As an Air Transport Command pilot during WWII, I flew across the Atlantic (equator route) four times. Two from the east coast of South America to the west coast of Africa, and two returning via reverse route. A fuel stop was necessary on each crossing at Ascension. It was thirty-two square miles of volcanic rock, half way between Natal, Brazil and Accra, Ghana. The island had a single airstrip with a hump in the middle.

On my first crossing, I had the opportunity to view a sunset from the top Green Mountain. I was reminded of it later by a writer’s quote. “In writing a Romance novel, there are two things that cannot be described; one is a sunset.”  It was in jest, but I disagree.  I think the following is a good description of the Ascension sunset that I remember to this day:

<<< The hour before sunset, from the top of Green Mountain, is woven with mystic changes as one watches from the height, the horizon barely distinguishable from the skyline. Faintly at first, and then more strongly, the evening mists rise from the heated plains. The outlines of the craters and hills become softened until they resemble a crumpled velvet blanket. The sun, creating marvelous transformation scenes, changing from gold flame to blood red, sinks lower, and dipping into the sea, leaving the world to sudden peacefulness. One may stand on the heights of any mountain, watching the same moon and the same stars, but on Ascension there is that extra thrill of the realization that one is on a tiny island in the middle of a vast ocean, a mere spot of land, almost insignificant, lapped by waves a thousand miles from anywhere.>>>