4-Lilacs And Other Poisons

The flight out of Campbell River to Pemberton was uneventful, but it had taken longer than usual due to a steady headwind out of the northeast. After a one hour stop for extra fuel and to pick up my passenger, I took off once again. 

For the majority of the flight my passenger said very little and kept to herself. She sat a two rows back, working on her laptop from the moment we departed Pemberton. I was about 15 minutes from entering a left downwind to RWY 36 into Stewart, when I asked her to buckle up. To my surprise, she came forward and asked if she could sit up front for the landing. Given her original reserved countenance, and with the active, yet unqualified conspiracy theories still running through my mind, I was momentarily taken off guard. Not waiting for an answer, she proceeded to climb into the right seat. As she settled in, I showed her how to fasten the shoulder harness.

It was the first time I actually had a good look at her. She had a nice profile, with strawberry blonde hair that fell about six inches past her shoulders. I detected a hint of lilac; probably from whatever shampoo she used. Suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, I felt what little hair I had remaining on my head begin to stand on end. Then it dawned on me; she had asked a question and I had been totally oblivious. Basically I had been staring at her and she wanted to know why.

I offered a rapid, inarticulate apology and concentrated on my flying. I disconnected the autopilot early, just to distract myself. It also gave me an excuse for my hands to do something. A growing sense of unease started to build, because while I had immediately averted my gaze, she had not. Out of the corner of my eye, the look I was receiving was not particularly warm. Thankfully, pre-landing and approach checklists offered a momentary respite from worrying about the nurse from the twilight zone sitting to my right.

In short order we landed and I exited onto the small hangar maintenance pad, where I was to store the aircraft for the Mission Aviation representative. The Dash 8 Q400 aircraft I would be flying her out on, was about 15 minutes out, and it contained the necessary ferry and customs documents I needed for the passenger, myself, and the aircraft for the trip to Ketchikan.

As I started my shutdown flow, I mentioned to my passenger that we would be on the ground for about 20 to 30 minutes and she could get out and stretch for a bit if she so wished.

For what transpired next, no Doctor of Psychology could offer an explanation as to why the next group of words came out of my mouth. I had asked (politely, I thought), if the way she wore her hair, was standard issue for the US Navy.

There are times when you just know you have crossed a line you shouldn’t have. Whether it is real or imaginary, makes no difference. Once you have crossed it, there is a good chance you will never be able to retrace your steps. The cold, piercing look I received, coupled with a tense, and surprisingly loud silence was enough for me to quickly mumble another apology and vacate the aircraft faster than if it were on fire.

While my (albeit innocent) behaviour may have increased tensions between Canada and our southern neighbour, my intuition was vindicated, because not twenty-five minutes after arriving, I received the ferry and transit documents from the crew who had just landed in the Q400. I had never seen so many official looking seals, warnings, prohibitions and red letter NDA’s on a flight manifest. Compounding this fact, I now discovered my passenger complement had increased. There would now be two additional individuals flying into Ketchikan. No logical reason was given and according to some very high-ranking looking signatures on these suddenly very warm-to-the-touch documents, I had no say in the matter. 

The two individuals were in fact the flight crew who had just brought the Q400 into Stewart. I had a growing suspicion they were not your regular commuter pilots. One of them would be sitting in back with Countess Dracula. (Why didn’t they just fly her Royal Scariness back themselves?) But fool me once … I was not about to open my mouth again to change feet. (How come I never get ferry flights to places like the Caribbean, with beach goers and movie stars?)

I finished reading through all of the information packets and ascertained all was in order (as far as my now fully addled mind could fathom). Regardless, it was time to take the Terror Trifecta back to whatever awaited us at our destination.

The flight into Alaskan airspace was uneventful, and entering the final approach into Ketchikan did not trigger any Patriot Missile batteries. Our arrival turned out to be quite scenic actually. Even with the additional stress of dealing with the shadow people, I have to admit I was able to pull off one of my better landings. Immediately after pulling up to the ramp and before I could shut the engines off, the pilot in the back already had the air-stair lowered. The Countess and her minions were whisked away in a blacked out SUV to the nearby dock.

Thankfully I was left to my own devices, where the first order of business was handing over the aircraft and its attendant documentation to a local station agent assigned to receive the aircraft, and then finding a hotel for the night. Following that,, a much needed shower and change of clothes. This would immediately be followed by 2 beers, a lobster and crab dinner (I am in Alaska after all), topped off with a wee dram of Baileys (two and a half fingers). Then sleep. The plan was to catch a commercial flight back to Vancouver tomorrow; hopefully before I was dragged into another alternate dimension by the Witchy Woman with the strawberry blonde hair