OFF FOR NEWFOUNDLAND
B. had used them in his trans-Atlantic flight, and was the only one who could hear when the plane reached the other side. I am eager to see whether they work, as both the men are without them.
Pubnico Harbor is below. Bill figures 114 m.p.h. since we left Boston.
What a jagged coast. There are few roads. Many little houses nestle in the woods seemingly out of communication with anything for miles.
One can see deeply into the water and mark shoals and currents. What an easy way to see what are bugaboos for surface craft. The haze is not so marked now and the wind is rougher. This ship flies smoothly, but I know a smaller one would be tossed about.
The color of the sand about the edges of the water differs; some is white, some rusty. I cannot see any breakers, except far out—the sea is calm with sparking ripples.
Our shadow skims over the treetops. The people whom I cannot see are probably used to the sight and sound of strange planes.
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During the last two years this remote country
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