book.
From 14.00 hours to 16.40 hours, by expedition time, the entries in the log were laconic and negative.
Altitude 3000—or 3500—2500 feet; nothing visible; ocean empty . The same words recurred over and over again.
Then, at 16.40 hours: A red mist rising. Visibility 700 yards. Ocean empty .
17.00 hours: fog thickening; visibility 400 yards, with clear patches. Descending to 600 feet .
17.20 hours: in fog. Altitude 600. Visibility 20-40 yards. Climbing to 1200 .
17.45: altitude 1500. Pall of fog to horizon. Funnel-shaped openings through which I can see ocean surface. Attempting to enter one of these clearings; something is moving .
17.52: have spotted what appears to be a waterspout; it is throwing up a yellow foam. Surrounded by a wall of fog. Altitude 300. Descending to 60 feet .
The extract from Berton's log stopped at this point. There followed his case-history, or, more precisely, the statement dictated by Berton and interrupted at intervals by questions from the members of the Commission of Enquiry.
BERTON: When I reached 100 feet it became very difficult to maintain altitude because of the violent gusts of wind inside the cone. I had to hang on to the controls and for a short period—about ten or fifteen minutes—I did not look outside. I realized too late that a powerful undertow was dragging me back into the fog. It wasn't like an ordinary fog, it was a thick colloidal substance which coated my windows. I had a lot of trouble cleaning them; that fog—or glue rather—was obstinate stuff. Due to this resistance, the speed of my rotor-blades was reduced by thirty percent and I began losing height. I was afraid of capsizing on the waves; but, even at full power, I could maintain altitude but not increase it. I still had four booster-rockets left but felt the situation was not yet desperate enough to use them. The aircraft was shaken by shuddering vibrations that grew more and more violent. Thinking my rotor-blades must have become coated with the gluey substance, I glanced at the overload indicator, but to my surprise it read zero. Since entering the fog, I had not seen the sun—only a red glow. I continued to fly around in the hope of emerging into one of the funnels, which, after half an hour, was what happened. I found myself in a new 'well,' perfectly cylindrical in shape, and several hundred yards in diameter. The walls of the cylinder were formed by an enormous whirlpool of fog, spiralling upwards. I struggled to keep in the middle, where the wind was less violent. It was then that I noticed a change in the ocean's surface. The waves had almost completely disappeared, and the upper layer of the fluid—or whatever the ocean is made of—was becoming transparent, with murky streaks here and there which gradually dissolved until, finally, it was perfectly clear. I could see distinctly to a depth of several yards. I saw a sort of yellow sludge which was sprouting vertical filaments. When these filaments emerged above the surface, they had a glassy sheen. Then they began to exude foam—they frothed—until the foam solidified; it was like a very thick treacle. These glutinous filaments merged and became intertwined; great bubbles swelled up on the surface and slowly began to change shape. Suddenly I realized that my machine was being driven towards the wall of fog. I had to manoeuver against the wind, and when I was able to look down again, I saw something which looked like a garden. Yes, a garden. Trees, hedges, paths—but it wasn't a real garden; it was all made of the same substance, which had hardened and by now looked like yellow plaster. Beneath this garden, the ocean glittered. I came down as low as I dared in order to take a closer look.
QUESTION: Did the trees and plants you saw have leaves on them?
BERTON: No, the shapes were only approximate, like a model garden. That's exactly what it was like: a model, but lifesize. All of a sudden, it began to crack; it broke up and split into dark
From 14.00 hours to 16.40 hours, by expedition time, the entries in the log were laconic and negative.
Altitude 3000—or 3500—2500 feet; nothing visible; ocean empty . The same words recurred over and over again.
Then, at 16.40 hours: A red mist rising. Visibility 700 yards. Ocean empty .
17.00 hours: fog thickening; visibility 400 yards, with clear patches. Descending to 600 feet .
17.20 hours: in fog. Altitude 600. Visibility 20-40 yards. Climbing to 1200 .
17.45: altitude 1500. Pall of fog to horizon. Funnel-shaped openings through which I can see ocean surface. Attempting to enter one of these clearings; something is moving .
17.52: have spotted what appears to be a waterspout; it is throwing up a yellow foam. Surrounded by a wall of fog. Altitude 300. Descending to 60 feet .
The extract from Berton's log stopped at this point. There followed his case-history, or, more precisely, the statement dictated by Berton and interrupted at intervals by questions from the members of the Commission of Enquiry.
BERTON: When I reached 100 feet it became very difficult to maintain altitude because of the violent gusts of wind inside the cone. I had to hang on to the controls and for a short period—about ten or fifteen minutes—I did not look outside. I realized too late that a powerful undertow was dragging me back into the fog. It wasn't like an ordinary fog, it was a thick colloidal substance which coated my windows. I had a lot of trouble cleaning them; that fog—or glue rather—was obstinate stuff. Due to this resistance, the speed of my rotor-blades was reduced by thirty percent and I began losing height. I was afraid of capsizing on the waves; but, even at full power, I could maintain altitude but not increase it. I still had four booster-rockets left but felt the situation was not yet desperate enough to use them. The aircraft was shaken by shuddering vibrations that grew more and more violent. Thinking my rotor-blades must have become coated with the gluey substance, I glanced at the overload indicator, but to my surprise it read zero. Since entering the fog, I had not seen the sun—only a red glow. I continued to fly around in the hope of emerging into one of the funnels, which, after half an hour, was what happened. I found myself in a new 'well,' perfectly cylindrical in shape, and several hundred yards in diameter. The walls of the cylinder were formed by an enormous whirlpool of fog, spiralling upwards. I struggled to keep in the middle, where the wind was less violent. It was then that I noticed a change in the ocean's surface. The waves had almost completely disappeared, and the upper layer of the fluid—or whatever the ocean is made of—was becoming transparent, with murky streaks here and there which gradually dissolved until, finally, it was perfectly clear. I could see distinctly to a depth of several yards. I saw a sort of yellow sludge which was sprouting vertical filaments. When these filaments emerged above the surface, they had a glassy sheen. Then they began to exude foam—they frothed—until the foam solidified; it was like a very thick treacle. These glutinous filaments merged and became intertwined; great bubbles swelled up on the surface and slowly began to change shape. Suddenly I realized that my machine was being driven towards the wall of fog. I had to manoeuver against the wind, and when I was able to look down again, I saw something which looked like a garden. Yes, a garden. Trees, hedges, paths—but it wasn't a real garden; it was all made of the same substance, which had hardened and by now looked like yellow plaster. Beneath this garden, the ocean glittered. I came down as low as I dared in order to take a closer look.
QUESTION: Did the trees and plants you saw have leaves on them?
BERTON: No, the shapes were only approximate, like a model garden. That's exactly what it was like: a model, but lifesize. All of a sudden, it began to crack; it broke up and split into dark
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