“But here at this low level we have more to worry about than trying to reach the other plane. We are getting an awful kicking around. Wow! That was a beaut. Al Topel was foolish enough to unfasten his safety belt and stand up for a better angle shot of the raging turbulent sea below. We must have dropped one hundred feet and his head hit the aluminum ribbing of the plane’s ceiling. Then, trying to protect his camera, he skinned his elbows and knuckles. Now he’s given up and has even strapped a safety belt around his camera.” The crew was busy plotting positions and checking on the engines. To them it was an old story, except that none could recall such violent turbulence. The craft was low enough for them to get glimpses of the sea but they wanted a better view and they began to descend cautiously. Sosin wrote: “The turbulence is getting worse. The sea is streaked with greenish-gray lines which look like daubs made by a child who has stuck his fingers into a can of paint. Now we are closed in. We are flying blind. Capt. John C. Mays, the weather observer, starts giving the pilots readings from his radar altimeter while Huegele sends the plane lower and lower in an effort to establish visual contact with the sea. “‘Five hundred feet,’ Mays calls into the plane’s intercom. “‘OK,’ replies the skipper. “‘Four hundred feet.’ “‘Roger.’ “‘Three-fifty.’ “‘Roger.’ “‘Two-fifty.’ “‘OK.’ “‘Two hundred feet,’ Mays’ voice is still even. “‘OK,’ comes Huegele’s voice. “It may be OK with him but it isn’t with me. I just found myself tugging tentatively on the pull toggles which will inflate my ‘Mae West’ life jacket if I yank hard enough. I checked a long time ago to make certain the CO cartridges were where they should be. “Fred Clampitt, WIOD news editor, is turning green. “No, it’s not fear. He’s sweating so much that the colored chemical shark repellent in a pocket of his life jacket is starting to run. “Then we sight the sea again. From this low level the waves are frightening. They are traveling in all directions, not in just one, and they break against each other, dashing salt spray high into the air. It’s all too close. “Now the ceiling is lifting and we are climbing—250, 300, 500, 700 and we level off. It grows less turbulent and Observer Mays looks up from his deep concentration. “‘I may be wrong,’ he says, ‘but it looks to me as if it’s made a little curve toward the north.’ “Which is very interesting—but more interesting is the fact that the day’s work is over and we’re on our way home.”