Hidden Courage (Atlantis)

by Petersen, Christopher David

  180 feet, 160 feet, 140 feet …

  He was picking up speed, but not nearly as fast as he needed. He looked down at his airspeed indicator. It was still registering zero.

  120 feet, 100 feet, 80 feet …

  Jack was closing fast on the edge of the cliff. He need more speed. He needed twenty-five knots to control the plane. It was that simple. He thought about jumping out and pushing, but realized the foolishness of this idea. He checked his airspeed again.

  “Airspeed alive,” Jack shouted.

  His indicator was now beginning to move. With his mind racing, he frantically scanned between the cliff and his instruments. He knew without airspeed over the wings, he wouldn’t be able to control the plane over the cliff. He knew things would end disastrously. He desperately needed twenty-five knots.

  Slowly, painfully, his airspeed began to climb.

  Five knots, eight knots, twelve knots …

  “Come on, FASTER!” Jack yelled out loud.

  The edge of the cliff was close. Jack could see well over it and down into the rough and wild valley below. He was scared – damn scared. His hands sweated profusely and he wiped them off on his pants repeatedly.

  The cliff loomed closer.

  Sixty feet, forty feet, twenty feet …

  “Come on, FASTER, God dammit!” Jacked yelled again, slamming his hand on the dashboard in frustration.

  Nearing the cliff, the plane picked up more speed. Jack’s eyes were glued to his airspeed indicator.

  Fifteen knots, eighteen knots, twenty-two knots

  Jack watched in horror as the cliff moved under the plane. Instinctively, he hauled the control stick back and held on. As the plane rolled over the cliff edge, he glanced down at his airspeed: twenty-five knots.

  “Holy shit!”

  The drop was frightening and it instantly took his breath away. One minute he was slowly sliding along the ground, the next he was free-falling. Jack’s stomach felt like it was in his mouth as he quickly dropped. The speed of the plane immediately accelerated from twenty-five to fifty knots in a flash, barely touching the descending cliff before becoming airborne.

  As the airspeed increased, the tiny plane wanted to fly, but he pushed forward on the stick and pointed the nose of the plane toward the ground 2,000 feet below. As the ground dropped away, Jack could see the vertical cliff out of the corner of his eyes. It was frighteningly steep and had a shear rocky face at its bottom.

  Jack watched his airspeed.

  Sixty knots, sixty-five knots, seventy knots

  Halfway down the cliff face, Jack had reached his target speed. He had descended the first 1,000 feet faster than he anticipated and now he had 1,000 feet left to start his engine. With the ground racing up toward him, he had very little time left.

  This was it: the moment of truth. The propeller started to windmill and Jack prepared himself for roar of the engine. He looked down at the valley floor he was descending to. He looked at the windmilling prop and then back at his airspeed, now registering eighty knots.

  “NO!” Jack shouted out in horror. “This isn’t right. It should be running. The engine should be running!”

  Jack was right: the engine should have been running by now. He looked down at the bottom of the cliff rushing up at him. He could see the branches of the trees below where the bottom of the cliff ran into the valley floor. Frantic for a solution, he looked at the gauges and instruments to see if he could determine the problem. He looked down at the flaps lever to ensure he had lowered them to their maximum setting, paramount for a takeoff like this. His eyes raced across the cockpit.

  Then he saw it: the key was in the ‘off’ position. His knee must have hit it in the bumpy ride over the cliff.

  Quickly, his shaking hand fumbled to grab the key. Staring out his windscreen, he frantically watched the ground rushing up at him, less the 200 feet away. Jack’s sweaty hand found its purchase and turned the key to ‘on’.

  Instantly, the engine roared to life.

  Immediately, he hauled back on the stick and held the throttle full forward.

  Jack felt sick as he watched the trees grow larger in his windscreen. He started his engine, only too late. With full power and his control stick pulled all the way back, all he could do was wait for the impact.

  Mere feet from the trees, Jack felt his descent slow and the nose of the plane begin to rise.

  “Whoa,” Jack shouted.

  Suddenly, the tiny plane was struck by a dramatic updraft that roiled above the trees. Instantly, the plane’s descent stopped and the updraft forced the plane higher.

  Jack held his breath and watched the trees race by his skis. The plane’s attitude angled up and Jack was now climbing.

  He cleared the trees in the valley with less than a few feet to spare. Thrusting his plane into a steep climb, his airspeed dropped from ninety knots down fifty-five as he struggled to climb out of the valley. At the high altitude he was flying, his climb rate was unimpressive: only 800 feet per minute. He could only hope that he didn’t run into any downdrafts as he climbed.

  Ascending higher, he very slowly circled about the valley floor, searching for the most nondescript terrain to fly over in order the limit to possibilities for turbulence. Clawing for every inch of elevation, he kept his eyes on his airspeed and on the route out of the valley. He needed to climb to 13,000 feet to clear the deadly saddle he’d nearly crashed into a few days before.

  As he climbed through 12,000 feet, he started to breathe a little easier. His heart was still pounding but his nervous shaking had subsided.

  Twenty-five minutes later, after narrowly escaping death again, Jack approached the saddle. His altimeter read 12,900 feet. As he prepared himself for the inevitable drop over the saddle, he took one last view of Destination B. It was an absolutely beautiful sight. Beaming with pride, he snapped a few more photos, then refocused on his task at hand.

  As he crossed the saddle, like clockwork, the altimeter started to unwind. Clearing the saddle with altitude to spare, he headed through the twisting valley between the towering snowcapped mountains. An hour later, Jack landed safely at San Ramon airport. If he never did anything else exciting again, the previous day’s events would be enough to carry him for the rest of his life.

  Fortunately for Jack, he would not have to rely solely on the previous day’s events. He still had the flight home to look forward to.

  Homeward Bound:

  Jack switched from skis back to floats during his stay at the airport. After a few days’ rest and some ethnic foods, a reward to himself for a job well done, he was ready to start back home.

  His routing home would take him the same path he arrived from up until he reached Columbia. At that point, instead of traveling up through Latin America, he would turn east and fly up and along the Columbian and Venezuelan coast line until he reached the island of Trinidad. From there, he would island hop up through the Caribbean Island chain to Florida, and from there he would follow the east coast shoreline home. In all, Jack estimated the route would take more the 6,000 miles and at least three weeks to fly.

  He stood in the middle of the airport and snapped some photos. This would be the last time he would ever see that airport again.

  “Okay, now the vacation begins.”

  After one last look around, he got into his plane and departed, heading west to Lima, Peru.

  Jack spent the next few days working his way up to Columbia. He took his time enjoying the barren coastline of Peru and the jungle coastline of Columbia. With each stop he sampled the local culture and cuisine. At times he slept in the pilots’ lounges; other times he slept in his plane.

  Once he made Bogotá, Columbia, he headed north to Santa Maria, Columbia instead of flying northwest, the route he arrived from. This was new territory for him. The coast turned from jungle to rugged mountains. They were exciting to see, but very dangerous and relatively remote.

  Over the next few days, from Santa Maria he flew east, skirting the c
oast when practical, traversing inland when necessary. As he entered Venezuela, he stopped at several coastal cities along the way: Coro, Caracas and Cumana. The coast changed as he flew. At times it was rocky, at others it was flat farmland with beautiful beaches. Like the other countries he entered, he was inspected by customs, cleared and sent on his way.

  Twelve days after leaving San Ramon in Peru, he touched down in Arouca, on the large island of Trinidad at Piarco International Airport. He was now leaving South America. This marked a significant point in his adventure: in essence, the hard flying and hard climbing were now complete. This was the point that Jack felt he could relax. His life would no longer be in danger; danger from flying in hostile countries, danger climbing, and danger being so far from home.

  The past two weeks, he’d been enjoying himself at the cities he’d been visiting. It was fun, but there was always an element of danger associated with them. He knew that once he left Trinidad, aside from flying over open ocean, he would become a welcomed American tourist, safe on any island he landed at. No longer would he be looking over his shoulder, as he had been in Latin America, or worried about the armed soldiers meeting him at every airport. He considered this part of the trip his vacation, free to fully relax.

  Jack woke early, excited for the next week’s destinations. He liked Trinidad. It was an enormous tourist city with a lot to offer, but it still fell under the influence of a part of the world that was a bit unstable. His research of the area suggested that once he cleared the island of Barbados, the rest of the island chains north fell under North American influence.

  He finished his breakfast, a day old roll he purchased from a bakery at a bargain and some peanut butter. The roll was delicious, but after living off of peanut butter for almost a month, he was starting to get sick of it. Jack couldn’t afford to purchase bottled water, so he filled his empty water bottles with tap water and brought them to a local park where he boiled them with his stove and a large pot to kill the germs. He refilled his bottles and readied the plane for departure. Shortly after, he departed the large airport and headed north over Trinidad’s forested countryside. Ten minutes later, after crossing the jagged and rocky coastline, he flew out to sea.

  Prior to departure, Jack checked the weather as he always did for the next leg of flight. The weather station in the area reported clear skies throughout the region. As he flew over open ocean, the skies were not only clear, but the visibility was fantastic. He could see thirty miles in every direction, something that he found unusual in areas near water. His route would take him over Grenada, the Grenadines and St Vincent, and he would land at St Lucia, about 250 miles away.

  A half hour after losing sight of land, he picked it back up again in front of him. Fifteen minutes later he was flying over the large forested island of Grenada. With an altitude of 10,000 feet, Jack couldn’t determine the terrain, but assumed that it was jungle like he had seen in other countries at that latitude. Once he made land, he breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that from there on out his flights over water would always be in sight of land. He had read about storms that could develop quickly throughout the Caribbean chain, so it came as welcome relief that his high risk flying was now behind him.

  As Jack flew over the Grenadines, the chain of islands between Grenada and St Vincent, he could tell they were relatively flat and surprisingly populated. Being a pilot, one of the first things he looked for were airports. As he flew, he noticed very large airports on every island. It was comforting to know that at his altitude, he could easily glide to safety in an emergency.

  Jack saw beautiful vacation spots all along his flight. He was getting excited by the thought of spending some time on beautiful white sandy beaches and great surf. As he flew over St Vincent, he considered landing and starting his ‘vacation’ early, but decided to press on to his stop for the day, St. Lucia.

  Twenty minutes later, he landed at the Hewanorra International Airport in Vieux Fort, St. Lucia, on the southernmost end of the island. After a brief discussion with customs, he refueled, then prepared his backpack for an overnight stay on a lonely stretch of beach just beyond the end of the runway.

  Instead of heading into town and sampling the culture, Jack was intrigued by the bay; he’d crossed it while landing. The water took on a wonderful green-blue color and the waves looked inviting. It looked to be a short hike to get there, instead of a long, expensive ride into town. For Jack, the decision to spend time there was an easy one to make.

  Two hours after landing, Jack was swimming in the warm clear water, enjoying the waves and relaxing. This was the memory he had longed to build since seeing tourists on the beaches in the Gulf of Mexico and beyond. He ate when he got hungry, drank water when he was thirsty and rested when he felt tired. He unsuccessfully tried his hand at fishing, not being phased at all when he came up empty. He was just happy to be there.

  As night fell, he broke out his sleeping bag and fell into a sound sleep, soothed by the sound of the pounding surf.

  The following morning, he woke fairly well rested. During the night, he experienced some visitors: sand fleas. After some careful application of bug repellent and zipping up his bag all the way to his nose and mouth, he managed to rid himself of the pests. He ate some bread and peanut butter, drank some more water, then took one last swim. By 9am, he was back at the airport and ready for departure.

  Over the next six days, Jack created similar experiences on each of the islands in succession: Martinique, Dominica, Guadeloupe, Montserrat and St. Kitts.

  Each island had its own personality. In Martinique, it was obvious that it still had a good deal of French influence. It also had an extinct volcano that produced black sandy beaches, which were in complete contrast to the white sandy beaches in the south.

  In Dominica, Jack hiked to the second-largest boiling lake, essentially a volcano cavity that was filled by the frequent rain. He also visited the various areas of rainforest and, of course, he enjoyed the surf.

  The beaches of Guadeloupe caught Jack’s eyes as he flew overhead and circled the island. Just as he had done on St. Lucia, he packed his backpack for an overnight stay at the nearby beach and enjoyed himself in the sun and surf.Jack marveled at the beauty of the beach. It looked like a picture taken straight out of a magazine, replete with palm trees that came right up to the water and beautiful fans and ferns that punctuated the white sand.

  Montserrat was easy to spot with its smoldering volcano: it left a trail of smoke for miles, a sight easy to see from 8,000 feet. While there, he hiked to a couple of ancient monasteries that were perched on rugged mountain cliffs.

  Jack landed at St. Kitts and Nevis later in the week. Just like the other islands in the chain, he visited the beaches, hiked the rainforests and meandered through a couple of the tourist traps, happy to sample some of the indigenous foods. He stayed for a couple of days, then departed to the west for the Virgin Islands.

  The flight over water was the last big open water crossing he would make on his way home, the distance being about 140 miles. Even with the weather relatively clear, Jack still flew for nearly an hour before he caught sight of land. With land in sight, he relaxed, knowing that he had made it. He decided to spend his first night in St Croix. Over the next couple of days, he bounced from St Croix to St Johns and then to St Thomas, each time trying to experience something unique about the culture or geography.

  As Jack headed west from the Virgin Islands, he flew to the San Juan International Airport in Puerto Rico, his next stop for refueling. As always, he landed, checked with customs, sampled the local culture and color and was on his way, his next stop: El Portillo airport in the Dominican Republic.

  Flying along the coastline, he observed the beautiful beaches that held sprawling vacation resorts. He envisioned himself swimming in the luxurious pools and sipping unique tropical drinks while lounging under one of the many colorful umbrellas. He reached down and jingled the change in his pocket and quickly remembered his slim budget for sp
ending.

  “Eh, maybe another time,” he chuckled to himself.

  A short time later, he landed on the single isolated runway of El Portillo airport. With little to see, he checked the weather, quickly refueled and departed to the north on his way to Providenciales airport in the Turks and Caicos Islands.

  The two-hundred and fifty mile flight between the Dominican Republican and Turks and Caicos would take him nearly four hours to fly, yet most it was within sight of land. As he flew away from the coastline, he kept his eye on land the first hour after departure. Eventually, the tiny spec of land disappeared and Jack was once again, flying alone in the middle of the ocean.

  Although he felt apprehension, the inviting turquoise water, calm and serene, helped to distract him from his thoughts of isolation. Looking down, he spotted varying shades of blue that signaled the change in depths of the ocean floor. For a while, the shade was very dark and he knew the ocean’s depth was several thousand feet deep. Thinking about what lurked beneath the surface sent butterflies through his stomach.