport at our conventional departure time, dawn. Koepang is on the southerly tip of the island of Timor, the last outpost of the archipelago of Holland-owned islands which string out southeasterly from Sumatra. As a matter of fact half of Timor is not under Dutch but Portuguese control. In the flight from Bandoeng the first 400 miles was over the lovely garden-land of Java. then we looked down briefly upon Bali, much photographed island of quaint dancers, lovely costumes, lovelier natives, a well-publicized earthy heaven of dulce far niente. Thence we passed over Sujmbawa ialand, skirted Flores, and cut across a broad arm of the Arafura Sea toward Timor.

As we left java the geographic characteristics began to change. From lush tropics the countryside became progressively arid. The appearance of Timor itself is vastly different from that of Java. the climate is very dry, the trees and vegetation sparse. thee was little or no cultivation in the open spaces around he airport, the surface of which was grass, long, dry and undulating in a strong wind when we arrived. The field, surrounded by a stout stone fence to keep out roaming wild pigs, we found to be a very good natural landing place. there wee no facilities except a little shed for storing fuel. consequently we had to stake down our Electra and bundle it up for the night with engine and propeller covers. that is an all-important job carefully done; no pilot could sleep peacefully without knowing that his plane was well cared for. Our work much amused the natives from a near-by village. when we had to turn the craft's nose into the wind, all the men willingly and noisily helped us push it as desired.

Then we took time off to see something of Koepang, perched as it is on cliffs with winding paved roads. It has a large Chinese section from anywhere can be bought. Although the town is on the coast, surrounded by seas so lovely they should make attractive residences for fish, judging by the small size of the local market it appeared that fishing is not important in the Timor scheme of things. Just before supper at the Rest House a native musician arrived on the front doorstep with a strange instrument made of bamboo and strung with copper and steel wires. It is called a "sesando." We tried to find out what had been the original stringing and whether it was not fiber from a tree. Despite our firm intentions to resist the weight of even extra ounces for the Electra, we wee sorely tempted to bring one to Bing Crosby for a present.

We crossed the Timor Sea from Koepang, on Timor Island, in three hours and twenty-nine minutes against strong head winds. We flew over fleecy clouds at a height of 7,000 feet, and possibly this was one reason why we saw no harks, concerning which everyone had warned us. Great country, this, for "shark talk." Catching them is a business and warning visitors about them an avocation Even Will Beebe, dean of the school of thought that holds sharks harmless, might wince at the tales told. The water around Port Darwin was a vivid green as seen from the air on the day of our arrival. Approaching land we saw a small boat in the distance which I insisted was a pearl-fishing lugger. ("Once aboard the lugger and the pearl is mine!" That outrageous observation Fred handed me on a scrap of paper.) Pearl fishing is the main industry - if such a romantic occupation can be so called - of Pot Darwin, which is not an industrial town but mainly a government post.

The country of this northern coast of Australia is very different from that surrounding Koepang. there jagged mountains rose against th dawn, while here, as far as one could see, were endless trees on an endless plain. the airport is good and very easy to find. We were pounced upon by a doctor as we rolled to a stop, and thereupon were examined thoroughly for tropical diseases. No one could approach us or the airplane until we had passed muster. If this work is done at all it should be thorough, and I approved the methods, although the formalities delayed refueling operations. the customs officials had to clear the Electra as if she wee an ocean-going vessel, but that was done with much dispatch. Inasmuch as we had little in the plane but spare parts, fuel and oil, the process was simplified. At Darwin, by the way, we left the parachutes we had carried that far, to be shipped home. A parachute would not help over the Pacific.

Two things in Australia I especially wanted to do were to meet Jean Batten, its famous woman flyer, and to see a Koala bear. I missed out on both. However, a cordial telegram of good wishes came from Miss Batten, then at Sydney. In the afternoon Fred Noonan and I met C.L.A. Abbott, Administrator of the northern Territory. He issued cordial invitations for various pleasant functions but, alas, we could not be very social as at dawn we wee to end our so-brief stay on the fringe of our fifth continent and shove off easterly, homeward bound.

Lae, New Guinea, June 30th. After a flight of seven hours and forty-three minutes from Port Darwin, Australia, against head winds as usual, my Electra now rests on the shores of the Pacific. Beyond the gulf of Huon the waters stretch into the distance. Somewhere beyond the horizon lies California. Twenty-two thousand miles have been cover4d so far. There are 7,000 to go.

From Darwin we held a little north of east, cutting across the Wellington Hills on the northern coast of Arnhem Land, which is the topmost region of Australia's Northern Territory. The distance to Lae was about 1,200 miles. perhaps two-thirds of it was over water, the Arafura Sea, Torres Strait and the Gulf of Papua.

Midway to New Guinea the sea is spotted with freakish islands, stony fingers pointing towards the sky sometimes for hundreds of feet. We had been told the clouds often hang low over this region and it was better to climb above its hazardous minarets than to run the risks of dodging them should we lay our course close to the surface. Then, too, a high mountain range stretches the length of New guinea from northwest to southeast. Port Moresby was on the nearer side, but it was necessary to clamber over the divide to reach Lae situated on the low land of the western shore. As the journey progressed we gradually increased our altitude to more than 11,000 feet to surmount the lower clouds encountered. Even at that, above us towered cumulus turrets, mushrooming miraculously and cast into endless designs by the lights and shadows of the lowering sun. It was a fairy-story sky country, peopled with grotesque cloud creatures who eyed us with ancient wisdom as we threaded our way through its shining white valleys. but the mountains of cloud were only dank gray mist when we barged into them, that was healthier than playing hide-and-seek with unknown mountains of terra firma below. finally, when dead reckoning indicated we had traveled far enough, we let down gingerly. the thinning clouds obligingly withdrew and we found ourselves where we should be, on the western flanks of the range with the coastline soon blow us. Working along it, we found Lae and sat down. We were thankful we had been able to make our way successfully over those remote regions of sea and jungle - strangers in a strange land.

Lae is situated in a corner of a great gulf by a winding river. It is the headquarters for the Guinea Airways Company, which has made an outstanding record for flying passengers, and mining equipment into the inaccessible goldfields. Tons upon tons of the heaviest machinery, used in the operations, have been transported by their planes. In fact, no other means exists, and probably without aviation much of the gold would have remained indefinitely in "them thar hills."

Considering the extraordinarily difficult terrain, I think the pilots here have done as notable work as any in the world. The landing field at Lae is one long strip cut out of the jungle, ending abruptly on a cliff at the water's edge. It is 3,000 feet long and firm under all conditions. There are hangars, but a number of planes have to be hitched outside. I noticed all these were metal ones. In regular service here is another Electra, sister to my own. We stayed at a hotel, a recent addition to a community which itself di not exist a dozen years ago. I am told that about 1,000 Europeans live along the gulf. How many natives I do not know. No inland villages are visible from the air. I should think it would be impossible to find one in the dense growth. Most noticeable along the shores are villages built out in the shallow waters. Oblong thatched-roof edifices perch precariously on stilts of piling driven into the mud. In the amphibian settlements groups of two or three of the cigar-like huts nestle together, sharing a common platform in front. Most noticeable on landing were native men with peroxide-bleached hair, the sun-tan effect on their heads being striking to a degree. Perhaps the native women also bleach, but of them I saw little. men alone seem to be engaged in chores inside and outside their homes.

Everyone has been as helpful and co-operative as possible - food, hot baths, mechanical service, radio and weather reports, advice from veteran pilots here - all combine to make us with se could stay. However, tomorrow we should be rolling down the runway, bound for points east. Whether everything to be done can be done within this time remains to be seen. If not, we cannot be home by the fourth of July as we had hoped, even though we are on day up on the calendar of California. It is Wednesday here, but Tuesday there. One this next hop we cross the 180th Meridian, the international dateline when clocks turn back twenty-four hours.

July 1st. "Denmark's a prison," and Lae, attractive and unusual as it is, appears to two flyers just as confining, as the Electra is poised for our longest hop, the 2,556 miles to Howland Island in mid-Pacific. The monoplane is weighted with gasoline and oil to capacity. However, a wind blowing the wrong way and threatening clouds conspired to keep her on the ground today. In addition, Fred Noonan has been unable, because of radio difficulties, to set his chronometers. Any lack of knowledge of their fastness and slowness would defeat the accuracy of celestial navigation. Howland is such a small spot in the Pacific that every aid to locating it must be available. Fred and I have worked very hard in the last two days repacking the plane and eliminating everything unessential. We have even discarded as much personal property as we can decently get along without and henceforth propose to travel lighter than ever before. All red has is a small tin case which he picked up in Africa. I noted it still rattles, so it cannot be packed very full. Despite our restlessness and disappointment in not getting off this morning, we still retained enough enthusiasm to do some tame exploring of the near-by country.

We commandeered a truck from the manager of the hotel and with Fred at the wheel, because the native driver was ill with fever, we set out along a dirt road. We forded a sparkling little river, which after a heavy rain, so common in the tropics, can become a veritable torrent, and drove through a line of grass taller than the truck. We turned into a beautiful cocoanut grove before a village entrance. the natives grow the cocoanuts mostly for their own use and few are exported from here for the commercial markets. The village was built more or less around a central open plaza. All huts were on stilts and underneath the dogs and pigs hold forth. We were told that the natives train pigs as "watchdogs." Fred said he would hate to come home late at night and admit being bitten by a pig!

Some of the huts had carvings around under the eaves, grotesque colored animals and crocodiles being the most numerous. They reminded me of the work encountered in some parts of Africa. In the village wee several native women, almost the first I had seen, as women here are very much out of evidence. On was bending over a small black cooking vessel from which protruded two enormous cabbages. I also noticed a number off familiar-looking vegetables, which are grown hereabouts, but much of the food used is imported. My only purchase at la besides gasoline has been a dictionary of pidgin English for two shillings. It was well worth the price to discover that all native women are called Mary. I had some difficulty in understanding why "to sew" should be "sew-im-up."

The natives have their own names for everything. For instance, airplanes are called "balus," or "birds." Small planes merit only "bai nutung," or "insects." My plane has acquired special distinction over other metal ones here, which have corrugated surfaces. the Lockheed is smooth and to the native resembles tins in which certain biscuits are shipped from England. therefore it is known as the "biscuit box." New guinea is a country subject to earthquakes and I was told that a "quake only a year ago shifted a considerable area of shore into the bay, forming the present tiny harbor. they told us that much of the land is really only silt, held together by angled undergrowth. Along the rivers pieces of "land" sometimes break off and, as islands, float hundreds of miles to as before disintegrating. Now and then animals are trapped on them.

Then, of course, there is the ever-present jungle to lure one into exploring. I remember the tales told me by Osa and Martin Johnson of their early adventures in New guinea. that, I think, was their first expedition together, when the hinterlands of the island were full of mystery, not to mention head-hunters, pigmies, and practicing cannibals. Like desert or sea, wild jungle had a strange fascination. I wish we could stay here peacefully for a time and see something of this strange land. Not much more than a month ago I was on the other shore of the Pacific, looking westward. This evening, I looked eastward over the Pacific. In those fast-moving days which have intervened, the whole width of the would has passed behind us - except this broad ocean. I shall be glad when we have the hazards of its navigation behind us.

By Wireless to the Herald Tribune

LAE, NEW GUINEA, July 2 (Friday). -- Amelia Earhart departed for Howland Island at ten o'clock today beginning a 2,556-mile flight across the Pacific along a route never traveled before by an airplane.

Miss Earhart's Wasp-motored Lockheed Electra plane made a difficult take-off with ease, but it was only fifty yards from the end of the runway when it rose into the air.

* * *

ABOARD CUTTER "ITASCA" (off Howland Island), July 2 (AP) --United States sailors and Coast Guardsmen set watch tonight along one of the loneliest stretches of the earth's surface to guide Amelia Earhart on the longest, most hazardous flight of her career. The Itasca and the cutter Ontario awaited word of her take-off from Lae for Howland Island, an almost microscopic bit of land representing America's frontier in the South Pacific.