“Orders are being issued for the Squadron to leave for Eugene, Oregon,
where we will establish temporary headquarters,” said Smith. “We will
leave tomorrow morning. That is, part of the Squadron will leave in
the morning. The motor transport will leave at daybreak. I will take
off with ‘B’ Flight at soon after daybreak as we can get away. Bruce,
you will leave with your Flight when you have straightened up the
airdrome. We will probably be gone all Summer, so make arrangements
accordingly. Some of the planes will probably operate from other
places than Eugene, but just where I cannot determine until I have a
conference with the forestry officials after my arrival. Everybody
make the necessary plans to carry out the instructions just outlined.”
That was all there was to the orders. The Squadron Commander of “B”
Flight would take off, the enlisted men would leave with the motor
transport and “A” Flight would follow as soon as it had closed up the
buildings and made the necessary preparations for the safety of the
property. Bill Bruce had no idea how long these preparations would
take, but he hoped that he would be able to get away on the same day
as the rest of the Squadron.
For the remainder of the day the Squadron personnel were busy with the
multitudinous details attendant to their departure. Their first task
was the removal and storage of the bombs and ammunition which had been
installed in the planes for the gunnery practice. The machine guns
were taken off and packed away. The radio sets were tested to insure
their perfect working condition.
It was no easy job to select the proper equipment and clothing which
should be taken along. The personnel did not know the conditions under
which they would live in Oregon and accordingly had a very sketchy
idea as to what would be required. In this they could get help from no
one and each worked out the details according to his own ideas.
The transportation was thoroughly inspected and the necessary spares
put aboard each truck. It was decided to leave the searchlight truck
at the home station, as it was far too heavy for mountain roads and
bridges. The radio trucks were taken along, and with them all ground
radio sets. Everyone realized that radio communication would have to
be used continuously between the planes and any bases which might be
established.
The next morning Bill found that the truck train had departed long
before his arrival. All of the Squadron messing facilities, tools and
spares for the airplanes and engines, officers’ and men’s personal
equipment and surplus flying equipment were in the trucks. A short
time afterwards Captain Smith left with “B” Flight.
Bill Bruce immediately started to work, using the officers and men of
his Flight to clean up the airdrome and close the hangars and other
buildings. It was a long, tedious task, but was finally completed. At
eleven o’clock the planes were lined up ready for the take-off. Bill
taxied his plane to the end of the field and the others joined him in
proper position for taking off in formation. He had five planes in his
Flight. One of his pilots was absent on leave and would join the
Squadron at Eugene at a later date.
The Flight took off and, once in the air, the planes swung into their
proper places. Bill was leading and the other planes placed themselves
along the sides of a large “V.” Each plane was slightly above and
uncovered the one in its front so that the Flight looked like a flock
of ducks as it flew across San Francisco Bay.
The first part of the trip took them to the north end of the bay. They
passed over a portion of the fertile Napa Valley and then crossed the
coast range at an altitude of about five thousand feet. Here they
obtained their first extended view of the broad Sacramento Valley.
They flew for miles over the level floor of the valley. Here and there
they saw or passed over a small village or a railroad, but the greater
portion of the flight was over large ranches.
Their course brought them closer and closer to the Sacramento River.
At first it had been well off to their right and could be
distinguished only by the trees along its banks, but as they
progressed they gradually came closer to it and could make out the
bridges over which the roads and railroads passed. They noticed that
the towns became more numerous as they flew parallel to the river and
railroad.
The Sierra Mountains, with their snow-capped peaks, marked the eastern
boundary of the valley. Mount Lassen, the only active volcano in the
United States, thrust its head well above the surrounding mountains.
Straight ahead of them Mount Shasta seemed to stand as a direction
post indicating the proper course for them to fly.
They reached the rough, broken country at the head of the valley and
crossed the Sacramento River. Bill here changed his course slightly so
that they would pass to the west of Shasta. The hills beneath them
became higher and higher and their slopes were thickly covered with
rocks. The river wound its way through the hills far to the west, only
to appear unexpectedly beneath them as they climbed for more altitude
to pass over Castle Crag.
The terrain rose abruptly from the river to the top of Castle Crag.
This enormous mass of rock thrust itself almost vertically into the
air and culminated in numerous pinnacles of solid rock. It was easy to
see how it had obtained its name, for the general impression obtained
when looking at it was that of a gigantic stone castle. Its peak was
composed of many sharp needle-like points some seven thousand feet
above sea level.
On the northern side of the Crag the country dropped abruptly into
Shasta Valley. They were close to Mount Shasta by this time, and
although flying along at about eight thousand feet, they had to look
up into the air to see the snow cap of that peak, which was some
fourteen thousand feet above sea level. The sides of the mountain were
covered with trees for the first five or six thousand feet above the
floor of the valley, but beyond that the timber thinned out until the
mountain was bare for the last three or four thousand feet.
At the foot of Mount Shasta they passed over a logging camp nestled in
the thick forest. Ahead of them stretched the floor of Shasta Valley,
but they could not see the far end as it was covered with clouds. For
the next fifty miles Bill wondered what he would do when he reached
those clouds. He knew that the valley ended at the range of mountains
along which the Oregon-California boundary extended. He could not
cross those mountains unless he could get at least four or five
thousand feet altitude.
Bill led the Flight toward the railroad, for he knew that it made its
way through the mountains and he hoped to follow it. The planes
reached the clouds and dropped down to thirty-five hundred feet to get
under them. From that point on Bill followed the tracks. On both sides
the mountains rose well above the railroad.
As they progressed the ground rose and tended to meet the clouds until
they were soon flying along with barely any space between the planes
and the timber-covered mountain sides. The railroad tracks followed
the course of the stream, which flowed down the valley. The valley
became narrower and the tracks climbed higher up on the mountain
sides. At one point they passed a train standing on a siding waiting
to pass another coming from the opposite direction. The passengers
were standing in the vestibules or looking out of the windows at the
planes as they passed. The pilots passed so close that they could see
the minutest details of the people on the ground. It seemed to Bill
that he could almost have touched the train as he passed.
The valley was gradually getting narrower—the trees were higher and
the planes had less room for maneuvering. Bill turned around to see
how the other members of his Flight were getting along. He was
following the middle of the valley and had plenty of space for
maneuvering, but the flank planes were too close to the trees for
comfort. The Flight was limited in its movements by the clouds above
and the V-shaped cut through the mountains below.
As they gained altitudes the valley twisted and turned. Each twist and
turn had to be followed with great care by the pilots. The Flight
began to string out on account of the confined space in which they
were flying, the danger of hitting a mountain side or of running into
one of the other planes. The curves of the railroad and the stream
became more abrupt until Bill found it difficult to anticipate the
next turn he would have to make with his plane.
It was getting harder and harder to follow the railroad. Bill thought
that they should soon reach the crest of the mountains and start to go
down the other side, as the railroad by this time was almost in the
low clouds.
All of a sudden Bill saw that the tracks made a complete one hundred
and eighty degree turn ahead of him. The tracks had been steadily
climbing to gain altitude, and now in order to gain more they turned
back on themselves. Bill knew that he had led his Flight into a blind
valley. He must turn around and follow the tracks, but where did they
lead?
Bill had to make a wing overturn and come back, head on, at the other
planes. Each plane in turn slid over to the side of the valley as Bill
approached, but it looked as if he would surely collide with one of
them before he passed the last. However, he cleared by inches and was
maneuvering to pass the last plane when he saw that the railroad went
into a tunnel.
It is bad enough to have to follow a railroad through a twisting,
winding valley with barely enough room to handle the plane, but when
that railroad runs into a tunnel, then the leader of the Flight is up
against it to know just what to do. Bill had this situation
confronting him. He did not want to back-track down the valley, for
the clouds by this time might have settled down and shut off all
possibility of getting out. Something had to be done, however, and
must be done at once. The mouth of the tunnel was getting closer and
closer.
The side of the mountain disappeared in the clouds above the tunnel.
There was no way to tell how high that mountain extended above the
bottom of the clouds. Bill could see the trees with their trunks below
the clouds and their tops hidden, but that did not help any. He saw a
deer, standing at first in an opening between the trees, suddenly turn
and bound out of sight when it overcame its fright of the throbbing
engines. Bill right there wished that he could change places with that
deer.
He headed his plane straight at the mouth of the tunnel and then, just
before reaching it, pulled back on the stick and went up into the
clouds. Once in the mist, with all view of the ground cut off, he
hesitated about what to do next. If he leveled off too soon he would
crash against the sides of the mountain. If he held his plane in a
climbing position too long, it would fall off into a spin. He tried to
hold it at the same angle at which he had entered the clouds and hoped
that it was sufficiently steep to follow the contour of the abrupt
slope below him.
Bill held his plane in the climb for an appreciable period of time. He
thought that he must have crossed over the crest of the Siskiyou
Mountains and, accordingly, pushed forward on the stick. One of two
things lay below him, either the side of the mountain or a level
valley. In one case he would crash into the mountain, but in the other
he would come out safely into the open. Which it would be, Bill had no
means of knowing.