Part FINAL (2) - I PROMISE....no....REALLY....I mean it
Bracing my left arm against the glareshield I lock it and hold my back rigid so that my flailing human cargo cannot mash ME forward into my control yoke. She finally steadies herself and arrives at some sort of a workable position for I hear her heaving a BIG sigh of relief practically in my right ear followed by one of those long satiflying noisy exhales that routinely accompany the relieving of a major stress.
Satisfied that I am, at least for a few moments, safe from further assault; I quickly go about setting up a 200 fpm descent rate and swing the nose right ten degrees. Leveling out as the altimeter passes 200 feet, I strain to see ANYthing ahead of me. Am I out of the clouds and fog? A glance at the left nav light confirms that I am but it's blacker than black out there. Oh yeah. I've given up the surf line on the beach and the lagoon is dead calm in this little bit of wind. Nothing to see for a mile or two yet. But....is that a LIGHT ahead? One dim light materializes dead ahead and begines to increase into a brighter glow....Oh! This is GOOD. With almost a mile ahead of me to the light I begin to discern the shape of the large canvas tent which enclose not just one, but probably three or so merrily (and noisily, I'm sure) blazing Coleman lanterns. It is the summer camp of one of the Williams families from Noatak. Located right at the eastern edge if the lagoon on the beach between the lagoon and the sea, I now know exactly where I am and begin another left bank to make my turn down the beach just inside the tent. Sure hope I don't scare old Fred and Mabel too bad, but the kids will love it!!
AS I am rolling through the turn to line up on the beach heading east I can already see the lights of the next cluster of campsights, which I know to be about three miles closer to town.....HEY!!.....It's getting GOOD out here. Quickly I tune 115.7 to get the 45 after wx broadcast over the VOR. Ea-a-asy money now. OTZ is up to 1000 and three. I crawl up to six hundred feet before the world disappears and then slip back down to 550 where the lights ahead are clear. Meanwhile behind me, my fare lady has at last completed her minstrations. Now, with MUCH less panicked motions, rather carefully in fact, she is in recovery mode. Even as I am relaxed now and actually could SAFELY look around, I resist. I dunno'.....would YOU? There's nothing I NEED to see behind me at this point, so I happily slide my chair back a couple of notches, pick up the junk on the floor and add it to the pile on the right seat and contentedly reach for another smoke.
Then...from behind...."Ummmm...hey.....pilot??" "Oh fer' cryin' out loud"....as I turn to see what now. My passenger now extends ourward her left hand, in which, with only a thumb and two fingers, she is holding onto the upper end of my (former) rubber boot.
I say "No Thanks...you keep it." To which she replies....."Well, what am I going to do with it???!!" I answered "I don't really CARE what the hell you DO with it just don't DROP or SPILL it."
Tuning in 22point8 I call the owner at home where he's watching TV in the living room and ask him to make sure there's a cab at the airport on the hour. After assuring me he will, he nicely asks me would I be interested in going back to Kivalina one more time tonight for cash, as it seems he has a live one that's all ready to go, and would I mind?? (This is ONLY an option instead of an order because 1.) THIS flight will bring me up to 9.0 hrs for the day so far and 2.) He's not real sure the guy has ALL the required cash yet. I politely decline, assuring him that my funmeter has already pegged for the day and I am done. Only slightly disappointed, he "10-4's" me and bids me a goodnite. Good Riddance! I been hearing a barstool calling my buttcheeks for at LEAST an hour now.
Turn to the ADF needle. Change frequencies and "Hello Kotzebue, Cessna 1747Uniform is SHOE-shal-lik inbound, advisories please.". No other traffic. Destination almost in sight I go blasting out across the water and climb to all of 800 feet for the trip across the nine or ten miles of Kotzebue Sound I must traverse to finally end this ordeal. Sniff. Sniff. Sniffsniffsniff. What the HECK is that PUtrid smell????? WHY is the heel of my left foot (resting on the floorboard) getting......WET!!!! OHMYGOD the smell is getting over WHELMing. JESUS!! I gasp for air and rip open the air vent to stuff my nose in the icy cold flow of FRESH AIR.
Well, as you probably guessed. Having tired of HOLDING the urinal, my passenger sets it down and then promptly knocks it over whereupon the liquid contents proceed to go wherever gravity and the laws of acceleration and deceleration may push. This, unfortunately for the occupants includes the heat vent, centrally and (usually) conviniently located between the two front seats flush mounted into the floor. Now I AM PISSED OFF!! (and I guess pissed On for that matter as well). I SWEAR I'm gonna KILL her!!
I hook my semi numb toes over the top of my left rudder pedal as I roll right into a left base. Slowing, dropping flaps....JEEZ this place smells like a BARN. All-in-all a pretty good landing considering the unusual attitude of the pilot during the procedure. I make the first turn off, and as I taxi off the asphalt onto the gravel ramp area of my company's parking area I see the cab come wheeling through our gate.
I can't WAIT to get outta' this thing and whack the mixture thirty yards out from the tie-down the prop spinning to a stop just as I tap the right brake using the last of the airplane's momentum to align the left wing with it's tie down just as Tommy One-Eye, part-time bootlegger and full time dope dealer/taxi driver comes sliding to a simutaneous gravel-spewing stop at the right wingtip. ( I mean...it's not that One-Eye is not as serious about his bootlegging, but since the bars close at 5AM and open again at 7AM there's just a limited window of daily opportunity for the sale of cheap whiskey at $50/fifth and up.) I know it's Tommy One-Eye because his right headlight, busted somehow years ago, dangles uselessly banging face down against the grill. This, despite the fact that the Chief of Kotzebue's Finest (one of Tommy One-Eye's best CUSTOMERS....off duty...of COURSE) had threatened to give Tommy a ticket a couple of years back if he didn't get the damned light fixed. Tommy jumped outta' the car, raised his right side eye patch to reveal the gristle underneath and hollered "What the hell good you think a headlight on the RIGHT side is gonna DO me??!!" Faced with this unassailable logic, not to mention the possibility of a price increase on rum, our stalwart Chief caved. Tommy One-Eye. Logical, reliable. What more could you want out of a man??
Well my Kivalina Kutie has managed to get her fat ass outta' my airplane without further damage to herself or the airsheen, thank goodness. I run/limp/jump Festus-like to the shop and grab some towels to mop up the mess. Boy, is my roomate gonna' be mad when he gets HIS plane back tomorrow I'm thinking. As she gets into the cab, Miss Kivalina calls out to me that she's sorry and if I'll meet her at the Pon-du (short for Ponderosa Bar) she'd buy me a drink or two??!!?? Smiling weakly, with a slight negative shake of my head, I thank her but decline.
As One-Eye throws gravel in reverse I am tiredly replacing the contents of the glove box and seat pocket until all that remains on the right seat is the Trojan condom. I pick it up, and turning it over and over in my hand, I mull over the events of the last hour in my mind.
What the hell. huh? Flipping it up in the air like a quarter I slap my hand down over it from the top and catch it tighly in my grasp. I think to myself....my luck's just GOT to improve from here...as it slides into my jeans pocket.
The-e-e-e-e-.....END!!