I live in the northern suburbs of Atlanta, and frequently see and/or hear private jet aircraft that I presume have taken off at the small airport about 15 miles west of me. Such was the case this morning, as I walked the dog about 7 a.m. and my ears tracked an east-bound jet that was probably about 1000'-1500' above me, but the low cloud cover (pre-dawn rain today) kept me from spotting the plane. Naturally, they couldn't see me, either. As unrelated to the cloud cover on Nikumaroro on 7/2/1937 as that is, it still had me thinking of Lambrecht and the others.
But the cases that do relate are these: we seem to be on a frequent flight path for military chopper flights (probably out of Dobbins). I'll hear the familiar whoop-whoop from my days in Vietnam and yearn to see that wonderful Huey. But there are lots of tall pines in my subdivision, and though my ears have my head swiveling in the right direction, spotting the chopper through the branches is often not possible. I'll run down to the street and try to catch a glimpse that way, with less tree cover, and darn: the sound of the blades just diminishes in the distance, with not a single glimpse. I couldn't see it, and for darn sure, those aboard the chopper couldn't see me either. On the rare occasion when I do catch a glimpse, it's flying about 500' and is just a fleeting image through the pine branches.
Point being: it really doesn't take much to convince me that two forlorn downed aviators couldn't catch a break that day and get spotted by a trio of loud planes flying by at a reasonably low level. It's too easy to not be in the right place at the right time. There are a whole lot of things that would have had to "go right" for the tale to have ended more happily.