Travel Wars, Episode 4
December 13, 2007
Our saga begins in the early morning of Thursday, December 13, 2007, a day that will live in infamy. My mission, one I foolishly accepted, was to travel from Port Orchard, Washington to Princeton, New Jersey. A simple goal in principle and on plan, but one in which the details, the devil within each they say, destroyed all since of efficiency.
This morning, I awoke an hour too early after a restless night’s sleep. I tossed and turned for a while, trying in vein to get back to sleep for at least a few minutes. Sharalyn’s alarm got her out of bed, and we both proceeded to prepare for the day, she for nursing at a hospital, I for a saga of missteps. We woke Xander a little late, and he and Sharalyn were rushed to get out the door. They had driven several blocks away before I received a phone call on my cell: Xander had forgotten his jacket. They were rushing back to fetch it. I met them in the driveway, suddenly realizing that my idea to go without a jacket of my one was a mistake.
My taxi arrived about 30 minutes later, exactly on time at 6:15 AM, and we hurried off to the Bremerton airport. The sky was still pitch black save for a few spots of fog and low clouds that reflected heavy lighting from below. We arrived at the airport some 30 minutes before my flight was to arrive at 7:00 AM. But unlike virtually every other taxi I have ever taken in my life, this particular taxi wouldn’t take anything except cash. Fortunately, I had enough on me to cover the ride, but I had hoped to use some of those funds for lunch.
I had chartered a flight through Island Air, a direct shot from Bremerton to SeaTac airport. Unfortunately for me, the sky had already fallen, literally. The ceiling was at ground-level; I was standing in a soup of water vapor. Looking toward the south, I could see the weather instruments atop the automatic weather reporting station. There was no wind. Not even a small breath. The fog was there to stay.
Time seems to pass quickly, though; however, I was getting oftly nervous as 7:00 AM came and passed. About 7:20 AM, my pilot George called. He had tried to make a landing, but the fog was just too dense. He could fly through the soup just fine on instruments alone, but before he can safely touch-town, he has to locate some visual indicator, the runway, runway lights, a beacon, something.
I had heard him fly overhead. It sounded like he was close, very close, but I never saw him. I expected to see a shadow, maybe even the blink of his lights, but there was nothing, just the strong rumble of the Maule’s engine that faded into the void like my hopes of catching my SeaTac flight.
It was clear there was no way I was going to make my connecting flight at SeaTac. Since the Airport Diner was now open, I picked up my luggage and headed inside to get warmed by their heaters and coffee. After consuming a yummy breakfast roll, I started making phone calls.
According to George, the fog was packed in right over Bremerton and out toward the west, but to the east, the clouds were high enough for save landings. Fortunately for me, there’s a small, private, grass strip about 20 minutes taxi ride east of Bremerton, and George knew the owner. While he called up to get permission to land, I called a corporate travel agent to switch my flight.
The good news here, according to the agent, was that there was a later opportunity to get from Seattle to Philadelphia. The bad news was that it would contain a layover in Phoenix. Not being one to complain, I eagerly requested the switch. One small problem: The change would increase the fare by something a bit over a hundred dollars, and I had no budgetary authority. So the agent started making phone calls to the only number I had on me. After about 15 minutes of repeat calling, she was able to get through to someone and secured authorization. Now it was up to me to get to the private airfield, Vaughn.
Vaughn airfield is a beautiful little grass strip with a few little bumps and hills along its stretch. It’s not straight; it curves slightly to the right as you head south, and it also slopes downhill. Pilots are only allowed to land northbound and depart southbound. Rimmed along the edges of the strip are a series of homes of all different variety. Some are mobile homes next to hangers while others are mini mansions. It sounds almost idealic, and from the short time I was there, it looked the part too. The trouble with Vaughn airfield is finding it.
To get there, you must follow a country road to a small, unassuming dirt driveway. On the way there, the taxi driver completely missed the turn, and so did I. It wasn’t until we reached an intersection a ways farther that I realized our mistake. We doubled-back, found the proper mailbox, and made the trek along the bumpy dirt road.
At this point in my day, I encountered my first bit of good luck: Upon reaching the crest of the hill, I immediately spotted George’s plane parked on a taxiway, ready to go.
This new taxi driver fortunately accepted MasterCard, my cash funds being depleted from the previous taxi fare. He took my card and tried to call-in to his dispatcher on his cell phone to make the transaction. Unfortunately, we were in the middle of nowhere; his cell signal didn’t reach anything. I popped-open my cell and started hunting for a signal. I found one; it was faint, but it was there, so I handed my phone to the driver.
After paying the fare, I headed up the hill to meet George, and things started to seem like they were going to fall into place now. George is the best pilot I know, the skys over the airport were clear of low-level clouds and fog, and I had well over two hours before my new departure time at SeaTac. “No problem,” I thought, “I can relax now.”
As we departed the airport, I was again impressed by the power of George’s Maule. I’m used to flying in Piper Cubs, which do very little fast. The Maule lifted off the grass strip and soared upward at a remarkable rate. George turned a sharp but gentile left and climbed to about 1,300. We headed east across the Vashon Island and Puget Sound.
As we approached SeaTac airspace, George picked up the ATIS and then called the tower. At first, it seemed like the tower didn’t even hear us. George paused for a while, listening to the other traffic and waiting for a break, then made a second call. This time the tower replied. “Busy traffic this morning and we are operating on one runway due to construction. Estimate landing in two-zero minutes.”
There was a long pause in the Maule, but finally George relied, “Uh, tower, we don’t need much runway. Is there anyway you could fit us in?” The tower said, “Stand-by.”
We started doing circles just west of the pattern, and I started wondering if I was ever going to get to Philadelphia. Then it dawned on me; we could divert to Boeing field, and from there I could take a taxi to SeaTac. Boeing field is only about a 10 minute drive from SeaTac, maybe less if I was lucky enough to get a daring driver. I suggested the idea to George, and he agreed it would be good alternate if the tower couldn’t get us into the queue.
Sure enough, about a minute later, the tower came back in. “Can sequence you down in about two-ze... one-five minutes.” George looked over at me with the look that said, “I don’t believe him; what do you want to do?” I simply nodded, and George started the diversion to Boeing.
As we were shifting onto final at Boeing, George called up Galvin Flight, an FBO on the field, and asked them to call me a cab. We touched down in a perfect three-point landing, and George pulled over into Galvin, remarking that he really likes to fly into Boeing because everybody knows what they’re doing and is tremendously professional.
After saying thanks and good-bye to George, I headed through Galvin’s base and out to the parking lot beyond. From there, I met up with the taxi and got to SeaTac in short order. “OK, maybe now things will get a little easier,” I thought.
I checked my bag at curb-side check-in and received my boarding passes. I casually walked inside the terminal and made a straight path for the security check-point. The lines appeared relatively short, so I was pretty confident I’d have enough time once through to get some lunch before the flight, but my over-confidence was my weakness.
