The Third Continent

After hunting alligators, but getting none, fishing, but catching none, being reported as on the verge of nervous breakdown, but having none, Col. Charles Augustus Lindbergh went down for a spin in a submarine. Then bidding good-bye to Panama and his vacation, he put on his goggles and returned to work.

Planning to fly straight from Panama to Bogota, Colombia, the flyer snatched an extra stop. Over the reputed Caribbean burial spot of an earlier, famed wanderer, Sir Francis Drake, he sought the north coast of South America. The little walled town of Cartagena, one of the oldest in the new world, gave him greeting to his third continent.

Bogota. Over the wilderness ranges of the Cordilleras curved the Spirit of St. Louis, first flying ship to risk a passage above the cloudy peaks. As he disembarked, Senorita Olga Noguera Davila, elected queen of local students, joined the tiny group of the world's women who have kissed Col. Lindbergh. Parades. Speeches. By Presidential decree he was presented with the Cross o) Boyaca, highest military award of the Colombian government, tenth ever bestowed.

Again Col. Lindbergh flew where never man has flown before him. Over the jagged barrier of Andes from Bogota he soared upward to the east. Fogs blotted his landmarks. Once dodging beneath the clouds he noticed a pair of antelope and dipped close to the earth to race their frightened flight. Soon he lost his way; sooner again he found it and sank to safety at Maracay, Venezuela. He motored to nearby Caracas, shook hands, gave thanks for fervent reception, listened to Spanish speeches, prepared to hop to St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands.