Perspective

Rockland Harbor Sunrise
Looking east towards a Penobscot Bay sunrise
Birch Point Sunset
Looking east away from the sunset at Birch Point

The warm breeze gently ruffles the t-shirt on my back, I could be facing a very pretty sunset but I choose instead to stare out to sea towards the island of North Haven, away from the setting sun.  I can feel the last of the sun’s warmth on my back as I face the sunlit clouds to the east back-dropped by a beautiful, but quickly changing sky.  It has been a wonderful spring day worth remembering and my mind does it’s best to take in every sight, sound and smell to relive for another day when I’m not so lucky.  But I don’t have to relive it today, today I get the luxury of the day’s beauty first hand–a late April day started by the most amazing sunrise and capped off by an equally brilliant sunset.  In between these bookends lies 14 hours 12 minutes and 9 seconds filled with remarkable views and some wonderful flying, all stored away neatly and concisely in half a dozen photos and a line in my pilot’s logbook.

As I stand here enjoying the sound of the peepers singing one of my favorite songs from childhood, I can’t help but think that just minutes before I was slipping gracefully through the same sky I was looking at now.  I had just picked up a school teacher that was returning from Matinicus, an island off the coast, bringing her back to the mainland.  I knew it was my final flight of the day and I planned on savoring every second of it, as was my ritual on the last flight of the day.  During that return flight I was looking down at this very same point of rocky coastline that I’m standing on now; a point of land confidently jutting out into the cold Atlantic waters of the Gulf of Maine.  But now I was just relaxing with my thoughts and thinking how differently it looked from above compared to what I’m seeing now.

If I could be in two places at the same time and one of me was in the plane looking down on this point, while the other was on this point looking up at the quickly passing plane, I would see two very different views, even though each would be at the same general location at the same exact time–and yet each would be captivating in their own beautiful ways.  Which perspective would be more enticing?  Which view would be more rewarding or memorable?  Which would most people care to see if they could only choose one?  No matter really, I don’t have to give it much thought because I was fortunate enough to see both and they were each equally inspiring, not needing the other to stand out.  But if I had to choose, if I was forced to choose,  flight will nearly always win out–that goes without saying.  Flying is just woven into the fabric of my life, I’ve never known a life without it.  There is just something that cannot be described with words alone when flying, one has to experience it for themselves to truly be able to understand it.

I’ve always felt fortunate for the flying I’ve been able to do and memories I’ve been able to make.  Once again I was able to do just that, fly and make memories.  Fortunately one lucky school teacher was able to see, and feel, the same views I did while we soared together, a foot apart, smoothly along at a thousand feet above this beach.  Although she saw the same views I did it’s probably safe to say she did not feel the same emotions that I felt–there are just too many variables involved and we all look at things differently.  She may not even remember the flight’s details–although I hope and pray she does.  It’s not every day we get to do the things we love, and see the beauty around us from a vantage point given only to the birds.  For me the days events are added to the hundreds, more likely thousands, of memories I have of flying.  Someday it’ll be all I have.  When that day will come is anyone’s guess but I’m not waiting to find out, I’m filling those empty spots in my mind with as many memories as it’ll hold so when the time comes to replay them I will be able to relive each and every one.

 

Witherspoon’s Landings

 

Witherspoon's from Above
Early morning view of Witherspoon’s Airstrip with the long shadows from the rising sun
Witherspoon's Parking
Parking at Witherspoon’s Airstrip next to the grange hall and road

Sometimes cars stop short of the strip for landing planes–sometimes they don’t

 

Silence in my headset, just the steady, comforting drone of the Continental purring in front of me and the normal vibrations felt on my fingertips through the airplane’s yoke and throttle.  The radio had been totally quiet other than my position report when I was initially outbound from the airport at Owls Head, my home base.  With no one else in the air this early in the morning I pretty much had the sky to myself which is the norm–one of the reasons I love the first and last flights of the day.

Having the sky to yourself is a joyful and fulfilling feeling.  It’s as if for a few moments you are the only one alive and all the surroundings; such as the sky and clouds, the ocean and the mountains, are there for you, and you alone.  This sort of feeling is a truly unique feeling that has always been very spiritual for me.  Of course as the minutes tick away and others take flight, you realize there are other people joining you in your magical domain of the sky and it ever so slightly loses a bit of its allure.

So although I felt I was the only one riding on the gentle, coastal air currents this morning there were others.  For example, there were the occasional seagulls down near the dark Atlantic waters floating effortlessly within a few feet of the waves.  We had an agreement those gulls and I–they were to stay low and I had the rest of the sky above them to do whatever I please so long as I didn’t violate our contract.  That was the agreement from last season anyway…when we had all sorts of altercations with them on Big Green Island (aka Large Green).  All I had to do is look out at the end of my left wingtip for a reminder of what happens when a gull plays chicken (and loses) with the plane as one of our pilots found out while landing.  No issues today though, they kept their end of the bargain and I planned on keeping mine at least until it was time to land…then I had to descend into their realm.  When that time comes I will just have to be looking for them even more so than normal.

Right now though all is well and right in the world, I am in my element.  As the power is being slowly pulled back in anticipation of landing at the Witherspoon’s Airstrip on North Haven, I see that I am just coming up on Thayer’s Boatyard, so I consciously slow the Cessna to the proper speed and descended to the correct altitude knowing I am only a couple of minutes at most from feeling the smooth grass and rumbling gravel under my wheels.  I had been looking forward to this flight for months.  Stuck at my home in Florida during the winter months, I was awaiting the day I’d have a load of mail on-board and be slipping across the bay to this island off the coast of Maine.  As a pilot for our company, I get to fly to a number of interesting and challenging locations, but I enjoy this particular flight and destination for many reasons.  It’s always enjoyable to drive the mail down to the post office after unloading the plane and gossip with Mary, the Post Master, on all the local happenings.  It’s also a great way to ease into a busy day and she treats all of us at the company very well.  It’s like visiting family.

Well, it’s time to pay attention and step up my game, this airstrip at Witherspoon’s is known as one of our hardest to land in and takeoff from due to it being extremely short and with significant obstructions on each end.  One of the ends is also bisected by a major road on the island and cars are notorious for not stopping at the flashing lights when planes are landing.  The locals are very good at stopping for us but the summer residents are oftentimes unaware of the airstrip and its low flying planes or they are just too caught up in the freedom of their vacations to care of such minor annoyances as landing airplanes landing over their roads withing feet of their cars.  Either way, the gravel airstrip is in sight and as I line the airplane up for landing I can’t help but notice a big bird out ahead of me.  Not a seagull like we were speaking of earlier mind you, this is a BIG bird I’m seeing and he appears to be circling right where I will be coming down over (through) the trees for landing.  He is enormous…looks like a turkey buzzard if I didn’t know any better.  Obviously he is not aware of the agreement the gulls and I have, or he’s unconcerned with said agreement given his rather large size.

In order to get down and stopped by the far end of the runway we have to fly very close to the trees, nearly brushing them with our wheels, in order to land safely.  In doing this we don’t get much room for error and cannot attempt to avoid birds and other objects nonchalantly–there is no room for such luxuries.  Just as I think he’s given me some room to work with and will be out of my way, he turns sharply and lines up on a path that will surely intersect mine at the worst point in my landing profile.  I have but a second or two to determine if this new flight path of his will miss me sufficiently to be an acceptable option, if not I am triggered to initiate a go-around which will allow me to fly past the field and start the whole landing process over again.

In less time than it took you to read that last sentence I determined there was going to be just enough room for me to safely get by this big pile of feathers providing he didn’t do some erratic maneuver that turned him back towards me, so I continued towards my destiny of meeting the ground–hopefully in a very smooth and controlled fashion.  Thankfully the enormous bird continues on his way and I see him pass easily off my left wing about twenty feet away and opening that distance by the second.  With him no longer a concern I concentrate fully on the landing and get the plane down safely and in a reasonable distance allowing me to pull off into a parking area mid way down the thousand foot long strip.

As I step out of the plane and prepare to unload my cargo of boxes, letters, newspapers and flyers, I can’t help but look back down towards the end of the runway and think of what all of that landing approach looked like from the birds perspective.  Did he even notice me?  I’m sure I will never know about his specific concerns, but I do know of a seagull on another island not far from this one that surely wishes he would have dived towards the ground rather than climb upward into the flight path of this airplanes wing!

Luc’s Ride

Jerry Pond with Luc

Taxiing to take off from Jerry Pond on a cold autumn evening (Photo by Tony Cesare)

The temperature is not extremely cold this first day of November, at least not like it will be in the coming months, but after our bodies acclimated to the nice Maine summers thirty-eight degrees Fahrenheit seems quite cool and with the sun setting it’s not going to get any warmer.

Float plane operations are pretty much done or winding down by this time of year but I have been trying to accomplish as much flying as possible all season and I’m just now catching up on all my prior commitments.  With this setting sun I’m running out of daylight, and as mentioned earlier, it’s pretty cold this evening but I promised the young fella sitting behind me that he’d get a ride in my floatplane–and today he will, although it will be a relatively quick flight.

Although young for formal lessons, my passenger Luc was not too young to learn to fly and did an excellent job as student/passenger previously in my Super Cub when it was on wheels, and I wanted him to experience water flying–the pinnacle of flying in my opinion.  There is something special about the combination of water and flight that just cannot be described, it has to be experienced.  It brings out a sense of adventure and freedom that is even more powerful than other types of flight which already highlight these feelings to a great extent–water flying just magnifies it significantly.

This evening, as the plane floats slowly away from the shore atop the mirror-like surface, I can look back and see his parents standing on the shoreline with two of their younger children watching us expectantly, and probably a bit nervously wondering why we aren’t done and safely home yet!  I can’t blame them really, it would take some serious thought on my part to let my young son or daughter fly with anyone other than myself.  I say ‘myself’ not because I’m anything special…I just know how I fly and for me to let them go with a pilot of unknown talent probably would not happen.  In this case I’m not an unknown, Luc’s parents are my cousins and they know I’ve been flying for over thirty years and will do everything I possibly can to make this a safe and enjoyable flight.  Nonetheless, any apprehension felt by any parents at this point would be well deserved.

My airplane is capable of taking off in extremely short distances and I would normally taxi to the other end of the pond but not all the way down to the other end as I’m doing now.  However, due to my precious cargo sitting two feet behind me I play it safe and use every foot available in this small pond on the edge of town and given the slow speed at which we are taxiing it takes a bit of time.  Luc and I are not really concerned with how long it takes other than I have to be back home before the approaching darkness, but I’m confident that as slowly as the time passes the shoreline anxiety is growing.

I feel at home in this cockpit, like I’ve been wearing it for decades.  I grew up in this very same airplane as a child and can’t help think of the irony of looking back over my shoulder and seeing this young, eager face peering out the window with anticipation just as I was doing over nearly forty years ago.  Same plane, same area, same circumstances–just a new young soul intertwined in the history of my green Super Cub.  The ability to do this gives me such a warm feeling inside and I have to remind myself that I’m not doing this totally for altruistic reasons.  Truth be known, I get more out of this than anyone can possibly know…it’s humbling really.

 

*Luc enjoyed his sunset ride and we both agreed his orientation flights in the Cub will not be complete until he fly’s with me on skis–so you haven’t heard the last of Luc!

Silence

Silence on Soliven Pond

Floats tailed-up on the “beach” where the ice-cold spring brook empties into the pond

Not a sound.

If I was sitting in front of someone, say I was sitting in front of you, and I showed you this picture and said it was completely silent you would probably be thinking to yourself, “Aw come on, there must be some birds making noises.”  Not a peep…no black-capped chickadee’s chirping in the branches around my head, no loon melodies floating across the water, no eagle’s screeching along the ridge behind me…nothing.  You might then go on to say, “But what about the wind in the tall pines and spruce?”  Nope–can’t hear any movement in the trees.  Just look at the accompanying photo and you will see that the water is nearly a mirror–scratch the wind making any noise.  At this point you might have a puzzled look on your face and you would be skeptical still.  “No noise?  Not even a far away truck, or plane, or chainsaw…something???”  Nothing at all.  Well to be totally forthcoming, I can hear my heart beating and I can hear the pine needles and moss gently giving way to my feet when I move–but that is it.

Have you ever stood somewhere and heard nothing?  It’s wonderful really, eerily strange and refreshing all at the same time.  I mean we always have some sort of background noise.  Right now for instance, you must hear something?  One would think the woods are quite active and there is always something to hear, most of the time they’d be right, but every so often you get complete silence.  It’s as if you’re being watched.  It can be quite disconcerting–especially in the woods at night.

This particular day I flew into my secret pond, a pond we shall forever deceivingly call ‘Soliven’ Pond in order to keep any competition away from the pond’s sizable brook trout!  I stepped off the float and into the cool ankle-deep water then pulled the plane up securely on the shore and walked a short distance into the woods to do a little exploring.  I am typically very quiet in the woods out of habit and find myself really taking my time in order to be as quiet as possible and also to slow down and look at all the interesting things most people would walk right by.  Within one hundred feet of the plane I spy an old wooden canoe being absorbed back into the ground along with its iron chain and paddle lock, a feather lost by a passing grouse, and a bobcat track in the stream-bed by the plane–possibly looking for that wayward grouse.

So it was not surprising that it had taken me nearly five minutes to walk the short distance into the surrounding trees.  I hadn’t gone far at all when I felt a strong urge to turn around, as if something was behind me.  Succumbing to the urge I slowly turned around to see what was so alluring, so tempting.  The photo you see with this story cannot, and does not, do any justice to what I was witnessing–a beautiful sunrise that silhouetted my airplane with a gorgeous frame of trees and moss all glistening with the sun’s rays highlighting the morning dew.  Absolutely stunning–and only made better by the complete and utter silence that surrounded me this cool autumn day.

As I stood there bathing in the sun’s morning warmth and soaking it all in, I was presented with one notable sense that could not be overlooked…I was consumed by a very “earthy” smell, the smell of freshly fallen leaves along with leaves of years past slowly melting in their unavoidable journey towards decay and return to the golden forest floor.  I didn’t want to lose this picture in my mind so I took this photo in order to attempt to relive the experience later, or better yet, try to share it with others.  After a minute–two max, I took a deep breath of this fresh mountain air, turned around and slipped quietly into the silent woods around me…