The Discovery of Flight

I was fourteen years old when I first learned of my ability to fly.  I’d heard of it before, sure, but I had little faith in the idea.  In fact, I dismissed human flight at quite a young age and gave in not another thought up until that fateful day in July of 1996.

            My family and I went on multiple “family vacations” every year, from our union as a family when I was two years old, on.  We went all over the United States; always by way of road trip.  These vacations were nature-oriented, full of discovery, and never left me disappointed.  Still, I had a longing for a place I’d seen on the Discovery Channel and read about in National Geographic from very early on in my life.  Alaska.  You see, when I was four years old, my father informed my older brother, Nathanial, and I; that you had to be fourteen to get into Alaska.  “That’s the law.” He said.  My brother, being 8 years older than me, only had a few years to go at that point.  But from that moment on, it was the land I dreamt about.  As we got closer to the lawful Alaskan age, we were also informed of a new rule.  “You have to pay half of your way to get to Alaska, it’s not cheap you know.”  My father would say.  Well, paying for it meant fixing something in, on, or around the house for the entire spring and first month of summer.  “Piece of cake!” I often thought.  My folks went to Alaska every year.  Each year to a different region of the vast state.  By the time I was 14, my brother had gone twice already.  It was my turn.

            On July 22, 1996 at 2am our family drove to the Des Moines International Airport which took an agonizing 1.5 hours.  The anticipation of my first time in an airplane had come and gone.  The childish fears and defiance had no more room in my world.   The flight was smooth and sleep-filled; nothing compared to the one I was to encounter later that day.  A slight lay-over in Denver at 7am and then a straight shot to our destination.

            As the plane slowly circled down to the Anchorage International Airport, I saw the land that so perfectly mirrored the images I had seen in those dreams of mine.  Foggy clouds danced around the tips of the mountain tops like steam from a locomotive.  Everyone on the plane shifted upright and towards their nearest window.   At 2pm we had arrived.

            With smiles, the three of us exited the plane, gathered our belongings, and took to our rental car.  There was a café immediately across from the airport and we were hungry.  As we sat eating heartily, my father looked at me.  “You’re not sick of being in the air yet, are you?”  Confused, I replied, “No… why?”  “Well, because we’re going back up in about an hour.”  I was very confused at this point and a little worried and apparently so was my mother.  “Dear?  What are you talking about?”  She asked, scrunching up her forehead.  My father chuckled and said, “Not in an airplane.  You’ll see.”  Now, eager and anxious, I inhaled the rest of my food and was ready to go.  I shuffled my feet, impatiently as my parents finished their lunch at an annoyingly normal rate.  When they were finally done and we left the café, my mother and I were again confused.  Dad was walking down the road, away from our rental car.  As we called to him in protest, as though he’d forgotten what the car looked like (which was a pretty typical thing for my dad to do) he beckoned us to follow him.  I still remember how he looked with the orange glow of the sun overcast by clouds, his tobacco pipe dangling from his mouth, and the smoke from his pipe winding up and mixing with the fog as if celebrating a reunion.  “Talkeenta Air Taxi” read the old cabin-style sign on the front of the building.  I no longer had to wonder, I suddenly knew what we were in for.  I was terrified. 

            A Helicopter tour through Mount McKinley?  Was my father nuts?  We were going to die.  I just knew it.  The pilot was not a small man.  He introduced himself as Murray.  He had a large beard, like my father, yet his had not yet been seasoned with the salt and pepper of an experienced traveler.  Murray also had somewhat of a “beer-belly” this disturbed me because I instantly came up with the notion that all pilots are physically fit.  Especially a helicopter pilot.  Apparently I was the only one with the prejudice.  My mother was ecstatic.  My father was shuffling us along, as he’d already made arrangements and the tour was ready to begin.  If you knew my father, you’d know there’s no backing out when he’s made the plans.  This helicopter was very small.  This helicopter did not seem strong nor thick enough to carry the weight of its four occupants.  This helicopter was going to explode in mid-air, right in the heart of Mount McKinley.  Of this I was certain.  The pilot insisted on us all wearing goggles and headsets.  For some reason he also insisted; as did my folks, on me sitting in front with him.  Good Lord.  I silently obliged.  The take-off was rocky; my hands were numb and unusually white; probably due to the intensity in which I was squeezing both sides of my seat.  I was unaware of how fast a helicopter could elevate.  In no-time we were at a steady coast amidst the breathtaking landscape.  My hands lost their grip and my racing heart slowed to a rhythmic bass-beat.  Somewhere from ground level to here the sky had become as clear blue as the glaciers we could see below.  The river reflected the sky and the sky responded the same.  As the water and air spoke to each other; then to us, we could hear nothing but the whir of the helicopter blades.  Murray no longer had to prove to me of his flying skills.  He took us to the edges of mountains and showed us the secrets of the nature of this land.  There were 2 bears in the distance, running up the mountainside, away from something or towards it, it didn’t matter.  Murray hovered awhile as the bears faded into the snow and the clouds.  We went further through the tunnels of Mount McKinley and further through her open sky.  The clouds listened to us as we came and welcomed us by parting; as if to lead us to our next destination:  A glacier.  Murray elegantly lowered his chariot onto a large formation of ice.  He then shut of the engine and we exited onto the ice.  The silence of our surroundings was immensely more shocking once those blades were no longer spinning.  As I stood on this great mass I heard grumblings from the distance.  Crashes.  As though a century old war within Mother Nature was taking place in our presence.  As if the past allowed us in for a brief glimpse to show us just how small we really are.  The sound of glaciers left me awestruck. 

            The four of us re-entered the helicopter about twenty minutes later and headed back to the tour station; this trip no less astounding than the first.  As we hovered lower and lower towards the landing target I accepted the truth:  The realization that I could truly fly.  I’ve never forgotten that fact and re-learn it every chance I get.  Once you know what you can see when you take flight; the boundaries are endless.