It was a choice between becoming a surfing bum, or flying tourists. Life pans out in strange ways. Some years as a military pilot, a short stint at commercial flying, then a company that went bankrupt. A new start in sales, a rapid progress up the corporate ladder, a marriage that went sour, an expensive divorce followed by another company bankruptcy, and he was down and out.
David had drifted a while, then found the job as second pilot of a laughably small operation, flying tourists on sightseeing trips into the mountains on ultralight aircraft. For chrissake, he had flown fighters, now he was reduced to rag and string contraptions that had a maximum speed of half what his stall speed used to be.
Still, it was flying, and it was a job. He had feelers out. Maybe one day....
The operation was owned by a largely absent businessman, part owner of a skiing lodge, and headed by his daughter, Shannon, a tough, unapproachable blonde half David's age. A slim, fit girl and a good, though conventional pilot, she made it clear that she was in charge of flying, and that he had to follow her instructions, even though he had many more flying hours in his logbook. The third pilot and technician, Jerry, was a youngster with long hair and an irreverent outlook on things.
Which is how David came to be at the run-up end of the short airstrip this morning before sunrise, waiting for Shannon to take off with her passenger. They had been warned that the overnight fog was still hanging in the valleys, but the big man who was planning to impress his young girlfriend waved that away: "We are not going to fly in the valleys, I want to photograph the mountains. And I have only this morning, so get a move on."
Shannon had reviewed the meteo briefing, with the warning that the dew point and the ambient temperature were only half a degree apart, then made a face at David. "Fog is hardly likely, isn't it? Let's give them value for their money."
Now she lifted off the runway, and David got his clearance from the small tower. On the intercom he told his passenger, Diane: "Here we go, hold on, and enjoy!"
The light craft responded to the well-worn motor, and accelerated smoothly down the strip. At the right moment David pushed forwards on the bar, and the craft leapt into the air, drawing an 'Ooh!' from Diane.
He turned out to the left, noting that Shannon had decided to ignore the conventional pattern, and was already climbing steadily towards the snowy peaks, still hidden in the low clouds. He began to point out the local sights. "We are tracking to the east of the town, just to be able to keep emergency landing fields under us, should something go wrong. Always safety first. On the left you see Green Hill, a popular lookout point to see the sunrise from. Been there?"
Diane, replied: "We were there yesterday morning. Bubby rented a car, but it was so foggy, and all sorts of cheap people were all over the place. We saw nothing, and Bubby wanted to take pictures. So here we are. Why he couldn't just buy some pictures I can't for the life of me understand, but that's what he wants."
David grinned to himself. Relations are built on such mutual compromises. He went on: "There, we are climbing through the inversion layer now, and ahead you will see the peaks appearing, just as the sun rises."
As usual the sight of the massive snow-covered mountains in the early light drew a gasp of appreciation, and he ran down the names of the peaks, valleys and glaciers for her. A glance at his watch, twenty minutes of their one hour flight had gone. They made a long, lazy turn, watching the sun rise over the peaks.
He was about to call Shannon, a small dot ahead and above him, when the radio crackled. Jerry's voice was tense. "Guys, complications. Unexpected wind shift, fog moving in. Expect the strip to be closed in five minutes."
David swore to himself, beginning to turn back. Mountain weather was unpredictable at best, but this was unexpected. A few seconds later he heard the tower announce the worsening visibility, and asking their intentions. He waited for a few seconds, but there was no word from Shannon. Then he replied, stating that he was turning back and would evaluate options.
Now Shannon came on the radio, confirming to the tower that she, too, was turning back, and then, on the company frequency: "David, what is your position? I am giving Mr. Schnettler a few minutes more to finish his photography, then I'll join you."
He frowned, but reflected that they were not going to make the runway in five minutes anyway. "Ok, I'll see what it looks like, then I'll let you know."
It did not look good. The thick fog in the low-lying valley was pushing up like the tide coming in, and rapidly engulfing the town. David could still see the runway, its beacons flashing through the first shreds of mist. Visible, yet unattainably far away. The few alternative landing sites were, likewise, rapidly disappearing.
Diane on the intercom: "So pretty! Look! Are we going to fly into those clouds?"
He replied: "Not if I can help it. We can't see anything inside them, and this craft is not rated for instrument conditions. We are looking for an alternative landing site now. Do you see anywhere we can land?"
She pointed out a few impractical ones: a football field right next to power lines, a park, and the only really feasible possibility -- a golf course, but that, too, was vanishing in the rapidly spreading fog.
