That Monment when you think “When Did the Edge of the Wing become White”

That Monment when you think

“When Did the Edge of the Wing become White”

Carlsbad/ Phoenix Trip

March 2016

Maddie 14

Kier 12

Cora 9

The plan was simple; we would fly to Carlsbad Caverns, join up with the Lowells, spend a few says exploring the caverns, then continue on to Phoenix for a few days with my parents before finally heading back home.

The execution of the plan was anything but simple! Complications started before the vacation had even begun. The Lowells had been looking to buy a out-of-town property for several months. When things finally worked out, it turned out that an inspection and other details needed to be taken care of the week of spring break. They decided that Dawn would fly to Michigan to work out those detaila while Brett and Lance joined us for cave Spelunking in New Mexico. We would certainly miss Dawn, but as it turned out, this was just the start of the complications to come.

The day before our spring break trip, it snowed. We didn't worry too much. The forecast still predicted that the morning would be clear. It wasn't. But we decided to head to the airport mid-morning so we could catch the first opportunity to leave. By 11:00am we thought our best option (based on radar) was to head east and avoid the low lying clouds against the mountains. Just as Joel was spooling up the engine to go, we received a text from Bret, who was already in the air, recommending that we file an instrument flight plan because of the cloud cover over southern Colorado. Joel texted back that we intended to fly east and avoid the clouds altogether. The response from Brett (“Not gunna work, sir”) was less than optimistic. Joel Shut down the engine and called the air traffic control briefer. He ended up fliling an instrument plan.

The first 40 minutes of the flight went fine. We were in and out of clouds, but most of the time we could see the ground. Then as we crossed over monument pass, the dividing line between the Denver Metro area and the Colorado Springs Metro Area, the clouds began thickening.... and then I noticed a bit of white forming on the leading edge of the wing. In the calmest voice I could conjure I informed Joel that there was ice on the the wings.

“Yep,” he replied as he pressed the toggle on the yoke, allowing him to speak to air traffic control and request a different altitude.

Ice on the wings or “icing” in pilot speak is a problem for two reasons (1) it can change the shape of the wings which reduces lift and (2) it can “rough up” the surface of the entire plane, causing more drag. Both of these can cause the airplane to stall. What's more the changes can also make it more difficult for the airplane to recover from the stall.

At our new altitude ice was no longer accumulating of the wings. None-the-less, prudence and a quick pilot- “co-pilot” conference dictated that based on the proximity of the nearest airport, the lack of proximity of the next nearest airport, and the fact that noon was quickly approaching, diverting to Pueblo was the best course of action.

No sooner had we landed than the snow started to really fly and the winds started to pick up. With nothing else to do we went in search of lunch and pondered the possibility that we might be spending the first night of our vacation in grand old Pueblo-- it wouldn't be the first time.

Fortunately, on this occasion, the weather, true to Colorado's reputation, quickly turned. By the time we had paid the lunch bill, we were able to take off. We headed slightly east to avoid the lingering clouds,-- then farther east-- on a rather indirect route to New Mexico.

We did eventually make it to Carlsbad (before dinner- despite our odd flight path) but not before we had to make one more unplanned stop in order to settle some stomachs. Of course air sickness is no fun for anyone, but the mixture of insulin and vomiting that happens in the case of a type one diabetic can be down right dangerous! And that is how I found myself staring, breath held, into a bag of vomit pondering the questions: how many carbs could this be? If a diabetic eats 50 carbs at lunch and receives 2 units of insulin, but 2 hours later vomits up an unknown volume of that food, how many ounces of juice does she need in order to maintain a safe blood sugar? It's like some heinous, completely unanswerable SAT math question! Remarkably, on this particular occasion, I got the answer correct!--Later in the trip I would utterly fail at this same question!

The next morning we woke reasonably well rested and ready for adventure. But, as it turned out, not well informed about this adventure. We had learned from previous trips into our beautiful national parks that lodging and tours are likely to sell out. Therefore, we had booked our tours a few months in advance so as not to be left high and dry. We carefully read the website instructions that advised us to arrive thrity minutes before the tour was to begin.

The morning of our tour we dutifully arrived at the Park front desk thirty minutes before our tour was to start. The front desk ranger took his time checking us in and printing our tickets. Than he rather banally drolled out that the elevator wasn't working so we had better be ready to hustle. We had twenty minutes to do a trip they normally advise that people allow an hour to complete!

Hustle we did! I think we may have invented a new extreme sport-- cave running! But, we did not miss our tour. When the ranger looked at our tickets and noted our check in time, she complemented us on making the 79 story, 1 ¼ mile descent, with four kids at “Ranger Speed”. You can bet that the next day we gave ourselves a bit more time to get down into the cave. You can also bet that the next day all three adults were on a steady regiment of pain killers!

Still, the tours were well worth the effort. The Kings Palace, the tour we ran for, is a massive cavern filled with beautiful columns and impressive mineral draperies. Left Hand tunnel, the tour our sore legs were punished for, showed us the cave by the soft light of candlelight lanterns. It also allowed us a chance to see the complete darkness and hear the silence when we blew out those candles. We saw two dead bats as well. The live bats had not yet returned from their winter in Mexico, so the rangers were reduced to pointing out the tiny mummies. We did find some live New Mexico animals as well. In addition to visiting the Carlsbad Cavens, we made a trip to the Desert Zoo to see Javelians, Roadrunners, Pumas and other desert critters. And no trip to Carlsbad is complete without a trip to the most awesome of playgrounds.

Seriously, if you are ever in Carlsbad you simply must engage in a game of tag on their huge, wooden castle themed playground. But, you can probably skip the experience of driving through someone wedding. Although certain short members of our travel group might count that as a highlight of the trip. Actually, we didn't drive through the wedding just once, but twice. Because once you get into the middle of a wedding, you still have to drive out. Whoops.

That Monent when you ask the pilot, "What the Hell are you doing?"....

Texas

September 2009

Maddie 8

Kier 5

Cora 2

It was our first big cross county family trip in the Piper Cherokee, a single engine prop plane that just barely seats six. Somehow, despite my inexperience, I knew this take off was not quiet right. I had not yet learned the distinct sounds that the plane makes at different stages of fight, so I don't think that was my tip off. But I definitely knew that the airplane was not climbing at its usual rate, that the sky scrapers of downtown Amarillo seemed to be getting closer quicker then we were getting higher. To be fair this was Amarillo, Texas not, say, New York City, so there was really only one building that could classify as a skyscraper, and even at that the Chase building is only 31 stories high. Still, the fact that a 374 foot building was looming on the horizon might be an indication of how slowly we were climbing.

When Joel turned to the north I breathed a sign of relief-- it would be short lived. No sooner had we turned away from the looming large downtown then Joel reached down and quickly turned the little key under the yoke one tick to the left. The engine sputtered, the propeller slowed, and the drone of the engine quieted. Joel quickly flicked the key back to the right. The engine resumed. Barely daring to turn my head, I glanced at Joel, his face revealed nothing. Determined that nothing good would come from anything I might say, I kept my mouth shut and gripped the sides of my seat.

However, when Joel flicked the switch briefly to the left a second time, the words could no longer be contained, and “What the Hell are you doing?” involuntarily flew from my mouth.

Joel's curt reply of, “We're going back,” told me nothing and everything all at the same time.

Still smiling--Kier and Maddie in the Cherokee, circa 2009

We all sat quietly as the airplane turned back to the Amarillo Airport. Not a peep was heard from the three kids in the back seat. In fact, I think this was before we had even purchased jr. size headsets.  The kids only had ear plugs, leaving them completely out of the loop as to what was going on!

Joel radioed the tower and reported that, due to a mechanical issue we would be returning. They asked if we needed to declare an emergency and Joel said no. All the while his face never wavered.

(editing comment:  when I had the kids read this before I published it for all the world, Kier read that sentence and said, "THAT IS SO TURE!  DAD NEVER GETS UPSET ABOUT ANYTHING" :)

As the wheels touched ground, we heard comments from the back like, "are we home", "that was a short flight" and "why does this airport look just like the last one?"

We taxied the plane over to the mechanic, where it was quickly discovered that the left magnitio was completely dead. The magnito is a part of the ignition system in the engine. It produces the electrical current that provides the spark for the spark plugs. On reflection, this diagnosis made perfect sense.

Early on in the trip, the very first day in fact, just as we were crossing into Texas, Joel had noticed an occasional clicking noise coming over the radio. Reasoning that something might be wrong with the spark plugs we had landed at the closest airport. We had unfortunatly chosen Memorial Day as our departure day, and so there was no one in the mechanics shop that day. But the proverbial group of old World War two veterans that inhabit every small airfield in America helped Joel check each and every spark plug that day. Satisfied that the spark plugs were working, Joel promised that even if the engine failed we would always be within gliding distance of the land. This was not really a comfort, but given the options we continued on. So perhaps the real surprise is that the magnito held out long enough to get to Port Aransus and then back as far as Amarillo before it gave up the ghost.

In the end this little mechanical failure set us back an extra two days. Two more days on a trip that had already been extended by two extra days due to fog and rain along the gulf coast of Texas. Two extra days at the beach had been one thing, two extra days with nothing for entertainment but a little pool and an equally little park was less attractive.

In the mean time my mom offered to drive down from Colorado to take the kids and I home. “No, no” I said, knowing that if I didn't finish this flight home I might never be willing to climb into the airplane ever again.

When the time did come, two days later, the rest of the family walked out to load up the airplane, and I quietly snuck off to the bathroom where my nervous stomach lost its breakfast right before I joined my family and we started back to Colorado.

Clearly, this was a less than auspicious start to our new family hobby of vacation flying, but when people ask me if I am ever afraid flying in a small plane, this is the story that I tell them. Because yes sometimes I am but, more importantly this event taught me that we were capable of dealing with emergencies. Even as it was happening I remember thinking, “OK so this is what I feared, and this is what we do in this situation.” Somehow there is something empowering in knowing this is who we are in an emergency, this is how we roll. 

Toddler Cora, in the Cherokee, circa 2009

The Infamous Yuma Trip- June 2012 (Lindsey)

I don't know how we ended up by taking a trip to Yuma (middle-of-nowhere) Colorado. Okay, that's not really true-- I do know how we ended up in Yuma, (I just can't believe we did!) I even know why we ended up in Yuma. It's because Joel and I are awful at compromising. Now, I don't mean the we are unyielding or unkind to each other. I just mean that, somehow, when we have different ideas and we try to combine them to find middle ground, something ugly often seems to come of it.

For instance, a few years ago we redid our laundry room/ third bathroom. I wanted to paint the walls mint green and the cabinets light pink to match a painting I planned to hang in the bathroom. Joel wanted to paint the cabinets terracotta. Neither of us wanted the other person's color choice. It was time for a compromise. We went to the Lowes down the street and what we came home with was the most god-awful, 1950s, Pepto-Bismal pink paint (that we both hated). It was enough to turn ones stomach. It also stayed on those cabinets for the next two years until we moved, because,just because we know our compromise was something awful doesn't, apparently, mean that we will change it!

The trip to Yuma was a similar ugly and awful, all be it completely civil, sort of compromise. Here's how it happened: We had a dog, Zeke, that we had been fostering from the local animal shelter. He was sweet; he was playful; he was well mannered and great with kids. He was also over seven years old, a rather bland-looking black dog, and completely neurotic. We knew people would not be lining up to fight over who got to adopt this crazy, old, black dog. The thought of him languishing in the kennel slowly going stir crazy (or maybe quickly, he's kinda prewired for crazy) was too much for us. We had no choice-- we had to keep him! But first, Joel said, we must know if he was OK to fly. We bought a new kennel and Joel figured out how to bolt our “already- part-of-the-family” poodle's kennel to the “almost-part-of-the-family” Zeke's new kennel and then bolted them both into the airplane-- keeping everyone safe and out of the pilot's way during flight.

Up next, a destination. Camping seemed like a good choice, after all we would have two dogs in tow. Joel researched and found the perfect place. A cute little grass strip in Northpark, between the mountains. It had a near-by lake, we could camp right at the airport, and it was only a ½ hour flight. We headed to the airport. But when we called for a flight briefing, we learned that the winds were expected to pick up in about an hour and a half. Joel was fine with this bit of news, after all he reasoned, it was less than a 30 minute flight. Now, there is something you should know about me. It's this: I am a chicken when it comes to mountain flying. Even in the best weather, I look down at all those trees and the mountains sticking up all over and I can't help but think, if the engine quits, that's gunna hurt! 

But, at any rate, the plane was packed, the kennels were bolted down, the dogs and kids were loaded. And so we did it, we made a compromise. We did the figurative equivalent of drawing a circle on the sectional map and concluded that thirty minutes, going in the opposite direction of the mountains put us in Yuma Colorado. We'd go there, and see if there was anything to do. If there wasn't, we reasoned, “we could always leave, and go somewhere else” (I know, famous last words, right?)

The flight and landing were unremarkable, by which I mean I really don't remember them. I do however, remember that another plane landed at about the same time that we did. Joel went over and admired the other plane-- because that's what pilots do. And I'm so glad he did because in doing so, he met the man who would save us from ourselves. 

We didn't bother unloading the camping gear, after all we hadn't decided whether to stay in Yuma for the night. Instead we crated the dogs in the concrete, buggy bathroom and took a pleasant ½ mile walk into town where we had lunch at the local Subway sandwich shop (one of two places to eat in Yuma.)

By the time we returned to the airport, the wind had started to kick up; we hoped it was temporary because by now we had realized that we didn't so much want to stay in Yuma over night. In the meantime we let the dogs out and explored the various little sandhills surrounding the airport. By this time it was becoming obvious that we weren't going anywhere soon. The winds were much too strong. It was also obvious that we weren't going to be leaving that night. Even if the winds did let up, Joel was not night current. And it was also obvious that camping on the Eastern Plains of Colorado with nary a tree to block the wind was going to be a miserable experience! We walked around the various structures on the property hoping maybe one of them could block some wind. I even tried to come up with some way we might be able to erect our tent in the bathroom-- yes we really were that desperate! 

It was along about this time that the doctor/pilot that Joel had met earlier in the day took pity on us. I picture him sitting in his quaint, little, small-town home, drinking a quaint cup of tea while looking out his window at the less than quaint scene of hurricane force winds whipping the trees about and pelting the windows with dirt. I, of course, have no real idea of what he was doing when the thought occurred to him that that foolish young couple with the three adorable kids and two dogs were in for a hell of a night, but I do know that shortly after this realization occurred to us, this saint showed up at the airport and offered to let us pitch our tent in his backyard. Without stopping to consider, we loaded up our kids, dogs, camping gear and our selves into the back of this strangers pick up truck. This is not the only time we have had a trip that left us with little choice but a ride in the back of a strangers pick up truck on middle-of-nowhere back roads, and every time I left with the feeling that I should say something to the kids. The lecture always comes out something ridiculous like, “Now kids, you shouldn't get in the car with a stranger, and riding in the back of a truck is not safe, but.... well, it's our only choice...” yeah never my finest parenting moment!

Fortunately, we were not kidnapped this time, nor where there any fatal car accidents that day. Instead we set up our tent in the back of a stranger's back yard, used our camp stove (again, in the backyard) to cook our dinner and breakfast, and the kind couple even left the back door unlocked that night so we could use their bathroom! The night was windy, and loud and more then once I was sure the huge cottonwood would fall and crush us in the night! But, the houses and fence blocked much of the wind and we may have even got a few hours of sleep that night. Had we stayed at the airport I'm pretty sure we would have woken up in Kansas-- or maybe OZ.

So that is how (and why) we ended up camping in the back yard of a stranger's house in Yuma Colorado. How we came to have a MOST extraordinary trip in a most ordinary of places. How we learned about kindness and compassion and the danger of compromise. It's also how we learned that our new lab/ border collie liked flying-- but HATED swimming (he nearly drown in two feet of water in the tiny city park-- a now favorite family story). Oh irony, you have much to teach us.

That last paragraph sounds so mature and noble, doesn't it? That's because I'm writing this three years after the fact. At the time, I could not yet appreciate the divine absurdity of this story. And that is why, less then a month later, when a massive hail storm smashed two windows and dimpled the entire surface of the plane, the very first words out of my month were, “NO, that trip to YUMA, CAN NOT be our last airplane trip!” But, now I see that all's well the ends well. The fates smiled on us and we were able to join an airplane owner's club that has a beautiful six seat Saratoga. Fate smiled on the other airplane, too. She is now christened “Dimples” and belongs to Joel's Uncle. Dimples even gets to continue carrying babies around (something I am convinced she enjoys) and we frequently enjoy pictures of Joel's cousin and her little one flying in “our” airplane.

A flat tire in Colorado Springs

Dispute the fact that for most of the trip, an airplane's wheels are tucked up nice and tight, it turns out they are mighty important!  A few years ago we flew to Colorado Spring for dinner and for Joel to complete his required night time take offs and landing, and we ended up with a flat tire.  We were less then 50 miles from home, but stranded none the less!  And yes, as Cora said, this was not the first time we had rented a car and left the airplane in Colorado Springs.  Without further ado, here is Cora's comic strip account of that adventure.

P

Pictures of our Kansas, Arkansas, Missouri Trip September 2015

Stratica in Hutchinson Kansas

Salt Mines in Hutchinson Kansas

Flying over Kansas

Arkansas (Bull Sholes) from the air

Oak leaves and Acorn in Arkansas

Right outside our cabin in Deer Run Arkansas

Turtle Races at (Laura Ingles) Wilder Days in Missouri

Laura Ingles Wilder's House in Missouri

Sasquatch in Missouri

Bull Sholes Cavers in Arkansas

A very Ozark's cabin

On the Lake in Bull Sholes Arkansas

Maddie, boat Driving Lessons

Wichita Kansas with the my high school friend's boys

A Game of Tag with friends

Yellowstone August 2015 (Lindsey)

The propeller roared to life, the wheels sped down the runway and the small plane was lifted into the air.  We were headed for home a mere four days into what was intended to be a seven day vacation in Yellowstone, my favorite place on earth. You see, we were almost six years into this “single engine airplane adventure” and we had finally learned to respect the truth of the axiom “whatever can go wrong, will go wrong”. On this day we had seen on the horizon signs of what “could go wrong”, so we decided to cut our losses and head for home before it “did go wrong”.

We had been planning this trip to Yellowstone for months. Which isn't enough, by the way.  It turns out that a trip to Yellowstone really requires at least a year of planning if you want to stay in a lodge or cabin. But, no matter, our family is the rugged outdoorsy type, so we were happy to switch gears and make it a tenting type excursion. We did, however, think better of our original time frame and changed from a mid-September trip to a mid-August trip. Years earlier, we had taken a 4 year old Maddie and an 18 month old Kier to Yellowstone and been surprised and coat-less when it snowed on us (fortunately that year we'd made our arrangements in time to get a room in a lodge). 

We made plans. We wanted to take a boat out on the Yellowstone Lake. We wanted to see some wolves in Lamar Valley. We bought a viewing scope. We dug out the camping gear, the coats, the hats. We were ready.

Two days before we left on this Yellowstone trip, Cora (age 8) was complaining of a sore throat and running a 100 degree fever. As a type-one diabetic even a slight cold can be cause for concern as it disrupts blood sugars and requires changes in insulin dosing. But, by the morning of the first day of vacation, Cora was chipper and fever free. It looked like we were good to go.

We crammed the car and then the airplane to the gills with camping gear (and a few extra blankets, again remembering the September snow!). The flight to Yellowstone was beautiful. There were clouds on the horizon but they seemed be burning off as we approached.

Shortly before we reached Jackson, Wyoming, we saw an impressively large Golden Eagle in the air. The sight was beautiful, and more then a little unnerving. He was less than 100 feet from the right wing and at the same exact altitude that we were, close enough we could see his bright yellow feet and beak. As we passed, he seemed to realize his precarious position, he tipped his golden wings, banked to the right and peeled away.

Upon nearing Jackson, the air traffic controller routed us far closer to the Grand Tetons than we would have gone otherwise. We skirted the intimidating, craggy edifices just a few miles from their naked peaks, the airplane's terrain warning glowing bright red and yellow, telling us that those mountains reach up into the sky much higher than the altitude at which we were cruising.

 

Flying over Yellowstone Park itself is one of the greatest treasures that general aviation has to offer. From the air you can see how truly immense Lake Yellowstone is, how remote and uninhibited most of the park really is, and if you are really lucky (as we were on this day) you'll be treated to seeing a geyser erupting. We circled the park pointing out to the kids the spectacular colors of the Grand Prismatic Pool, which once you've seen from the air is really not worth seeing from the ground. From the air you can see the full splendor of the vibrant ultramarine center that fades to a translucent turquoise and the stark contrast of the unearthly amber colored bacteria mats that snake off in all directions. From the ground, you can see one side of the pool that looks like a stinky turquoises mist.

After our aerial tour of Yellowstone we landed in Montana's little town of West Yellowstone just outside of the National Park. We snacked on PB and J, picked up our rental car, grabbed some camping food at the local grocery and headed into the park. As we neared our campground we were slightly surprised to find caution tape strewn across the trail-heads nearest our intended sleeping space. Our worst suspicions were confirmed when I checked into the campground and the “you're in bear country” lecture was delivered with rather a bit more fervor then normal. It turns out a man had been mauled and partly eaten by a Mama Grizzly (and her cub?) a mile from the campground a few days earlier. Actually, by this time they had already caught the Mama Grizzly (and her cub?) and euthanized her (and her cub?-- very little was reported about the end result for the baby bear, gee I wonder).

Bear lectures and closed trails aside, our first night was beautiful. After enjoying the requisite camping S'Mores, Cora snuggled into her sleeping bag, and Joel, Maddie, Kier and I spent an hour plus sitting around the campfire staring at the crystal clear night skying and calling out satellites and even a few shooting stars that we saw streak across the sky. The night was surprisingly warm and we slept well that night.

By morning, the sky had taken on a light gray overcast and the air smelled of rain. Drizzle fell off and on throughout the morning. But, anyone who has frequented Yellowstone knows that a rainy day here or there is a given and it's best not to let it hold you back. ( Eighteen years earlier--almost to the day-- Joel and I had spent a soggy honeymoon in the Yellowstone back-country). Despite a few raindrops, we spent the morning enjoying the mud pots, the steaming and hissing “Dragon's Mouth Cave”, Mammoth Hot Springs and its odd little structures built of minerals and bacteria. In the afternoon, we even indulged in a dip in the Gardner River where the freezing cold river water meets the steaming hot run off from the hot springs making for a perfect spectrum of water temperatures. But, while Cora seemed to have made a full recovery from her cold, three of the remaining four of us (Joel, Maddie, and Kier) were now requiring Advil, throat lozenges and large quantities of tissues.

Late in the evening as we drove home from dinner, what had been a light drizzle all day turned into a frighteningly loud thunderstorm and a downpour of rain. Lightening Flashed across the sky in all directions in a storm that must have covered most of the park. It took us almost two hours to get back to the campground. All the way we wondered if we would find a soaked wet tent and sleeping bags (or maybe no tent at all-- the wind was blowing mighty hard!). And what would we do then? We already knew that there wasn't a room to be found ANYWHERE near the park and it was after 10:00 at night! Still neither Joel nor I said a word of this fear and in unspoken solidarity we ignored the questions to that end which arose from the backseat. By some divine providence, we arrived to a tent that, while soaked on the outside, was completely dry on the inside! Sometime after one AM, the mighty storm quieted and we (mostly) slept, despite the sniffing and the coughing, and the nose blowing that went on throughout the rest of the night.

In the morning we decided to head down to old Faithful and see some geysers. On the way, we stopped to do a two mile hike to see an “off the beaten path” geyser called “Lone Star”. We missed the geysers eruption, and while we were there I lost my phone, but not before I used it to take a picture of a perfect black bear footprint that we found right in the middle of the mud (urr, umm, dirt) path!

We did eventually make it down to see Old Faithful spew hot water hundreds of feet into the air before the cold germs won out and most of the group felt a nap was the best agenda for the evening. That night it was cold. Like, really cold. When we crawled out of the tent after a night of sniffing and shivering we found everything covered with a layer of frost and ice. Rather then wait for someone's cold to turn into an ear infection or a sinus infection, we admitted that it was time to throw in the towel. If you've never flown in an unpressurized airplane with an ear infection or even driven down from the high mountains with one, I recommend you try to keep it that way-- it's an absolutely excruciating experience.

Still, it's hard to drive by the steaming mud and road side signs without stopping to see what is there. So we maybe took a little longer then we meant to arrive back at the airport that day. By the time Joel retracted the wheels and the airplane climbed into the sky, it was well past noon and the afternoon thermals and turbulence quickly showed up.

Turbulence is a beast with many personalities. Sometimes it's the hit your head of the ceiling kind, sometimes it's the make you vomit kind, and sometimes it's the “I hope we don't do a barrel roll” kind. This time it was the suck you up into the clouds and spit you back out, make your ear drums burst kind of turbulence-- yep the very worst possibility for our three head cold sufferers. The good thing about this flight was we had already planned it to be short. It was a one hour flight to the little town of Thermopolis (actually it took a little longer because we spent so much time going up and down instead of forward).

Thermopolis boasts the largest hot springs in the word dumping thousands of gallons of 135+ degree water a day. They have several pools, vapor caves and slides and caked in mineral deposits from the

spring waters. But on this trip, as was befitting our present state of health, we instead stayed in a hotel that had formally been the “convalescence home”, enjoyed their small hot spring fed spa and took an early nights sleep. In the morning, refreshed and with the turbulence calmed, we headed back to Colorado.

Like most of our trips, this vacation had little in common with the vacation we thought we were planning. We planned to watch wolves at a distance and through a viewing scope, instead this vacation provided a once in a lifetime (we hope) chance to see a Golden Eagle up close and in the air. We planned to explore the waters of Lake Yellowstone, instead we examined the vastness of the sky. We planned to see the eruption of a more remote and lonely geyser, instead we found a black bear footprint in the mud. And there lies the greatest lesson to be learned from life in a small plane-- live in the moment, be flexible and always willing to give up what you planned for what is.

Cora age 8

Kier age 11

Maddie age 14