Hidden Courage (Atlantis) (3 page)

Jack flew by the first location and continued on to the next possible landing spot. Watching the second location, he spotted what he thought was an even better landing spot even further up ahead.

“Hmm, a grassy field. No furrows to contend with and it looks really flat.”

Jack bypassed the second landing possibility and headed for the third location. As he approached the third, just as he had done before, he spotted an even better landing opportunity further along his route.

Over and over, the selection process continued. With each site he selected, a better one popped up on the horizon in the distance. Disregarding the previous site and heading for the new promising site, he inadvertently continued on his course.

Fifteen minutes later, still flying and still selective, something dawned on Jack.

‘As long as the farmland continues, so can I,’ he thought to himself.

After a while, Jack noticed that he could fly a bit higher. Pulling back on the stick, he was able to ascend to almost 1,200 feet.

‘Could this be the end of the storm?’ he thought to himself.

As he flew, he kept his eyes on the landing sites around him while he attempted higher altitudes.

1,500 feet, 1,800 feet, 2,000 feet.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. He now realized he no longer needed to consider an emergency landing. He had beaten the storm and was now in the clear.

“Woohoo! Dodged another bullet,” he shouted out.

A short time later, he landed in
Alexandria
,
Louisiana
and refueled. Confirming the weather was indeed behind him, he took off for his last destination of the day:
Galveston
,
Texas
.

With all the excitement from the ‘scud running’ – a term used in aviation when referring to flying illegally below the clouds - Jack hadn’t noticed that he was now flying over a type of land he had never seen before. It was the high plains of the south. Obstructions, as well as towns, were few and far between. The flying was relatively safe; something he rarely observed in
New England
with its endless rolling hills and heavy forests.

He’d been flying for quite some time as he crossed over from
Louisiana
into
Texas
. He was now near the coast and could see large rivers that ended with gaping mouths to the oceans. They seemed to be everywhere. No matter where Jack looked, he saw something relating to the oil industry: refineries, rigs, tankers, etc. He felt it detracted from the land’s beauty, but was very entertaining nonetheless.

Up ahead, he approached the city of
Galveston
. With a city of this size, an airport could easily blend in with the roads and landscape, making visual contact very difficult. At previous large airports, Jack had spotted his airport only after flying over it, creating a very dangerous scenario when air traffic was heavy.

Instead of searching for the airport, Jack opted for help from Air Traffic Control in locating his destination. He radioed ATC with his position and within seconds he was being vectored to his destination.

With a second set of ‘eyes’ watching his flight path, Jack felt he could now relax a bit and take in the sights of the ocean and the city. The water wasn’t exactly the
Caribbean
blue-green color he’d seen in brochures. It was an ugly, dark and brownish color, much like that of the
Mississippi river
. He could see oil rigs way off in the distance, dotting the horizon.

‘Ugly and disappointing,’ Jack thought to himself as a first impression.

He lined up for his approach to the runway, and moments later he was down. As he taxied along the runway, the control tower asked his destination on the ‘field’.

“General aviation,” Jack replied.

They gave him directions as he rolled across runways and taxiways, until he parked at the Fixed Based Operator – or FBO for short – where general aviation business was conducted on the field, usually supplying fuel, weather services and aviation-related products.

Day two was now behind him. He found the pilots’ lounge, then prepared for the next day’s flight into
Mexico
while he ate another peanut butter sandwich. Once again, having completed his duties, he laid down on the couch and fell asleep.

DAY
3

Jack woke the next morning, excited. This was the first time he was crossing out of the country. Flying the coastline of other countries brought visions of lush tropical vacations that Jack had only seen in magazines. He would be experiencing them for real now. His first destination was
Brownsville
,
Texas
, the last city before entering
Mexico
. He departed before dawn and headed out over the
Gulf of Mexico
.

Three hours later, having pushed the limits of his fuel, he could clearly see
Brownsville
. As he flew along
South Padre Island
, a huge sandbar that sat just beyond the mainland, he looked down at the high rise tourist hotels and beaches. As he descended, he could see people out for their morning walks along the beach, and felt envious that he wasn’t staying there also. He then realized the irony of this, knowing that his adventure was bigger than their stay on the island.

Jack lightly touched down on the runway and rolled into the nearby FBO, where he refueled and ate a peanut butter sandwich. He then made his way to customs for last minute advice when crossing into
Mexico
. With his paperwork in order, he was ready for the ‘real’ adventure to begin.

Stepping into his plane, he gave one last look around at American soil. This would be the last time he would feel safe for quite some time. He cleared his mind of everything negative he’d read about flying outside of US soil, and concentrated on the next leg of his flight.

Jack rolled to the beginning of the runway and the tower cleared him for takeoff. He added power and lifted off into a slow steady climb. A few minutes later, he was in Mexican airspace and hugging the shoreline of the blue-green waters of the
Gulf of Mexico
.

Jack chose not to fly at 8,000 feet this time, instead electing to fly at a much lower 3,000 feet. Flying close to the shoreline with floats, he felt that he could land safely anywhere in case of an emergency. In addition, at this lower altitude he could really see the countryside in more detail.

As he skirted the Mexican shoreline, he occasionally found things of interest that caused him to investigate at lower altitudes. The shoreline was essentially a far reaching sandbar, periodic breaks carved out by rivers and bays. Jack marveled at how deserted such beautiful beaches appeared.

“Man, such beautiful beaches and so empty,” he remarked to himself.

Jack opened the vents to let in some fresh air and cool down the interior. As he flew south, he could feel the hotter temperatures in this region of the world. He laughed to himself that three days before, he was freezing in the backseat of his parents’ car and now, three days later, he was warm and comfortable. As he breathed in the fresh salty air, he could detect the essence of seawater. It was a wonderful smell to him.

He thought to himself, ‘I could get used this.’

The coast was beautiful; everything he imagined and more. The sands of the beaches looked white from his altitude. The blue-green water looked inviting. The beaches appeared to be deserted for the most part, something that appealed to Jack, as he was mostly introverted and preferred solitude to crowds.

As he viewed the rolling mountains in the distance, the vegetation was far different than the oak and pine forests he was accustomed to in
New England
. From his altitude, the vegetation looked tropical, with ferns and large palms that dotted the edges of the far inland waters.

Time raced by as he flew, fascinated by every turn of the beaches. His next destination,
Tampico
, was less than a half hour away. He mentally prepared himself for his landing at this next big airport.

A short time later, he was vectored to the airport, just as he had been in the States. There was no mistaking this airport: it was huge. The congested city appeared as if someone had removed a large ‘chunk’ of the population from it and left in its place blank land - blank, that was, except for a very long runway. As Jack was on his final approach, the tower radioed to him at the last minute to land on the shorter, alternate runway to his left. He broke off his approach, added power and leveled the wings, then flew left to the designated runway. As the runway came up off his right wingtip, he banked hard and dropped the nose, still flying about eighty knots as he descended directly toward the runway. As he crossed the threshold, he reduced his power setting to idle and lowered full flaps, quickly slowing himself down. Seconds later he lightly touched down and was requested to take the first taxi way on his left.

All this happened so fast he hadn’t had time to think about it, but as he was now slowly taxiing, he realized that someone in the tower must have spotted his floats and heard his English and realized that he was an American flying on Mexican soil. He would need to go directly to customs.

“Pretty sharp,” Jack surmised. “Now the fun begins.”

His logic was correct, as he heard the ground controller directed him to the customs.

As Jack taxied to their location, he could see two men in military dress standing in front of the building. They had their rifles slung over their shoulders, but stood menacingly and waited for him to roll to a stop and shut down. Jack started to worry a bit, wondering if this was going to turn into one of those horror stories he had read about. He stopped his plane a few feet from them, composed himself and got out. He waited with papers in hand, anticipating their request.

“Papers, señor,” one guard said in broken English. He was all business; no smiles or warmth in his body language.

Jack stiffened and handed him the required papers. He forced a smile to try to break the tension, but the two military men weren’t buying any of it. They looked at him stoically, then began to look at his paperwork, occasionally glancing back up at him.

The two military men took the paperwork and circled around the plane, pointing and making notations on their clipboard. After a short conference between the two, their posture changed slightly. They became a bit more relaxed. They handed back the paperwork and smiled. This was the first time they had done this and Jack took this as he being in the clear.

“Qué es su destino, señor?” one guard said in Spanish.

Jack looked at him, confused. He had picked up a few phrases that he thought would help him on his trip. One of them was ‘I don’t understand.’

“Yo no entiendo,” Jack replied, shrugging his shoulders, telling them he didn’t understand in their native language.

“Destino, señor?” said the other man, using his hands to gesture flying.

Jack then realized what they were asking. They wanted to know his destination. ‘Destino’ must mean destination in Spanish, he surmised.

“
Peru
, señor,” Jack replied proudly.

“
Peru
?” they replied back incredulously.

The two military men broke off into heavy conversation. Jack tried to figure out what they were saying, but they were speaking too quickly to pick anything up. They stopped and said something about ‘aqua’. Jack then figured correctly that they were fascinated by the floats and were probably wondering if he had some kind of water destination there in
Peru
.

“No aqua, señor,” Jack replied, then said in English, “Mountains.”

“Montañas?” they two said to each other, not making the connection between a floatplane and mountains.