The year was 1930. Transoceanic flights in heavier-than-air craft had been undertaken for more than a decade. The Atlantic had been conquered in 1919 by a U.S. Navy flying boat and by a Vickers Vimy that first crossed the ocean nonstop. Two U.S. Army Air Service aircraft had circled the globe in 1924. Hawaii had been reached by air, Charles Lindbergh and others had flown the Atlantic in 1927, and the Pacific was crossed the following year.

Strangely, however, by 1930 no airplane had yet flown to Bermuda, only 650 miles southeast of Cape Hatteras, N.C., and about 760 miles from New York’s Long Island. The world’s most northerly coral islands, consisting of some 150 coral rocks, islets and islands in the Atlantic, Bermuda has been a mecca for American tourists on holiday cruises since the early 1900s. Author Mark Twain, who once considered living there, quipped that it was ‘the right country for a jaded man to loaf in.’ But it had also been called the ‘Isle of Devils’ because of the many ships wrecked there.

In 1930, many pilots considered navigating by air to those tiny dots in the Atlantic too risky, since there were as yet no radio aids to air navigation. But, as with all challenges of distance during that age of aviation derring-do, it was inevitable that someone would accept the challenge and try to go down in the history books as the first to land there. That someone would be pilot William H. Alexander, accompanied by Captain Lewis A. Yancey, an experienced navigator, and Zeh ‘Jack’ Bouck, a radio operator.

Alexander had learned to fly at a Wright brothers school in 1911. During World War I, he had flown with the Royal Flying Corps in Canada, later transferring to the U.S. Navy and becoming a flying instructor at Pensacola, Fla., when the United States entered the war. In the postwar years he went into commercial flying, concentrating on seaplane operations.

Yancey had served as a lieutenant in the U.S. Navy submarine service, during which time he became interested in navigation. He transferred to the merchant marine in 1922, earning a master mariner’s license that enabled him to navigate ships of any size anywhere in the world. Yancey also authored several books on navigation.

In 1929 Yancey received much attention from the media when he acted as the navigator for pilot Roger Q. Williams on what the two men hoped would be a nonstop flight from Old Orchard, Maine, to Rome. Departing July 8, Yancey and Williams flew their Bellanca Model J, named Pathfinder, 3,400 miles over the Atlantic to Santander, Spain, where they had to refuel because of unexpected head winds. On July 10, they flew on to Rome, receiving a rousing welcome upon landing. Yancey told the press after his return that he was confident he could navigate a plane to Bermuda if he were teamed up with a good pilot and a good plane and had 48 hours’ notice.

Bouck, crippled since childhood, had long experimented with radio. In addition to building several radio sets for aircraft, he established his own radio station in New York City. He had visited Bermuda by ship many times, and had many friends there. Bouck was anxious to make a flight to the island. He had written to the Bermudan authorities seeking landing permission but had received no reply.

Unlike most of the participants in record-seeking flights of that era, the three intrepid airmen tried to plan their trip secretly, because they wanted to be first. They quietly sought sponsors to finance the flight, but many in whom they confided advised them not to attempt the trip. If they missed the main island and kept on flying east, it was thousands of miles to the nearest land.

Besides the honor of being first, there was at one point a monetary incentive for anyone who would succeed in a flight from the United States. Hoping to stimulate tourism, the Bermuda Trade Development Board offered a $25,000 prize to anyone who would fly from the U.S. mainland and land in the harbor, thereby opening up the British dependency to air travel. But shortly after the prize was offered, it was withdrawn. The board was persuaded that such a reward might result in some ill-prepared, foolhardy pilot’s death in the attempt. As one Bermuda writer put it: ‘How could aviators be certain of finding a 21-mile island 700 miles from the mainland? If they failed, and with their limited fuel capacity there was no allowance for mistakes, they would surely perish.’

Nevertheless, three sponsors did come forward. One was the Pilot Radio Corporation, which donated a Stinson SM-1 Detroiter, a closed-cockpit high-wing monoplane powered by a Wright Whirlwind 300-hp engine, for the flight. The crew immediately named the Stinson Pilot Radio. Since there was no airport in Bermuda, a seaplane was absolutely essential, and the Edo Aircraft Company donated pontoons and suitable undercarriage struts to replace the wheels that were standard equipment on the Detroiter. To finance the trip, Bouck, who was also the editor of Air Mechanics magazine, made an arrangement with The New York Times to provide continuous contact with the Times radio station in New York City during the flight on an exclusive basis. Yancey agreed to prepare narrative reports.

The Stinson Detroiter could carry 258 gallons of fuel, enough for 10 hours of flight at a maximum cruising speed of 105 mph. Its maximum load capacity was 4,700 pounds, but the crew decided to take the calculated risk of raising the payload to 5,200 pounds. Flying a seaplane, they would not have to worry about a takeoff from a short runway. In addition to the maximum fuel load and extra radio equipment, emergency supplies such as flares, spare parts and sea anchors were added. The crew also crammed food aboard in case of a forced landing at sea. Their supplies included roast chicken, chocolate, oranges, crackers and a bottle of scotch.

Word of the attempt leaked out despite their attempts at secrecy, so Alexander announced that they would depart on April 1, 1930. The day before, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle editorialized: ‘Though the flight is comparatively short for an oceanic hop, its navigation problem has been pronounced fully as difficult, if not more so, than the flight from the Pacific Coast to Hawaii. Bermuda occupies scarcely twelve [sic] square miles of area–hardly a pinpoint on the ocean’s expanse. Beyond, bee-line, lies more than 6,000 miles of water to Africa.’

Press pessimism did not discourage Alexander, Yancey and Bouck. Nor did they care that only a small, doubtful-looking crowd appeared along the banks of Flushing Bay near College Point, Long Island, to witness their takeoff. The weather was good but hazy. The wind was so light and the water so calm, however, that Alexander at first could not get the overloaded Detroiter off the surface of the bay. After the fourth unsuccessful try, he offloaded several cans of gas, some rope, a pontoon repair kit and a heavy sea anchor. Then a plane from the Edo Aircraft Company taxied by to make some ripples that allowed Pilot Radio’s pontoons to break the surface tension and finally get off at 10 a.m., on the fifth takeoff run. Departure was much later than planned because Bouck had been held up in getting a battery charged and was late in arriving at the launch point. That delay would influence what happened later in the day.

The Detroiter climbed laboriously and leveled off at 2,000 feet. Bouck made regular shortwave radio reports to The New York Times and talked with several ships en route, while Yancey took frequent drift readings. The weather remained fair, but they encountered strong head winds as they neared the midpoint of their journey. As the sun was dipping in the west, Bouck reported that they expected to arrive off Bermuda at 6 p.m. At 5:20, however, he radioed a somewhat less optimistic update to the Times: ‘If we don’t see the islands pretty soon, we will set her down for the night. If we have to set her down, don’t let anyone worry about us. The sea is like a lake.’

At 5:34 p.m. Bouck reported: ‘No news yet. We are making a run for the islands, but don’t know what the chances are. We may make it or we may not.’ At 5:50 he announced: ‘Setting her down right now. Position 60 miles north of Bermuda. Tell everyone not to worry. Will continue to Bermuda in the morning.’

Alexander opted to land on the sea because it would have been hazardous to attempt a night landing among the unseen coral reefs that form a barrier around Bermuda’s north shore. It would also have been dangerous for the three airmen to try to land in the unlighted, unfamiliar harbor at Hamilton, Bermuda’s capital.

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