Now the ocean was nearer, so that Johnny could see a fringe of white along its edge where waves lapped up to the lights.
They swooped, flattened out, and glided again while Bland picked up certain landmarks.

The motor spoke, its voice increased while they banked in a circle and swooped again.

Now a long bare stretch lay just ahead.

The motor stopped, and they volplaned steeply; flattened, dipped a little, skimmed close to earth, touched, lifted again.
"F'r cat's sake, what they went and done to this field ?" Bland's whining voice complained, and he swung the Thunder Bird away from a long windrow of dried vines, just in time to avoid entangling the wheels.

They settled, ran along uneven surface for a space.