After almost three hours, I try the AP again just for laughs... and it holds steady. Thanks be... I was already getting tired. But now I risk getting complacent- have to remember to make heading changes and compass adjustments based on estimated position.
But at least I'm not fighting the bumps now- the autopilot can manage that. I crack open another Red Bull and rummage for a sandwich. NEQDC3 soars thru a gap in some clouds. The weather is not bad so far, and I think I finally have a trade wind at my back. Might make it after all... I start to worry less and less about diverting to the Marquesas.
After a while, the wing tanks are just about done. I leave a few gallons in there so the engines won't quit, and switch to the centerline tanks for balance. So far, this crazy plumbing system seems to be working OK, especially if I activate the various valves and pumps manually for transfers.
On and on we drone; the sun comes around and starts sliding toward the western horizon...
In the last moments before the sudden mid-ocean sunset, a cloud mercifully blocks the glare, adding some color to the show...
Suddenly I am adrift in a sea of stars. The moon provides some vague light. The air is a bit smoother, but I'm still jostled from time to time, cruising among scattered black clouds. It's getting late... Sleep beckons.Time for some coffee...
I'm enjoying my coffee when suddenly NEQDC3 lets me know I've been remiss with my fuel transfers- with a unanimous failure of the engines!! I think for a moment, then hit the right switches to transfer fuel to the tank I'm drawing from for balance. as the overall load gets lighter, the ratio keeps changing...the engines cough, then come back to life. Damn, that was scary. The quick shot of adrenaline jolts me to alertness, but fades quickly...
The night closes around me... I wonder if i'm anywhere near my course. I call out on the radio, but there's no answer from Tahiti, Oakland... nothing. The expected signal from the Marquesas VOR never materializes. I suddenly feel very lonesome and small.
Dawn brings some cheer, but as my estimated diversion-decision-point approaches(or has it passed?), I still have no VOR signal. I have about the correct amount of fuel left, I think, but I'm not sure. I'm having trouble concentrating. I am definitely fatigued. My body is trying to start anew with the sun, but I haven't really rested, so there's not much to draw on. As the day wears on. my eyes start to feel itchy in the brightening light. I close them for a moment, and find myself walking the beach on Christmas Island, as a horde of red crabs scuttles past on their annual migration. A voice calls my name: I look down and see a crab waving its claws to get my attention.
"You need fuel?" it asks. "Plenty of fuel here- the whole ocean is fuel!"
I gaze out at the glinting surf, and notice the waves aren't rumbling as they come ashore- there's a sort of "gloonk" sound, like fuel sloshing in a big metal tank.Weird, but pleasant.
"It's right there", the crab says, and as it crawls away, I see that instead of a normal shell, its body is made up of a portable GPS, much like the one I left behind before embarking on this flight. It doesn't seem odd at all...I think about asking the crab to join me and help find the way, but it's so nice here... I sit on the beach and soak in the quiet. So quiet, but for that soft sloshing sound...
Suddenly, an enormous thunderclap shocks me awake. But it's not thunder- it's silence. The engines have stopped. I made my last transfer hours ago...or did I miss one?? I was asleep... that dream... The clock says it's been 31 hours. am I short, long, north, south? Doesn't matter; the ocean is rising up. I try to bring the nose up a little, trying also to clear my head. I look around... no sign of land. I'm out of fuel, and I've fallen asleep and gone off course. The props finally stop turning.The altimeter continues to unwind. It's over.
Next: The End?
Bar by Mees
