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OFF FOR NEWFOUNDLAND
The gastronomic adventures of trans-oceanic flying really deserve a record of their own. Our own highlights were varied. Ham sandwiches seemed to predominate en route. At Trepassey it was canned rabbit, in London the desserts were strawberries, and home again in America chicken appeared invariably on all state occasions.
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Log Book:
Bill has been flying. G. now has controls. The sea looks like the back of an elephant, the same kind of wrinkles.
Nothing but blue sea. A low rim of fog far to the right.
Hooray! Bill has picked up a station. 12:15. He is taking something.
We are flying at 3200 ft. Temperature down to 53° inside.
The fog bank is nearer and looks pretty thick. It shadows the water. We are nosing down and the air is rougher. The motors are racing, and the a.s.i. [air speed indicator] registers 100 m.p.h. It has been about 86.141
