I started out my day as usual by peeking out of the brown blinds covering my bedroom window. As predicted by my uncle, the weather was abnormally windy. The sky was a mix of different grays, and the orange autumn trees danced above the roof tops. Everything squealed and shook like a kettle of boiling water.
I stomped down the stairs, slipped on my flimsy raincoat and my large rubber boots, then slipped outside into the windy weekend air. The streets were empty and silent which made me feel like an intruder. I tied back my brown hair into a ponytail, and then walked quickly to my cousin’s house. I ran up the steps but only to open the door to a noisy group of people (including my family) singing to something that sounded like Snoopy and the Red Barren.
My uncle was wearing an aviator badge which I could only assume was the one he talked about a lot. It was old and musty looking, like it had been in the attic for years. He rubbed his thumb and index finger over it while he smiled at a party guest passing by. Uncle loved that badge. I could tell.
I walked up to my older brother and tapped him on the shoulder.
“What?” he said as if he had just eaten a whole block of sharp cheddar cheese.
“Which holiday are we celebrating this week? Is it Amelia Earhart’s birthday?” I asked. My uncle is always throwing celebrations for holidays. They’re more like anniversaries or just random subjects. We once celebrated the international day of Roses, and another time we had a Water day. Sometimes I think Uncle makes up the holidays just so he can sip punch with all of his friends.
“Alaska Aviation Day,” my brother replied.
“Indeed,” I turned around to see my uncle’s insane eyes and childish smile which wasn’t a very good sign.
“Hi Uncle,” I said ignoring his dangerous emotions, “You really planned this holiday.”
He chuckled and said, “This isn’t even the best part!”
“What’s the best part?” I asked.
“You don’t know?! I called up one of my old aviator friends yesterday in honor of this holiday, and guess what? He’s taking to
Petersburg in his Dehavalin Beaver for free!”
“What? What are we going in?” I asked.
He spelled it for me, and said, “It’s a plane!”
“Oh,” I said trying to sound appreciative.
We leave tomorrow so you better get ready!” He said as he walked off gleefully.
“Oh well,” I said to myself, “how bad can a plane ride get?”
The next day I woke up, packed my bags, and hopped in the car with my brother, cousin, and uncle. When we got out of the vehicle, I was facing a small, blue and white bush plane.
“This is the plane we’re riding on? I thought it would be… bigger.”
Uncle winked.
I climbed onto the plane hesitantly. My cousin sat next to me, and my brother squished himself to the window as far as he could. Uncle was outside consulting with the pilot. They were talking about something but I couldn’t hear what it was about. It assumed they were talking about the weather because they kept pointing over the mountains in the distance. This was insane, but before I could speak up, Uncle and the pilot jumped in and started the loud engine. The plane lifted up off the ground, and sadly my stomach didn’t seem to want to.
“Whoa!” Cousin Rose yelled over the engine.
We climbed high over the dark green tree tops, and glistening blue ocean. Fishing boats bobbed up and down next to the shore line, and an eagle soared over various rocks and islands. After about half an hour, I started to get sleepy. I would have took a nap, but the lumpy seat underneath me felt just about as hard as the plastic McDonald’s happy meal toys my cousin owned.
I took a glance out of the tiny window to my right. Something patchy above mountains hung suspended in the air. It was fog. The pilot saw it to. All of a sudden he started flicking switches left and right. I watched carefully as he jabbered into his flashy radio. He looked concerned. So did Uncle.
Suddenly the white air swallowed the plane. The eerie fog blocked the view from the windows.
Then the pilot turned around towards us and yelled, “There’s fog everywhere! We’ll have to land at Baranof Warm Springs!”
“What?” my brother yelled.
“The fog is too thick! We have to stop!” Uncle yelled.
We all fell silent and peered out of the windows like it was an exciting TV program. After we were temporarily through the fog, we were over a small beautiful bay. A waterfall sparkled below us. The mountains above the bay stood tall and proud like a king speaking in front of his city. A few small houses were lined up against the shoreline.
Just then the plane zoomed towards the giant mountain. I held my breath.
Were we going to crash? The mountain side got closer and closer. My cousin closed her eyes, squeezed my hand like it was made of silly putty, then started singing the ABCs she had just learned. My brother bit his lip and gripped his seatbelt tightly.
Just before I thought I was going to die, the relaxed pilot banked sharply and zoomed towards the other mountainside. Around and around we went like we were trying to make a tornado. Each time we circled; we inched downwards which scared me half to death. I wanted to speak up but the sour lump in my throat blocked my words.
Once we were level with the sparkling waterfall I realized that we had been descending this whole time.
The pilot zipped downwards. We were inches away from the surface. Anytime now we would be on the water. The plane finally touched the bay with a small bounce. Then it zoomed across the surface like it was a sled flying down a steep hill.
Once the plane slowed, the pilot turned us around towards a skinny dock I hadn’t noticed while we were in the air. We glided towards the wood dock and stopped with little effort. I hopped out of the plane and kissed the brown planks just for laughs, than ran up towards the shore. We were alive and that’s all that mattered.
