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377 pages, Kindle Edition
Published March 3, 2026


King hypothesized that after Earhart died, the crabs consumed her flesh and dragged her bones into their burrows— except, of course, the 13 bones Gallagher’s team discovered.
“Oh, if only we can get away soon. It is hard indeed to remains sans books, sans contact with one’s interests and withal on a terrific strain,” Amelia observed.
Amelia had nearly finalized a deal to be the aviation editor for McCall’s magazine, where she’d have a platform from which to extoll on her favorite subject— the wonders, convenience, and practicality of flying as well as the sheer opportunities it offered to women. She was thrilled, though apprehensive, at this new role. But McCall’s wouldn’t permit any member of its staff— especially a high-profile one— to be sullied by a whiff of cigarette smoke. After all, this magazine went into good, middle-class homes across the country. The offer was rescinded before she could begin.
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For Amelia, talk of opportunities and a satisfying life naturally segued into talk of aviation. “There is need for every kind of talent to advance the business of flying,” a business that would only increase, even with the troubled economy, she argued. “What opportunities lie here for clear thinking, energy, and vision!” But those opportunities must include women, whose progress she said was being blocked by two capital T’s: “One is Training— or lack of it. The other, Tradition. It is a fact that women, because they are women, are denied certain types of training in a number of institutions of learning.” She pointed out that New York University, then the largest university in the country, prevented women from taking aeronautical engineering courses.
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Amelia had been pushing for women’s rights in other arenas. She refused to give money to Denison House unless she could be certain her donation would be used “for girls in some way.” She’d begun researching how menstruation affected women’s abilities in other physically taxing fields. Men seemed to feel it was exceedingly dangerous for all women to fly during menses. Women themselves knew better: A few women were truly laid low by menstruation, but most women weren’t.
It took the Longs more than 25 years to publish their conclusion: After a cascade of errors, the Lockheed Electra 10-E ran out of fuel and crashed into the ocean near Howland. In their accounting, nearly everyone involved in the flight made mistakes or had the wrong information. None of these errors were insurmountable individually. Compounded, the Longs argued, they almost inevitably doomed Amelia Earhart and Fred Noonan. Earhart and Noonan never knew about their first mistake. Indeed, it wasn’t a mistake, just a matter of bad timing. When Earhart radioed the Itasca at 7: 42 a.m. on July 2, 1937, to say, “We must be on you but cannot see you,” she was going by what their charts and Noonan’s dead reckoning was telling her. And she was right to rely on Noonan, who had pioneered Pan American’s commercial routes across the Pacific; few navigators were more experienced than he was in that region of the world. Yet the island wasn’t where he thought it would be. The Itasca had been traveling down to the Line Islands— Howland, Baker 42 miles south, and Jarvis more than 1,000 miles to the east— since 1935, as part of the bid to establish them as U.S. territories. On one trip south from Hawaii, the ship’s navigator surveyed the islands and discovered existing maps put Howland nearly six miles east of where it actually was. (The island had last been charted by the U.S.S. Narragansett in 1872.) The Itasca sent the updated coordinates to Coast Guard headquarters, but an updated chart wasn’t published until June 1937— too late for Noonan to be apprised of the island’s real location. Compounding the error, Noonan made what Long considered a baffling mistake: He assumed his compass presented the actual magnetic heading, without any deviation. Long examined the charts Noonan sent home, which included his calculations. “Whenever it came to deviation, he wrote zero,” said Long. But most compasses on most planes deviate, reacting magnetically to metal objects and electrical currents on board. “There’s no such thing in my navigational experience (and I’ve had a lifetime of it) in those days as a perfect compass,” he explained. He estimated Noonan’s compass was actually off the mark by nearly four degrees— not a big deal for short flights (the Federal Aviation Administration now allows for deviations of up to 10 degrees) but potentially catastrophic in a long flight like theirs. This error may have put the Electra short by another six miles. Add that to the six miles from the incorrect map and Earhart’s “must be on you” was actually 12 miles west of Howland. Meanwhile, a wind blowing at exactly the wrong speed put them even farther off course: The Itasca had reported an easterly wind at four to eight miles an hour. Too weak to create whitecaps on the waves, thought Long, such a breeze would have been invisible to Earhart and Noonan. Noonan would have had no other way to measure wind speed as he had left his drift bomb behind in Lae. This light little wind pushed the Electra another six or so miles west. Now they were some 18 miles west of Howland, beyond visual range in the early morning sunlight. But all wasn’t lost. Unpredictable conditions are a predictable element of any long journey, and Earhart had prepared for them. She knew finding Howland would be one of the trickiest parts of the world flight, and that the smallest error could put them off their course to the island. That’s why she’d established a radio communication plan with the Coast Guard— through their cutter, the Itasca— so they could talk her in if need be. That’s why she’d had a cutting-edge radio direction finder installed on her plane, and why the Itasca was waiting at Howland with its own pair of radio direction finders: a powerful low-frequency model on the ship and a portable high-frequency counterpart on the island. With these backup systems in place, she and Noonan would be able to make a slight course correction and within minutes see the rough runways on Howland Island. Unfortunately, according to the Longs, every one of those backup systems failed. The trouble began early on. Earhart had informed the Itasca she would transmit 15 minutes before and after the hour and listen for their messages on the hour and half hour. The radiomen misunderstood; they were used to keeping to schedules, which to them meant making an appointment with another radio operator to be on the same frequency at a set time. They thought that’s what Earhart would be doing, and assumed they’d be able to communicate back and forth. But Earhart meant what she said. She’d flip on her transmitter to transmit messages at set times and turn on her receiver to listen for messages at others. She didn’t have time to hang out on a frequency waiting to chat. The Itasca had four radio operators whose sole responsibility was managing communications for the ship. The Electra only had Earhart. The discrepancy didn’t register with O’Hare, Bellarts, and their colleagues. When O’Hare demanded why she didn’t keep monitoring her receiver, Long responded with uncharacteristic heat: “She’s flying an airplane. She’s got to keep track of her fuel. She’s marking the engines. She’s navigating. She’s watching her autopilot. She’s doing everything.” “Has she got the cans on her ears?” asked O’Hare. The headphones, he meant. “For 20 hours?” Long replied, his voice rising. “Her ears would fall off, for Christ’s sake.” To Long, who’d flown solo around the world, it was clear: Earhart had to keep to the schedule she described so she could take care of everything else. And there was another big problem with the communication plan— one the Longs called “the simplest of booby traps”: the time zones. Earhart was operating on Greenwich Mean Time (now Coordinated Universal Time or UTC) while the Itasca crew was on Greenwich time plus 11: 30 (one hour behind Hawaiian Standard Time). In other words, the Longs wrote, “Earhart’s ‘on the hour’ was their ‘on the half hour.’” They weren’t transmitting when she was listening for them, and they were when she wasn’t. She never heard them, except once right toward the end. “The half-hour difference? Never gave it a thought,” said O’Hare. In Long’s recording of their interview, the former radio operator’s breath sounds short, as if the wind had been knocked out of him. The one time Earhart did hear them, the Itasca was sending a message on 7,500 kilocycles in Morse code. And therein lies another big error, according to Long: Neither Noonan nor Earhart knew code, but the radiomen on board the ship assumed they did. In their world, everyone who operated a radio knew code. But because she didn’t, she would have turned the switch to off on her receiver for CW— continuous wave Morse code signals. When they transmitted code, all she would have heard was an undecipherable whoosh. But despite the misunderstandings between the Electra and the Itasca, Earhart and Noonan might have landed safely on Howland Island if the cutting-edge technology they were all relying on as the ultimate backup had worked. And in this case, according to the Longs, the failure was not that of the Coast Guard crew— at least not completely— but of Earhart herself. Earhart had originally planned on having a dedicated radio operator on board for the first few legs. But Henry Manning, a ship’s captain as well as an accomplished pilot, navigator, and radio operator who knew Morse code, backed out after Earhart crashed on her first attempt around the world. When the radio direction finder was installed on the plane, Manning had been the one to learn how it worked. When Manning returned to his ship, Earhart received a brief tutorial. But she was too busy to practice using the device, which was so new that it didn’t even come with a manual. Not realizing that low frequencies were crucial to direction finding, she removed the trailing wire that would have made receiving them possible. She never figured out why she couldn’t get the direction finder to work throughout the world flight. The problems with direction finding didn’t end there. If the Electra couldn’t receive signals on 500 kilocycles, it also couldn’t transmit them. The Itasca direction finder was powerful, but only worked at low frequencies; it would not be able to guide the plane in. There was still the high-frequency direction finder loaned to the Itasca for this mission. None of the crew members knew how to operate it. A young radio operator was temporarily transferred from another ship. But he didn’t know how to operate it either. Later, he would claim the batteries had run out, and that’s why he never homed in on Earhart. But when he finally returned to the ship with the direction finder, the wires were “twisted up like a bunch of rats’ tails,” as if the loop had been turned too hard. It was inoperable. And there was one last miscalculation, according to the Longs— one that didn’t prevent Earhart and Noonan from finding the island, but did stop them from searching a little longer. The Electra had less fuel than Earhart realized. The tanks had been filled the day before they left Lae; tropical heat had affected the fuel’s density, effectively reducing the gallons on board from 1,100 to 1,092. “She was in the middle of her last radio message when they went in,” said Long. “I can tie that down pretty good.” Long also thought he had a pretty good idea where the plane went down. Or at least where it didn’t. He calculated that the Electra couldn’t have crashed anywhere within visual range of Howland Island— so nowhere within 20 nautical miles to the north, south, or east. To the west, the visual range shrank to 15 nautical miles because the aviators were flying toward the sun’s glare, which reduced visibility. Knowing what Noonan didn’t know about the charts, his compass, and the wind, and making the standard assumption that dead reckoning is 90 percent accurate, Long calculated that at 8: 43 in the morning on July 2, the plane crashed somewhere within a rectangle 62 miles north and south of Howland, 29 miles to the east, and 41 miles to the west. “If this approximately 2,000-square-nautical-mile area is searched, there is a 90 percent probability that the Electra will be found within it,” he wrote.
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Why did she opt to use 7,500 as the frequency in the first place? “It’s just not optimal for doing that kind of work,” says Vinson. “You’re supposed to be down around 500 to 1,500 kHz.” He wonders if she misread instructions from her former radio operator Harry Manning, whose handwriting used a Europeanized “1” that could easily be mistaken for a 7.
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it was a relatively short hop to Darwin, on the northern edge of Australia. When they arrived, a communications officer named Stanley Rose asked why Amelia hadn’t contacted the Darwin direction finding unit, as was mandatory in the country. She admitted she hadn’t been able to use the direction finder since leaving the United States— and apparently hadn’t missed it. Rose got it to work by replacing a fuse. But Amelia’s familiarity with the device she’d be relying on to cross the Pacific hadn’t improved since her brief training with Joe Gurr more than a month earlier in California.
...the vessel would play the role of the Itasca, the Coast Guard cutter that awaited Amelia Earhart and Fred Noonan at Howland Island. Some 30 miles to the north at Accomack County Airport, a restored Beechcraft Model 18 plane was being prepared for takeoff in a few hours. It would serve as a stand-in for Earhart’s Lockheed Electra 10-E.