Amelia Earhart: Across the Atlantic | The Race | 1
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Amelia Earhart glances down from the cockpit of her yellow biplane as it takes off into the air. She banks to the right, circling over dozens of spectators who have gathered in the dusty airfield below. She gives them a friendly wave. Amelia knows that they're expecting her to do something amazing today. So she gets to work. She adjusts her throttle, levels her wings with the horizon, and starts climbing.

It's spring 1923 in Glendale, California. Amelia Earhart took her first flying lesson just over two years ago, and already she's looking to break records. Today, she wants to take her plane 14,000 feet above ground, something no woman aviator has ever done with a motor as small as hers. Her face feels raw in the slipstream of hot air that flies over the engine from the propeller.

She's wearing a thick leather coat and goggles to protect her eyes against the wind. Under her feet, she can feel the wooden fuselage of the plane vibrating along with the engine. Amelia knows that a single tear in one of her canvas wings or a hiccup in her engine could send her spinning to the ground. She pushes away those thoughts. She checks her altimeter, the instrument that tells her how far she is from the ground, 10,000 feet up.

She flies up into some wispy clouds and sees the horizon flash in and out of sight. This could be a problem. It's important that she keeps her wings level, and she does that by lining them up with the horizon. If she can't see the horizon, the plane could start to tip and slide out of control. She's got to break through these clouds for a clearer view, so she climbs higher.

She feels a sharp sting on her cheeks, as if she's flying into a shower of pebbles. There's a deafening rattle as sleet ricochets off the wooden fuselage. Amelia grips the controls and weighs her options. She knows the safe thing to do is to descend. If her plane becomes coated with ice, it will become too heavy and fall to the ground like a stone. But she's only at 11,000 feet, and she wants that altitude record.

She continues her ascent. Suddenly, the plane is engulfed in fog. Everything goes white. The ground is gone. The horizon, gone. She could be level or upside down. She checks the altimeter, 12,000 feet. She wants to keep going up, but knows that would be too dangerous. With no visibility, she needs gravity to help her find her way to the ground.

Amelia pushes the throttle forward and stalls the engine. Her stomach lurches as the plane dives into a tailspin. She watches the altimeter. 10,000 feet. 9,000 feet. As soon as the fog clears, she'll level off and slow her descent. But the fog doesn't clear. 7,000. 6,000. All she sees is white. 5,000. 4,000. 3,000.

Amelia emerges from the fog and finds herself rocketing straight towards the ground. She pulls back hard on the throttle and slows her descent, locking eyes on the horizon until the plane stabilizes. Amelia sighs as she gently circles to the right and prepares to land. It would have been fun to break the record today. As the plane descends towards the runway, a thought crosses her mind.

What if the fog had extended all the way to the ground? Would she have crashed? Is there any way she would have survived the impact? Once again, Amelia Earhart pushes those useless thoughts out of her mind. She prepares to land and wonders when she'll get to try again.

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The 1920s were a golden age for American aviation. Pilots barnstormed all over the country, performing stunts and selling airplane rides. In December 1920, a 23-year-old named Amelia Earhart took a ride over Los Angeles in one of these small, fragile planes. As soon as she left the ground, she was hooked. Amelia earned her pilot's license in 1921 and began performing in air shows herself.

By 1923, she had her own plane and had set the altitude record for women pilots. But in 1924, when Amelia's family was hit by a financial catastrophe, she was forced to sell her plane, move east, and look for a job. Her dreams were pushed aside until she was offered a chance to attempt a dangerous feat achieved by no woman before her.

It was a challenge that would push her to her limits and forever change the world of aviation. This is our two-part series, Amelia Earhart, Across the Atlantic. Episode 1, The Race. Amelia Earhart charges into the parlor of the Denison Settlement House in East Boston. Her wool hat is slipping over her eyes, and her arms are loaded with four heavy sacks filled with stacks of paper.

Her boss, Marion Perkins, looks up from the table she's seated at. Slow down, Amelia! Amelia drops the sacks at Marion's feet. She takes off her hat and shakes out her arms, feeling the blood return to her fingers. Suddenly, a dozen kids come running into the parlor. Amelia smiles as the children swarm her. It's time to play. Tag! And I'm in!

The children shriek and scatter. Amelia runs out of the parlor and chases the children down a long hallway lined with classroom doors. Amelia lives in this rickety building, along with four other social workers, and she knows every inch of it. Denison House provides English classes, daycare, and other services to the immigrant community that resides in the neighborhood.

It's May 21st, 1927, and Amelia's been working here for six months. It's a big change from doing stunts and air shows. Since she was a child, Amelia has dreamed of doing something meaningful with her life. She sold her plane and moved east just over two years ago, and she's felt adrift ever since. Amelia tried to go back to college and even considered a marriage proposal from her longtime boyfriend.

None of it felt right, until now. Amelia has long been a believer in social justice and charity, and Denison House is a place where she can turn those beliefs into action. Amelia laughs as she walks back into the parlor, but she finds Marian still seated with a worried expression on her face. "What's wrong, Marian?"

Marion reaches into one of the large sacks Amelia carried in and pulls out a piece of paper. It's a pass for a carnival that Denison House is putting on as a fundraiser. We don't have time to deliver these. How are we going to get the word out? Amelia looks around at the threadbare carpet and worn furniture. Denison House could definitely use more funds.

A little girl runs up to Amelia. "Miss Earhart, look!" The girl hands her a newspaper and Amelia reads the blaring headline. "Lindbergh lands in Paris!" Amelia's heart skips. Since 1919, there have been a number of transatlantic flights, but there were multiple crew members on board those planes. Charles Lindbergh has done what no one has done before: flown from New York to Paris by himself without stopping.

Marian peeks at the article over Amelia's shoulder. "Look! They're calling him Lucky Lindy!" Amelia feels a surge of excitement. This flight is a breakthrough moment. She imagines not one, but many flights across the Atlantic every day. She imagines using airplanes for passengers, for business, even to deliver mail. Then, an idea sparks in her mind.

"Marion, what if the Carnival Passes were distributed around Boston from the air?" Marion laughs. "Be serious. Who would do that?" Amelia shrugs. "Well, I would." Marion's eyes light up. Amelia knows she'll be flying again soon. George Putnam struggles to keep his balance as he walks down the aisle of a fast-moving commuter train.

Putnam runs a publishing house in Manhattan. After a long day at the office, he's looking forward to returning to his comfortable home in the wealthy coastal suburb of Rye, New York. As he enters the lounge car, he hears someone calling his name. George! George Putnam! George turns and sees his friend Hilton Raley waving to him. Hilton's a public relations man from Boston, and George is happy to see him.

George takes a seat next to Hilton as the train speeds north out of Manhattan. George specializes in true-life adventure books written by the adventurers themselves. Just last spring, he published Charles Lindbergh's account of his solo flight over the Atlantic. It was a huge bestseller. But now it's the spring of 1928, and George is looking for a new adventure to capitalize on.

He has a lead on something interesting, and Hilton might just be the guy to help make it happen. George looks around to make sure nobody's in earshot and tells Hilton what he knows. So there's this wealthy woman, and she's planning a flight, a very long flight. Hilton looks at him curiously. How long? All the way across the Atlantic. As the train chugs toward the suburbs, George tells Hilton more.

The wealthy woman is Amy Phipps Guest, the 55-year-old daughter of an American steel magnate. She's so determined, she's already purchased a plane. Guest isn't a pilot, so she was in the process of pulling together a crew to fly her. But then her family talked her out of it. George leans closer to Hilton. Mrs. Guest is looking for an American woman pilot to take her place in the crew.

She wants this woman to have the right image: adventurous, but also a decent human being who commands respect. Sounds great, but where do I come in? George narrows his gaze. Help me find her. Hilton, think about it. It's not a solo flight like Lindy, but she'd be the first woman to fly across the Atlantic. If we find the right girl, we've got a guaranteed bestseller on our hands.

Hilton looks out the window, tapping his finger on his chin. "I think I can help you. Let me work my contacts in Boston. I'll get back to you in a few days." George nods and thanks him. Then, he leans back and imagines how much money could be coming in if they find the right girl.

Amelia Earhart slides her pilot's license across an enormous wooden desk. The skyscrapers of midtown Manhattan loom large through the huge windows of George Putnam's office. Amelia looks George in the eye. That's the first international pilot's license ever granted to an American woman. George picks up the license and gives it a quick glance before tossing it back to her. He seems unimpressed.

It's May 1928. A few weeks ago, Amelia received a phone call from a man named Hilton Raley. He had learned of the publicity generated by her stunt last year, where she dropped the Carnival Passes over Boston from an airplane. Since then, she's been building a name for herself in Boston's aviation community while continuing to work for Denison House.

When Rayleigh asked her if she would like to be the first woman to fly the Atlantic, Amelia understood it was a dangerous proposition. Since Lindbergh's flight, there had been a number of attempted crossings, and many of those flyers were lost at sea. Still, she answered Rayleigh without hesitation. She was definitely interested. Now she's finally meeting with the man who will decide if she gets the job.

Amelia has already decided she doesn't much like George Putnam, but she's not going to let that get in her way. She folds her hands in her lap and forces a pleasant look on her face. George leans back in his chair. The pilot and mechanic are going to be paid, a lot, but there is no money set aside for you, since you will just be a passenger. Amelia frowns and looks at her hands.

George continues. Were you expecting to be paid? His tone is rude, but she forces herself to remain polite. No, thank you. George nods. He stands up and paces around his office. He's tall and rugged looking. Amelia has to admit that if he weren't so rude, he'd be attractive. Miss Earhart, why do you want to fly the Atlantics?

Amelia thinks about how best to answer this. She wants George to like her enough to offer her the flight, but not so much that he becomes worried about her drowning. Mr. Putnam, why does a man ride a horse? Why? Because he wants to, I guess. Amelia raises her eyebrows. Well then...

George stares at her for a long moment. Then he shakes his head and laughs. Amelia has a brief flash of doubt. She wants this job more than anything, but she wants to do it on her own terms. She takes a deep breath. "Mr. Putnam, if you decide to offer me the flight, I don't want to just be a passenger. I want the chance to fly the plane."

Amelia watches nervously as George Putnam sits back down at his desk. It looks like he's about to say something. Instead, he closes his mouth, turns to Amelia, and smiles. Amelia Earhart runs her hands along the red and orange fuselage of a Fokker F7 plane. She notices the fresh paint and smiles at the name painted in large letters: the friendship.

The plane is parked in a cavernous hangar in East Boston. It's only been 10 days since her meeting with George Putnam. Amelia was happy when George called and officially asked her to join the crew as a co-pilot. But she was even more delighted when he said that Mrs. Guest and her team wanted her to be the flight commander. Now the race is underway to prepare to take off for England as soon as possible.

Walking beside Amelia is the flight mechanic, Louis "Slim" Gordon. He always seems to be smiling, and Amelia likes that.

What's the wingspan, Slim? 72 feet. Amelia nods. 72 feet will provide a lot of lift. Amelia likes the muscular look of the plane. It's bigger than any craft she's flown. And she knows that the bright color is not just a design choice. If the plane should go down at sea, orange is easy to spot.

It's noisy in the hangar and Amelia fights the urge to cover her ears. Welders are at work under the friendship. Their torches crackle as sparks fly in the air. Slim motions for Amelia to take a closer look. We are replacing the wheels with pontoons. Amelia gives a thumbs up. Pontoons are good. They can land on water if something happens mid-flight. But they are heavy. In a plane, every pound counts.

She climbs up a ladder and through a large square door on the starboard side of the plane. Amelia notices that there's someone sitting in the pilot's seat, but he doesn't turn around. Slim taps the man on the shoulder. "Bill, this is Amelia Earhart." Bill twists around and stares at her. He has sandy brown hair and looks younger than she expected, about 30.

Amelia stands as tall as possible in the cramped cabin and holds out her hand. You must be our pilot, Mr. Stultz. The man nods. Call me Bill. Bill turns away from her abruptly, but Amelia decides not to dwell on it. She leans forward to get a closer look at the control panel and is shocked to see empty spaces where the instrument should be. Where's the compass? Where's the altimeter? Where's the compass?

Slim points to the boxes in the cabin. We're getting all new everything. He taps a large box with his foot. That's a brand new, state-of-the-art radio and receiver. Amelia turns to Bill. Can I ask, how is she going to take off with all this equipment on board? Get her going fast enough, I guess.

Amelia crosses her arms and thinks. She knows that for this model of plane, Bill Stultz is one of the best pilots in the business. If he thinks they can get her off the ground carrying pontoons and a radio, then she has to trust him. Because if she wants to break records, there's no time to hesitate.

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Head over to Symbiotica.com and use code ODDS for 20% off and free shipping on your subscription order. Slim Gordon balances on one of the pontoons of the Friendship as it floats in the middle of Boston Harbor. From the cockpit, Bill gives Slim a thumbs up. Slim winds the propellers one by one to start the engines. Then he hops up into the cabin and latches the door shut. It's Sunday, June 3rd.

After weeks of renovation, the plane is finally ready to attempt a transatlantic crossing. Today, they'll be taking a short flight to the town of Trapassie on the southeastern coast of Newfoundland. From there, they'll wait for a window of good weather to appear before taking off for England. Slim crouches on a rolled-up life raft in the back of the cabin next to Amelia as the plane accelerates across the water.

Slim and Amelia hang on as the pontoons bounce over the waves. The plane roars louder and louder, but doesn't take off. Amelia turns to Slim. - We're too heavy! - An hour later, the Friendship is still floating in Boston Harbor. Slim and Amelia have offloaded everything non-essential, and a few essential things too, like the life raft. But after two more attempts, they've still failed to take off.

Slim looks around the cabin, searching for something else to jettison. Bill calls over his shoulder from the cockpit. "The fuel!" Slim looks at the fuel cans. He hates to waste them, but there's nothing else left to unload. One by one, he and Amelia toss six heavy cans of fuel into the harbor. Bill guns the engines one more time.

Slim holds his breath as they roar over the water. The pontoons slap hard into a wave. The cabin lurches. Amelia falls over and Slim hits his head on the ceiling. As Slim helps Amelia up, he realizes that the friendship is finally airborne and on its way to Tripasi.

Suddenly, Bill banks the plane and Slim loses his balance again. He falls hard against the door with his shoulder and it flies open. Slim grips tightly to the frame of the doorway as he looks down at the ocean far below him. He catches his breath and heaves himself back inside. He slams the door shut and holds it against the wind. The latch has broken.

Amelia drags a gas can forward from the back of the plane and tosses him some string. Slim ties the door handle to the gas can. As the plane roars through the clouds with its door rattling in the wind, Slim's mind is spinning. If the friendship is having this tough of a time making the trip to Canada, how on earth is it going to make it all the way across the Atlantic?

Amelia stares nervously at the four reporters sitting across the table from her. She's in a sparsely decorated room in a house in Trapassie. Bill slumps in a chair to her right, while Slim sits to her left, his long legs tucked awkwardly under his chair. It's Tuesday, June 5th, two days since they arrived here. Amelia knows she's supposed to kick off this press conference.

She decides she may as well get it over with and reads from a sheet of paper. "Although we hoped to take off this morning, we are going to wait another day for weather conditions to improve. Tomorrow, the Friendship and its crew will leave for England. Thank you." Amelia looks up and sees a reporter with a hideous red tie waving his pencil at her. "Miss Earhart, what will you be wearing when you land in England?"

George Putnam told Amelia to expect a lot of interest from reporters, but she didn't expect such silly questions. She wishes Slim and Bill would pipe up, but they just sit there like statues.

Another reporter raises his hand. Miss Earhart, it's been reported that Mabel Bull has a new plane and crew and plans to leave for Newfoundland tomorrow morning. Care to make a comment? Amelia sighs. George told her all about Mabel Bull, a wealthy socialite who's always looking for ways to drum up publicity for herself.

A few months ago, she made the front page of The New York Times when she flew as a passenger in the first nonstop flight from New York City to Havana. George had heard rumors that she might join the race to become the first woman to fly across the Atlantic. Now that race has apparently begun in earnest.

Amelia calmly folds her hands on the table. Mr. Stoltz, Mr. Gordon, and I are sharing in a great adventure. And that's all we have to say right now. Bill jumps to his feet and pushes his way past the reporters. Amelia wonders where he could be going in such a hurry. Bill is a gifted pilot, but he seems to be hiding something. As the reporters disperse, it dawns on Amelia why she was asked to be the commander of the flight.

Her job is to make sure the crew is mentally ready to fly. She knows she's up to that task. And if all goes according to plan, they'll be taking off tomorrow. Amelia frowns as she sits on her bed and reads a taunting telegram for Mabel Bull.

Mabel brags that she's completed the first leg of her trip and is just 75 miles away in another Newfoundland town called Harbor Grace. She's just about caught up to the friendship and is planning to take off for Europe as soon as the weather clears.

Amelia drops the telegram on her nightstand and walks down the hallway and out of the front door of the house she's staying in. She stands on the porch, staring out to the harbor, where the friendship is bobbing aimlessly in the water under a gloomy afternoon sky.

The crew has been stuck in Trapassie for 13 days now, and Amelia is at her wit's end. It's been 13 straight days of bad weather, first in Newfoundland and then in England, where they plan to land. She's not sure how much more waiting they can take,

A few days ago, they made another attempt to take off, but couldn't break through the strong headwind. It's a good thing they didn't. When they docked the plane, Slim discovered that a weld in the oil tank had broken open. If they had achieved liftoff, they would have run out of oil in the middle of the ocean, and they'd be dead now. As the days have dragged on, Amelia's watched even Slim grow restless. His usually good mood soured.

But she's more concerned about her pilot. He's been acting odd since arriving in Trapassie, and now she understands why. Bill Stultz is an alcoholic, and he's no longer trying to hide it. Now he's spending entire days drunk, supplied with liquor by the gang of reporters still waiting for the friendship to depart. Amelia closes her eyes. It feels like the mission is falling apart.

If they fail, the papers will blame her. She hears the front door open behind her. The owner of the house is standing in the doorway, holding a yellow telegram. Amelia takes it from him and reads the weather report inside. There's a storm in the Atlantic, but it's projected to move slightly to the south of their route. For the first time in days, it's clear in Newfoundland and clear in England. Amelia looks out again at the friendship,

Slim has repaired the oil tank, and the plane is as ready as it will ever be. She starts walking into town. She has to find Slim and Bill. They have a window with the weather. It's narrow, with plenty of risk involved, but they'll have to take that risk if they're going to beat Mabel Bull across the Atlantic. Bill stares at his feet as they crunch along the pebble beach toward the dock. Amelia walks beside him, gripping his elbow.

It's morning, and the weather is breezy and clear. But Bill feels unsteady. His head aches, and his mouth feels like it's full of cotton. He just wants to go back to bed. Amelia pats his arm. The conditions are finally right to take off.

Bill is still feeling pretty drunk from last night's whiskey, but he doesn't want to say this to Amelia. Maybe he can scare her into postponing. It's too windy. If we come down in this heavy sea, we will not live a minute. Amelia continues to pull him along by the elbow. The breeze is behind us and will help us cross all the faster. Amelia holds up the bag she is carrying. And I have a thermos of coffee.

Before he knows it, Bill is in the rowboat and headed toward the plane. Sitting to his right is Andy Fulgoni, the photographer who's been following them around for almost two weeks. Amelia sits across from them, clutching her bag. When they reach the friendship, Slim is standing on one of the pontoons, waiting to greet them. Bill puts his head in his hands and stays seated in the boat, afraid.

Amelia moves close and speaks quietly in his ear. "Bill, once you are in the plane, your instincts will take over." Bill looks up at the plane rocking in the water. Maybe Amelia is right. If he can just get the friendship out of the water, he can fly her better than any other pilot in the world. He looks at the sky. Unlimited visibility. A beautiful day for flying.

Bill manages to keep his balance as he rises to his feet, steps carefully on the pontoon, and climbs inside the plane. Photographer Andy Filgoni sits in a rowboat, holding his camera, waiting. A couple of hours ago, Andy rode along with Amelia Earhart and Bill Stultz as the boat delivered them to the Friendship. Since then, the plane has made multiple attempts to take off, and it's still floating in the harbor.

If they depart for England today, Andy wants his photo to be on the front pages. He sighs as he sees the door of the plane pop open. Cans of fuel fly out of the cabin and disappear into the water. He's seen them do this before. They're shedding weight.

Andy is concerned that this plane simply isn't up to the task, but he's also worried about something else. While sitting in the rowboat next to Bill, Andy couldn't help but notice the strong smell of alcohol on the pilot's breath. More cans of fuel are tossed into the harbor. If they keep ditching fuel, how will they have enough left to fly all the way to England?

Andy is about to pack up his camera and get some breakfast when he sees the Friendship accelerate towards the open sea again. It seems to be getting more air as it bounces on the waves. He quickly frames a shot, just in time to see the plane bounce one more time and then coast above the water. Andy clicks furiously as the Friendship climbs above the treetops, circles low around the town, and then heads east over the horizon.

As his rowboat heads for shore, Andy realizes that he got the shot that every newspaper editor in the country will be clamoring for. Still, Andy can't shake his uneasiness. The friendship has just embarked on a dangerous journey, and its pilot is drunk.

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Before long, the coast is behind them, and all Amelia sees below is an endless expanse of water. As soon as the plane was airborne, Bill's mood lifted, just as Amelia had hoped. Now he sips coffee in the pilot's seat and jokes with Slim. Amelia moves to the rear of the cabin and picks up her logbook.

She promised George that she'd keep a detailed record of everything that happens on the flight. After all, the New York Times is paying for the exclusive rights to her account of the journey. And she's also gathering material for a potential book. An hour later, Amelia feels the friendship begin to shudder. She moves to the front of the plane to get a better view. Through the snowflakes hitting the windshield, she can see thick black clouds looming ahead.

Bill doesn't look worried. I'm gonna get above the storm. Amelia feels her body grow heavy as the plane climbs. The plane lurches in the rough air. Amelia's knees bang against the floor with each bump. Bill climbs higher, 3,300 feet. She can't help but admire him for his concentration and poise. He sits with every muscle and nerve alert, a different person from the man she coaxed onto the plane this morning.

There's a brief flash of sunlight, but then, Amelia sees more towering black clouds ahead. They have no choice but to fly right through them. Bill grips the wheel tight. Within minutes, the plane is fully immersed in the storm.

Hail rattles on the fuselage. The plane bucks sideways. Amelia feels a bolt of pain as she's thrown against a supply crate. The cabin grows darker. Lightning flashes outside the windows. The thunder roars with a fury she can feel in her bones. The rain pours so thick on the windows that it seems like they're underwater. This is the heaviest storm Amelia has ever been in.

Amelia grips tightly to a strut bolted to the ceiling of the cabin. She closes her eyes and hopes for the best. It takes a half hour for the violent shaking to finally subside. Before long, Amelia sees murky light peeking through the windows again. She exhales. Through the window, she sees the ocean is shrouded by a patchy curtain of fog.

Amelia was promised an opportunity to take the controls, but only if the visibility was good. Bill knows how to use the instruments to fly in conditions where visibility is poor, but Amelia has yet to learn this skill. The clouds break and Amelia spies smooth blue-green water below them and something floating in it. "Bill, a ship!" The radio crackles to life. Bill writes down codes and passes them to Amelia.

She looks them up in the code book. "XHY British ship Rexmoor. Bearing is 48 north, 39 west. 2045 GMT." Slim scribbles the coordinates on the map. "We're 10 miles off course." Amelia is surprised the storm didn't blow them further astray. 10 miles requires only a small correction. Out of the window, the clouds start to glow as the sun begins to set.

Amelia is moved by the sight. It reminds her of the colors of the Mojave Desert. She'll do her best to write about it, but it seems too lovely for words. Amelia feels like she is gulping down beauty. She glances at Bill, though, and sees he's not as jubilant. Still a long way to go. Amelia knows he's right.

In their efforts to get the plane to take off, they jettisoned much of their fuel reserves. They set out with just enough fuel to reach England. If they blow off course again, they'll be in trouble. Amelia looks out the right side window into the dark of night. She can't see much, but she can hear all three of the motors sputtering and coughing. She grits her teeth.

If the motors give out, they'll have to land out here in the open ocean. The plane won't last long floating on heavy seas. Amelia calculates that they've been in the air about 15 hours now. The motors aren't their only problem. For the last few minutes, Bill and Slim have been trying to get a message out to the vessels in the area to get their coordinates. But the radio seems to have quit. Slim kneels in front of the console, adjusting knobs and jiggling wires.

It's definitely not transmitting. Bill's eyes widen. Can we receive? I'm sorry, Bill. I just don't know. Amelia shudders. With no way to communicate and no visual point of reference, they have no way of knowing where they are. And if they've gone off course, they're in danger of running out of fuel. An hour later, the light of dawn begins to paint the horizon ahead of them. But all Amelia can see out the window is thick fog.

She checks the gauges on the control panel. They have a few hours of fuel left at the most, and they have no idea where they are. Another hour passes as they search for a window through the haze. Finally, Bill makes a decision to bring the plane lower. At 3,000 feet, Amelia can start to see open ocean beneath her, but no signs of land. The fuel gauge continues to drop as she scans the water for any kind of visual marker.

Finally, she spots a tiny speck in the distance. As they move closer, Amelia realizes what it is. "A steamship! They can help us!" But Slim doesn't share her enthusiasm. "What can they do for us? Our radio doesn't work. We can't call out. But maybe we can receive." Amelia grabs her logbook and rips out a sheet of paper. She writes a note to the ship's captain, asking him to radio their coordinates.

Bill brings the friendship lower and starts circling the ship. Amelia puts her message into a paper bag with an orange for weight. She ties the bag shut and opens the hatch in the floor of the plane. When they seem to be directly over the ship, Amelia drops the bag. She holds her breath as it plunges down and splashes into the ocean. She missed.

Amelia closes the hatch and sits back on her heels, frustrated. Slim turns to Bill. Maybe we should just land next to the ship. They'd see us and rescue us. Amelia feels her heart sink. They've come so far, and she doesn't want to give up now. It's quiet for a moment. Finally, Bill steers eastward, away from the ship. We're gonna keep going. Slim shrugs and grabs a sandwich from a canvas bag.

Amelia feels both excitement and fear as she peers out the window. Bill keeps the plane flying low to stay out of the fog. Amelia watches the ocean rush by, just a few hundred feet below, and scans the horizon for any sign of land. Amelia thinks they must be in range of their destination, if they are on course. They've been flying for almost 20 hours now.

Finally, she sees something. "It's a boat! Wait! I think I see more than one!" Bill steers closer to find a fleet of fishing boats, all headed in the same direction, a good sign they're close to land. Then, Amelia sees a blue shadow breaking through the haze ahead. Bill sees it too. When Slim sees it, he jumps to his feet and drops his sandwich. It's land. The fuel gauge is on the verge of empty.

But Amelia knows they're going to make it. Amy Phipps Guest claps her hands as the friendship descends toward the water and touches down with a soft splash into the harbor at Southampton, England. The crowd around her roars while the ships blare their sirens. Amy's eyes fill with tears. With her funding, a woman has flown across the Atlantic. She can't wait to shake Amelia's hand.

The Friendship landed yesterday just off the coast of Wales, nearly out of gas but intact. Now the plane has arrived here on the southern coast of England. Amy expected a crowd, but she is shocked at the pandemonium around her. The dock is packed with reporters. People are standing shoulder to shoulder on the beach. As the Friendship's crew is ferried to shore in a motorboat, the crowd begins to surge forward. People near the water's edge start falling in.

Soon, the crew climbs onto the dock and Amy steps forward to greet them. They look exhausted, but happy. Amelia is wearing a flight suit that's several sizes too large. Amy holds out her hand, and Amelia takes it with a big, gap-toothed smile. Welcome to England, Miss Earhart. I have cars that will take the three of you to London. Follow me.

Amy walks with the crew to the end of the dock, but then she stops. There's a solid mass of people standing in their way. The police try to clear a path, but the crowd surges forward. Everyone wants to catch a glimpse of Amelia Earhart. Amy watches in horror as the scarf is pulled from Amelia's neck and ripped into pieces by the crowd.

Amelia and the two men race to the waiting cars. Amy breathes a sigh of relief as the cars drive away, and the crowd disperses. As she walks to her own car, Amy wonders if Amelia is prepared for what's ahead of her, now that she's the most famous woman in the world. Amelia flips through a stack of newspapers at the breakfast table and misses guests' elegant London home.

It's been a day since the friendship arrived in Southampton, and every front page has her face on it. Each story is the same: her flight suit, her resemblance to Charles Lindbergh. They barely mention Bill or Slim or say anything interesting about the role of women in the new field of aviation.

And why should they, she thinks. For women to influence aviation, they must be flyers, pilots. And on this flight, her hands never even touched the controls. The visibility remained poor throughout the flight, so she never got the chance. Mrs. Guest walks into the room. My goodness, Ms. Earhart, why do you look so glum? It was a grand experience, Mrs. Guest.

But all I did was look at the clouds. I was just a sack of potatoes. Mrs. Guest pours herself a cup of coffee. You're still the first woman to fly across the Atlantic. But I didn't fly. My dear, why dwell on disappointment? Are you telling me this is your last adventure? Amelia thinks. She's 30 years old. This can't be it for her.

She wants to keep flying, but only if she can do it on her own terms. Deep down, Amelia Earhart knows that she was born to be a pilot, not a passenger. This is episode one of our two-part series, Amelia Earhart, Across the Atlantic. A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but everything is based on historical research.

If you'd like to learn more about this story, we recommend East to the Dawn by Susan Butler and 20 Hours, 40 Minutes, Our Flight in the Friendship by Amelia Earhart. I'm your host, Cassie DePeckel. Heather Dundas wrote this episode. Our editor is Sean Raviv. Sound design is by Rob Shilaga. Our audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Our production coordinator is Desi Blaylock.

Produced by Matt Olmos, Emily Frost, and Alita Rozanski. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our managing producer is Matt Gant. Our senior managing producer is Tanja Thigpen. Our executive producers are Jenny Lara Beckman, Stephanie Jens, and Marshall Louis. For Wondery...

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