Monday
June 7
1926

The Batavia Express was scheduled for its regular morning flight to Batavia Camp and the program called for me to accompany it as a passenger. It will be my first aeroplane flight in Dutch New Guinea and I was anxious to see how this country looked from the air. I had a fair idea from the map and from what I could see from the boat on the river and from our selected camp spot here in the hills sixty some miles in land [sic]. My equipment consisted of my 45 side arm[,] the water bottle (two essential traveling companions in New Guinea) and Matt’s brown camera in case of emergency pictures. It was a nice day. We took off with the stream because there was a little wind blowing in that direction. It was the first wind, and the take off was splendid because of it. We were off with a roar and soon above the tree tops. It was well we had a wind for taking off in that direction is not so good because the runway is not as long in that direction. The river makes a bend just below Pioneer Camp and the trees and a large hill immediately back of the shore line make it dangerous should the motor quit at that point. As soon as we were high enough to make the turn Hans did so and we were over the jungles with the river on the left of us. The Ern climbed well because of the wind, and it didn’t take us long even with our heavy load to get a thousand feet or more before we were over Havic [sic] Island. It was a sensational view that spread out before us. In every direction one could see the jungle clad hills and mountains. The green folliage [sic] of the trees gives one a peculiar feeling. The mountains of course give you the impression of their massiveness but the jungle covering which spreads over them without exception gives one the impression of a soft velvet carpet. Albatros Camp sticks out like a sore thumb and looks very impressive. It is the only clear spot with the exception of old Pioneer Camp site across the river. That, too, sticks out {F1.58} prominently. The clouds were very low in all directions and hung just over the peaks and ridges. Here and there between the hills and mountains one could see patches of clouds in the tree tops. It appeared as though some one had thrown a good shaving lather from the brush touching those spots here and there. The Liberty hummed along nicely. That is wonderful music. In front of me I had rice tins and food of all kinds. The cockpit was loaded fully and there was not room for another can of milk. We had 321½ kilos and with my 82 or 83 kilos (a kilos ia [sic, = kilo is] 2.2 pounds) in addition to the gasoline, Hans, the floats and the ern, the Liberty was using all of her 400 horses. It was just a little bumpy. As we passed over that soft appearing jungle carpet of trees, large white cockadoos [sic], evidently freightened [sic] by the roar of the motor would fly from their perches in the trees. Sometimes there would be just three or four. Then again a dozen or more. They were very noticeable with their flowless [sic, = flawless] white colot [sic, = color] against the bright green of the trees. We were headed towards the rapids and Batavia Camp some fifty miles away. Stretched out before us was the winding Mamberno [sic, = Mamberamo] river and looking ahead I could see the river narrow as it came through the gorge in the Van reese [sic, = van Rees] mountains. An air view of New Guinea impresses you immediately of the vastness of the island, the impassability of the jungle and the large mountain barriers which, like a fortress wall[,] stretches [sic] in all directions. The peaks of the Van reese [sic] mountains are not so high (sone [sic] two thousand feet in places[)] but they stand up prominently. They seem to penetration and exploration.[sic] They even defy penetration of the interior by air for they have as their assistants the low hanging clouds which just graze their peaks and makes [sic] flying not only difficult but dangerous. I look down at the Mamberamo and it looks very small from our height of two thousand feet. It is our only place to land should the motor stop and as one gazes at it over the edge of the pontoon one is not impressed {F1.59} with the safety of such a forced landing. Somewhat larger than the average road in the states[,] it has the appearance of a ribbon and a small one at that with all the vastness of the mountains and the jungles about us. Up ahead it narrows until it is pencil[-]like in its dimensions as it winds and turns. The Van reese [sic, = van Rees] mountains are on all sides of us now and the low hanging clouds on the peaks does [sic] not look as pretty as it really appears to be from a picture standpoint. Above us the clouds are also close. If we were to climb a hundred feet we would be in them. Hans is flying just beneath a thick layer. We come to the rapids. The first is the Marine falls. The river is exceedingly narrow and glancing down one can plainly see the huge boulders and islands about which the water is whirling in good sized whirlpools. The motor hums nicely and we think of how it has hummed in that manner [at] other times when we were depending upon it. Here is a real test though for a forced landing would mean – perhaps not certain death – but the loss of the Ern. Here and there on the river are native villages. One in particular is right on a point of the river and stands out prominently. Hans taps me on the head and points it out. We are too high to see the Papuans but they are there. On the right and on a smaller river flowing into the Mamberno [sic, = Mamberamo] somewhat inland is another village. It is a larger one and the people there are reputed to be head hunters. We soon leave the Marine falls behind and are in the center of the mountain peaks. On all sides of us are ragged peaks and in many instances the cold looking bare rock glares down at us. There have been many land slides. We are right over the river. In front of us, in back of us, in fact all around us are the Van Reese mountains. We are skimming along just beneath the clouds. The view ahead is startling. It is raining heavily a little to the right and in just one spot. Now and then we pass through a cloud on one side and can’t see anything. {F1.60} We look out the other side and see the bare rock patches just above our wing tip. We look down to the river. We are over the Eddy falls. The water is churning with foam. We look for the canoe transport but can’t see them as yet. Ahead, it looks miles and miles ahead, we see six or seven more ranges and then the lake plain is visible in spots. It looks like a long way. We have been in the air fifteen minutes. Eddy falls are the worst of the tree rapids and from the air it appears to be so. It would not be comfortable to land the plane there. We pass over them slowly, it seems, every explosion of the motor sounds good. The shadow of the plane[,] large and black[,] forms a vivid contrast on the gright [sic, = bright] green of the jungle trees. It is thrilling to watch it move slowly over the tree tops. The pontoons look graceful, on that shadow. I look immediately down on the one pontoon showing on my side and it looks clumsy and heavy. It is. I look in the cockpit. It is full. I have helped load all those tins and I know how heavy they are. Still we are flying high and some ninety miles an hour through the air with all of that heavy load. When we took off from the river at Albatros camp the thermometer registered 92. It is now registering 70. That is some change in just a few minutes. It means contraction and expansion on all the motor parts and the plane itself. While I am musing to myself along that line, Hans taps me on the head again and points to the river. It is the canoe transport. They appear very small and are hugging the opposite bank of the river[,] fighting inch by inch for their progress against the swift current. You can see that it is swift even from this height. We wave our arms but are too high to see them return our greetings. I wonder what the Dyaks are thinking about as they paddle for all they are worth and see us riding along so smoothly and swiftly. They are soon lost from sight and we are over the third and last of the rapids, Batavia falls. The river is exceedingly narrow and stretched before us we can see the various falls. There are about {F1.61} six of them. A peculiar thing is that not [one] of them run[s] across the entire river. Even from this altitude they are a foot and a half or so in appearance. I wonder how they ever got the two motor boats over those steps. Of course it is impossible to left [sic, = lift] them over from the shore and the current in the center where there is no step is a mad rushing torrent of seething water. It is also not a nice place to have the motor stop. By this time a part of the vast Lake plain region is spread before us. It is a wonderful view and is flat as an Indiana or Kansas landscape. The Mamberamo spreads itself all over the landscape and twists and turns like the Mississippi. We are still in the mountains, tho, and over the rapids for Batavia Falls spread out in a series of falls, for some little distance. The Liberty is not missing a stroke. The mountain peaks appear to close in on us as we pass through the narrow gorge. The tops of the peaks soar above us and sometimes they are lost here and there in a cloud. We too are still skimming the bottom of the layer oo [sic, = of] clouds above us. The time passes rather slowly, I think, but looking ahead I can see that we are almost over the last range and the immense lake plain is spread out before us. Hans cuts the gun before we clear the last range and we start to glide quickly because of our heavy load to the earth again. It is a sensational feeling for we just clear the tops – it seems like inches but in reality it is a couple hundred feet – and lo and behold there under us is Batavia Camp. It is small in size compared with Albatros Camp. The plane settled down easily and quickly. We make the landing. The Mamberamo is very wide here and the stream not as swift. Is [sic, = It] is a beautiful sight after all those ragged jungle clad peaks. We come closer and closer to the river[,] the motor just turning over. Now and then he guns her and finally we land gracefully. The feeling is similar to landing on the water on a “shoot the Shoots” [sic, = chutes] in an amusement park in America. It is an enjoyable feeling. Hans taxies her to shore {F1.62} and runs her up to the mud bank under her own power. The pontoons hit in the soft[,] rich[-]looking mud and we are safe and sound together with our cargo of food. The sergeant and two or three soldiers tie her to shore when the gasoline runs out of the carberators [sic] and the propellor stops. Hans is on the pontoon and I hand out the tins. One, two, three, four, five, six etc. up to twenty-four. They are all heavy. One realizes how heavy they are when he hands them out over the cockpit to Hans. Five tins were extra large and contained Van Leeuwen’s old American newspapers in which he wraps his botanical specimens. They also contain alcohol which he uses to preserve the plants until they reach Java. He has many thousands of kilos of such material which has to be transported into the big mountains. It takes many men and canoes. Hans and I go ashore and he shows me around Batavia Camp. It doesn’t take long for it is just a small temporary camp. The sergeant has two lean[-]to’s similar to the one we slept in when we first set foot on Albatros camp. .[sic] The mosquitos are very bad at night. The “go-down” (warehouse) for the supplies is not yet finished. It has no top over it. The food is stacked in two piles. Our pile (five trips then) is almost as large as the pile deposited by the first transport. When we compare it we are almost certain ours is as large. I take several pictures of our stack. Batavia Camp is on the highest spot around there. It is slightly beyond the last range of mountains, the sides of which are very steep from the Lake Plain side. Immediately across the river from the camp is a Papuan camp. They are not in sight and I ask the sergeant about them. He informs me that theyvisit [sic] the camp daily in large numbers. As many as three hundred have been in the camp, he says. I ask him what they think of the aeroplane. With the little English he can speak and my limited knowledge of Malay[,] I learn that they think the plane a huge bird and some of them wanted to shoot it with their arrows from the jungle. They demonstrated how {F1.63} they could do it the other day by pulling their bows taunt [sic]. It was after Prince and Hans had surprised them on the river and in camp. They floated over the mountain with the motor cut as we had just done and glided down on top of them before they could hear or see them coming. It scared the daylights out of them. The Sergeant told them that if they shot that bird he would shoot them with the rifle. He said he demonstrated that thought with the rifle as they did with their bows and arrows. They are afraid of rifles so I don’t think there will be any difficulty. It gave one a creepy feeling nevertheless for it would be an easy matter for them to hide in the jungle and let fly a barrage of arrows as the plane taxied to shore. We smoke our pipes and rest for a few moments and are off once more. The old Liberty is like a livery stable horse for when his nose is pointed back to Albatros Camp and he is unloaded[,] she starts immediately. As Hans cranks the motor I glance at the dense jungle on my right, and think how easy it would be gor [sic, = for] the natives to carry out their threat. It would be in the range of a bow and arrow but I don’t think they would have enough nerve to do it for the plane must mystify them to a certain extent. The motor starts. We wave goodbye to the soldiers and the sergeant and are soon out in the river. It is like old times taking off with the Ern without a load. She skims the water for a short distance after the start and is soon in the air[,] climbing rapidly. I am alone in the front cockpit and the space appears as large a s [sic] a ball room. It is fun taking off like that for your neck rests against the back of the seat in the climb. Hans took off against the stream and soon turns around and we are headed back to Albatros camp. I take a last hurried look at the Lake Plane [sic, = plain] section. Prince was right when he said it looked like the state of Iowa if a few section lines could be seen. I strain my eyes looking for the Nassau Mountains. The low clouds make it impossible to see them with the exception of {F1.64} the lower part. That is not too plain either. We pass the camp and have nearly two thousand feet under us. That is more than enough to clear the tops of the trees and in a few minutes we are in the gorge and over Batavia Falls once more. The clouds are lower it seems and we fly through several of them. Once they were on both sides of us and we couldn’t see a thing on either side. We are soon out in the open again and I feel better. On the return I have a better opportunity of studying the falls. They are peculiar. We are riding along nicely although with the ship empty it seems a little rougher, not much but just a little. I watch anxiously for the transport up ahead. About half way between Batavia Falls and the Eddie falls[,] Hans calls my attention and there they are below us. They are resting for lunch, the prows being beached on a mud bank. We wave frantically to them and I look back at Hans. He is using both hands to wave. The clouds are thick all about us and our wings on both sides brush through them from time to time. It looks rather black ahead but there is always a hole there and here for Hans flys [sic] through that. We are flying at about 2,000 feet, so we are unable to see them wave in return. They are soon lost around the bend of the river. Without a load on the return Hans cuts the corners and flies over the jungle every time the river bends. It is getting blacker and blacker on the left side. There is rain coming down in two or three places over there. A tap on the head again and I look down over the jungle to where Hans is pointing. To my amazement I see a beautiful rainbow on the tree tops. It is a half circle and flat on the ground. It is a startling view and I look on the other side but it is not there. The rainbow follows the ship. The various colors are bright and vivid. Then Hans calls my attention again to the other side and lo and behold it is all around us in a complete circle with the ship in the center. Ti [sic, = It] is the first time {F1.65} I’ve ever seen a rainbow on the ground in that manner. I lean over the edge and watch it creep along over the tree tops. The various colors of the rainbow with all of their brilliance act like a search light as it follows us edging slowly over the trees. It is so brilliant that we can pick out the individual leaves on the top branches. It is raining all around us but not in our small flying section over the rivers. We both look at this phenomenon for several minutes and enjoy the sight. I shall never forget it. Finally it is gone and I wonder how it was possible. Hans will know. I doubt whether even he with all his hours in the air has ever seen anything like it before. I know I never had and it was impressive as well as beautiful.

We soon pass the Eddy falls and I lean over again to watch the water hurling itself through these interesting rapids. It is seething[,] whirling, dashing on its mad rush to the ocean. The river is very narrow and a large volume of water passes thru at this point. To return with a canoe through the rapids will be a thrilling ride. I will have to do that. The return trip doesn’t seem as long altho there is probably no difference in the time. From our height we can see Albatros camp after we pass the Marine Falls and it gets closer and closer all the time. The visibility is not exceptionally good either for everywhere there are clouds. All of them are just skirting the tops of the mountains and hills. The last trip of the day is usually better for last evening Hans saw the sea on his return and also the lake just off the Mamberamo near the coast. The White cockadoos [sic] also appear here and there flying below us. There are dozens of them at times. I also observed some other birds which might have been birds of paradise but I was too far off to determine that. Now Albatros camp is very plain and we are closely [sic] in on it rapidly. Hans cuts off the last big bend in the river and flied [sic] over the jungle {F1.66} for some distance. Soon he cuts the motor and we are gliding down for the landing with the stream. We are back. The first trip of the Batavia express at [sic] June 7th is completed. We taxie [sic] to shore and it is but a moment until we are safely tied to shore with the pontoons resting in the soft mud bank. It was a great ride and a great trip. It was Hans’ fifth trip since the transportation of food commenced to Batavia Camp and I had a better idea of what he and Prince fly over and experience every time they take off. They are performing wonders with sensational flying, as has ever been done before any place in the world. [sic] It is wonderful work and their names should go down in the annals of aviation history throughout the world in capital letters.

It was a sensational flight. Hans has made five similar ones since the transportation of food started to Batavia Camp. I had a better idea of what he and Prince experience every time they take off with a load of food stuffs [sic]. They are doing something that has never been done before anyplace. It is remarkable work and their names should and will go down in the annals of aviation history in large black letters. It is just in the day’s work with them though and they think nothing of it. Hans knows the route perfectly now and could probably fly it with his eyes closed. He is a splendid pilot. Prince is keeping the motor humming nicely. Both should receive large credit and renumeration [sic] for their work already. If the plane should fail tomorrow it will have performed its duty, for it has demonstrated that exploration by aeroplane is feasible and practical. Up until now it was not thought possible by the Dutch and no one else has attempted it. We have demonstrated that it is the quickest and best way to explore this country.

After lunch Dick and his camera formed part of the luggage. As a result the load had to be cut down considerably. Dick was preparing to stay at Batavia Camp all night and go back with the canoe transport {F1.67} to shoot pictures of the rapids. They should be interesting pictures. I packed a tin of food for him and after waiting for a rain squall to pass over they were off. It rained at Pioneer Camp but it didn’t rain here. This is a good camp site and is much better than the old camp. We have missed many rains here when we could see that it was raining heavily over in Pioneer Camp.

I forgot to mention that Sunday[,] two Chinese and three native bird hunters arrived at the camp in a canoe. It had taken them nine days to traverse the distance from the mouth of the river. They were surprised to come across this camp which must appear like a good sized city in this jungle region. The bird hunters obtain a license to hunt birds of paradise in New Guinea from the government. They pay fifty dollars a piece for a muzzle loader gun of 1880 vintage from the government and receive their permit to hunt birds. They load as much trade goods and food as they can in a dug out canoe and paddle up the rivers. They stop at the Papuan camps[,] give the Papuans [sic, = a Papuan] a gun and he goes out in the jungle and get[s] the birds. He also uses it to shoot pigs and other birds for food. The bird hunters live in the villages and when the natives tire of the sport and get enough meat they take the guns and the birds[,] give them a couple packages of tobacco and a few trinkets and move on to the next village. The season opens in April and lasts until _____. They soon run out of their food and live on sago and the fresh port [sic, = pork] that the natives kill. It must be a “romantic” life. They return to Manokwari, Serie [sic, = Seroei, now spelled "Serui"] or other small coast ports and get from 25 to 50 guilders a piece for the Bird of Paradise feathers which are shipped to France and other parts of the world where they are used for decorating women[’]s hats. Right now the women do not care for that particular style of headdress and the market is glutted and as a result the price is low. In times past, however, the bird hunters have made large sums of money. This industry is chiefly in the hands of the chinese. {F1.68} The Chinese are money makers and are scattered all over the East Indies. A trip with a bird hunter in New Guinea would be a thrilling trip and should prove interesting for it is a very dangerous occupation. They are sometimes killed and eaten by the natives for the natives in some instances like the guns immensely after using them for a short period. The Papuans who stayed all night with us watched the departure of the aeroplane in the morning, when I hopped off with Hans. Dick got some movies of them. They have a favorite way os [sic, = of] expressing surprise. They make a noise similar to smaking [sic] one[’]s lips three or four times and then follow it with a long whistle. This is what they did when the Ern took off the water and rose gracefully in the air. They left with the Bird Hunters who furnished them with guns to hunt Birds of Paradise, and were gone when I returned.