So instead of banking and heading for Tokeneke, when her bus had sufficiently topped the trees, she continued to keep the stick back so as to maintain a proper climbing angle. Back in her first thirty hours of early flight training, it would have been difficult for her to keep Will-o’-the-Wisp (more often termed Willie or Wispy) at the correct angle safely below the stalling point, unless she could first recognize that angle by the position of the plane’s nose relative to the horizon. On a wet day like this with an obscured horizon it would have been well-nigh impossible: at best, a series of bad stalls would have been the result. But now her snapping gray eyes sparkled with exhilaration; she no longer needed the horizon as a guide. Between leveling off every thousand feet or so, to keep the engine from overheating, she shot Will-o’-the-Wisp up to six thousand, maintaining the proper angle of climb by the “feel” of the plane alone.
With her altimeter indicating the height she wanted, she leveled off again; then, executing a sharp reverse control or “flipper” turn to the left she resumed straight flight again by the application of up aileron and opposite rudder. The plane was now headed south, several points to the west of the Beach Club.
The visibility was even poorer than at a lower level, but the young pilot knew this part of the country as she knew her own front lawn. Either dropping or swerving her plane’s nose at frequent intervals so as to get an unimpeded view ahead, she passed over the wooded ridges toward the shore, over the city of Stamford and out over the slate grey waters of Long Island Sound.
That body of water is some six or eight miles wide at this point, and upon reaching the opposite shore, Dorothy commenced a patrol of the Long Island shore line from Lloyds’ Neck, which lies just west of Oyster Bay, to the farther side of Smithtown Bay, a distance of fifteen or sixteen miles. And as she flew, she kept a sharp lookout for planes appearing out of the murk toward the Connecticut shore.
Since she knew it was the bearded aviator’s practice to fly at a comparatively low altitude, Dorothy chose to keep Will-o’-the-Wisp at this greater height for two reasons. An airplane flying far above another plane is much more unlikely to be noticed by the pilot of the lower plane than one flying at his own level or below him. Then again, by keeping to the higher air, Dorothy, under normal weather conditions, was bound to increase her range of vision proportionately. Her plan was a good one. But weather is not a respecter of plans. The visibility, poor enough when she started, gradually grew worse and worse. Although what wind there was seemed to have died, long curling tongues of mist crept out of the east, while above her head she saw black thunder clouds, sinking lower and lower.
Now one of the first things any aviator learns is that fog must be avoided at all costs. Any attempt to land in it is attended by considerable danger. Dorothy knew only too well that in case of a fog bank cutting the plane off from its destination, the flight must be discontinued by a landing, or by return to the point of departure.
She glanced overside again. Long Island Sound was no longer visible.
“He’s late now, unless I’ve missed him,” she said to herself. “I’ll finish this leg of the patrol and if he doesn’t show up by the time I’m over Oyster Bay, Willie and I will head for home.”
Pushing her stick slightly forward to decrease her altitude, she continued along her course.
Three minutes later, she realized her mistake. The wisps of fog seemed to gather together, and Will-o’-the-Wisp sank into an opaque bank that blinded her.