Shawnigan Lake School - Yearbook (Shawnigan Lake, British Columbia Canada)

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Shawnigan Lake School Magazine in April, 1847, and under the leadership of Brigham Young reached the shores of the Salt Lake in July after extreme hardships. There is a monument in the city to some sea-gulls who in these early days rid their crops of a certain pest that was destroying them. We reached the airport at 6:10 p.m., and after the air-conditioned coolness of the plane it was an odd sensation stepping out into an oven-heat of 100° F. in the shade. After watching the connecting plane come in from Oakland, California, we took on a full complement of passengers for the East. On leaving Salt Lake we had to cross the Wasatch range of mountains, giving us the strange feeling of running into a brick wall. However, we cleared the top somehow, by a few inches. Soon after, we ran into a rain storm and we had the satisfaction of seeing, most of us for the first time, a complete circular rainbow. Apparently the bottom half is only visible from great heights. It was just about here also that the stewardess had difficulty with the thermos-flasks owing to the altitude. Letters and post-cards which I wrote at this stage were posted for me free gratis and for nothing. Darkness soon came on, giving us a good excuse for conversation with our fellow-passengers. At 9 p.m. we arrived at Cheyenne, where the airport is 6,200 feet above sea level. From Cheyenne to Omaha, reached at 1:0 5 a.m., is the country of the Great Plains. Here one can obtain a rough idea of the organisation required for the operation of an air-route. The plane is equipped with radio telephone transmitting and receiving apparatus to enable pilots to talk with operators at ground stations located at every airport where a stop is scheduled. In addition to voice communication, there is the U. S. Department of Commerce directive radio beacon service. As they fly along the airway, the pilots hear a continuous radio hum in their earphones. If they veer slightly off course, this signal changes to warn them of deviation. There are intermediate landing fields located every 30 to 50 miles for emergency. There are 24-inch 2,000,000-candle-power revolving beacons situated every 10 to 20 miles. Moreover, the pilots constantly receive the latest weather reports from special airway reporting stations. We could see the ground lights all along our course, where it was clear. It was not long before we had an excellent example of the working of the system. Just after leaving Omaha, our pilots received a message to the effect that we were heading into a thunderstorm centred over Des Moines and that the airport there was closed. We could ourselves see the lightning. Suddenly the plane nosed up to the left in a steep bank and headed back for Omaha. Once more we saw the criss-cross lights on the ground of the airport, and after leaving some Des Moines passengers to catch a later plane, we headed again for Chicago. (We were thirteen on board when we had run into the storm! ) Now we climbed and climbed to 1 1,000 feet in the amazingly rapid time of 1 1 min- utes and flew well above the storm, keeping that altitude all through the sleepless night. At about 3:30 a.m. the first glimmerings of early-rising, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared. I was reminded of Rupert Brooke ' s poem Dawn. Opposite me two Germans sweat and snore (read engines) Through sullen swirling gloom we jolt and roar. We have been here for ever-, even yet A dim watch tells two hours, two aeons, more. — 23 —

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Shawnigan Lake School Magazine seat has its own unopenable window. If air is needed a passenger opens up a few small holes in the side by means of a screw-knob. The upholstery of the seats is green, as are also the neat uniforms worn by the stewardesses. And they are most soothing to the eye — both the seats and the stewardesses, I mean. At the back there is a wash-room. All this time we had been climbing to get above the clouds, and at length we were clear of them. The view below was marvellous, interspersed as it was with small cumulus clouds. But we did not stay up long as we were nearing Portland, City of Roses. As we descended we had an extensive view of the Columbia River. At one time it seemed almost as if we were going to land in th river itself, as it flanks the airport. We changed planes, pilots and stewardesses at Portland and left at 12:30 p.m. Our stream-lined all-metal machine took off after a five-minute wait, retracted its undercarriage and flew due East to Pendleton along the course of the river. The Columbia River is 1400 miles long, 7 miles wide at the mouth and is navigable for 400 miles — the second largest navigable river in the U.S.A. To the Southwest was Mt. Hood (altitude 11,000 ft.) and to the North Mt. Adams (altitude 12,000 ft.) and Mt. Ranier (altitude 14,400 ft.). These snow-capped peaks looked even more majestic from the air than from the ground. At this point of the journey I was given a very nice bunch of various meat sandwiches, cookies, ice-cream and coffee (all included in my ticket, too! ) . We landed at Pendleton at 1:40 p.m. and soon left for Boise. Our flight here was over endless rolling wheat-lands and followed the course of the Old Oregon trail. Less than a century ago pioneers spent three months travelling from the Great Salt Lake to Oregon territory. We crossed it in a few hours. Far below we saw the plane which was doing the opposite run. The prevailing winds were in our favour, so we flew high. They lessened their resistance by flying low. We were now coming into the hot-belt with the result that the ride was much more bumpy. Normally one uses one ' s strap for take-offs and landings only. Here we were ordered to strap up because of the rough going. Soon after crossing the Snake River we reached Boise. I took the ooportunity at this stop of watching the refuelling and starting. On occasions like this the engines were started with the aid of external electricity and a long connection. The plane ' s own batteries are not used in order that they may be as full as possible for any emergency while in flieht. I found out these Boeing Wasps in spite of their high cruising speed of three miles per minute have a landing speed of only 5 8 M.P.H. They need a take-off run of 770 feet. Their wing span is 74 feet, and their weight, fully loaded, 6 l 2 tons. We left Boise at 3:15 p.m. It was about a three-hour journey to Salt Lake City and the journey was much the same as has already been described except for one very bad jump which threw us out of our seats — not an air-pocket, but the vertex of a climb. It was difficult to gauge our speed. The best idea of it could be obtained from birds, which seemed to be flying backwards all the time at great speed. We flew across the Salt Lake which is 80 miles long and looked down on the salt flats, where a few weeks later Sir Malcolm Campbell was to travel 100 M.P.H. faster than we were actually going at the time. The Salt Lake is saltier than any body of water except the Dead Sea. It has a salt density of 17% or 3 x z times that of the ocean. Salt Lake City is the centre of the Church of Latter Day Saints or Mormons. Mormons left the Missouri River — 22 —

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Shawnigan Lake School Magazine The windows are tight-shut and slimy-wet With a night ' s fcetor. There are two hours more; Two hours to dawn and Milan; two hours yet. (read Chicago) Opposite me two Germans sweat and snore. . . . Etc. mm-mm-mm-mm; on went the droning engine ' s hum. And yet by the end of the run we had established quite an affection for these trusty friends. As the sun crept up the effect was that of raising a stage curtain. A mar- vellous vista opened up before our eyes. Beneath was a soft cotton-wool blanket of cloud, around us the clear, cool, crystal air. Now and again one could catch a glimpse of the ground, 1 1,000 feet below. Then all of a sudden the first vein of the blood-red sun appeared above the horizon, the clouds were shot through and through with the gold and the red of its rays, and far away massive cloud-bergs (to coin a word) glistened with their snow-white faces. For one brief moment I caught sight of Lake Michigan, a molten lake of gold. Would that it had been possible to remain up there above the drabness of earth. But our spell of life in this new-found Cloud-Cuckoo-land was short, and with a nasty jolt came the realization that we were descending. Down, down, down she came, plunging into the fleecy clouds like a bather diving into water. Lower and lower still until she finally glided into the rain-soaked misty air- port of Chicago. There, all was dull, dreary and dismal. One almost felt like paraphrasing the elder Cato — fr Delanda est Chicago! 5:20 a.m. and away we went on the final hop. The run was cloudy and did not afford us many views. We passed over Fort Miami, over which the flags of France, England and the U.S.A. have successively flown; over Toledo and Lake Erie, and only came down in order to land at Cleveland. 7:30 a.m. Shortly after leaving Cleveland we were able to see the peculiar double-S- formation of the Allegheny mountains. The Airway leads over the Allegheny Escarpment which leads East and West across New York State, then southward along the southern shore of Lake Erie and then directly south across Ohio. Somewhere beneath us was Titusville, Pa., where oil was first drilled in 18 59. And so to New York, which was reached at 10 a.m. Three times we had put our watches forward an hour in crossing the continent, so that it was only a mere twenty hours before that we had left the Pacific Coast. Mirabile Dictu! It was strange indeed to wake up and find oneself in New York. For that was the sensation. And the only thing to remind me of the fact that I had flown the distance was the mm-mm-mm-mm-mm which was to remain in my ears for quite a while. So ended a most eventful experience. So far, so good. But a question comes to mind from all this, which con- tains no animosity towards our American hosts and friends. Why was it not possible to make this flight across Canada? Or perhaps it would be better to word the question thus: When will it be possible to make such a flight across Canada? This article is intended to arouse concern and dissatisfaction in the minds of a small, perhaps negligible, body of citizens at the backward state of Canadian aviation. And yet, whv? There is no lack of Canadian pilots and no dearth of courageous pioneers. In fact the opposite is the truth. Canadians make some of the best pilots. At the end of the war almost 50% of the R.A.F. pilots and personnel were Canadians. Nor is it due to lack of money, but rather — 24 —