On the Fly
We were over cactus and scrub and jumbled rocks. I did not have to wait long. The vertical airspeed needle wafted up from 1600' per minute to close to 4,000' as I gradually eased the nose of the aircraft up until we were just above the stall. It was undoubtedly the first really decent thermal of the day. We were in and out of it all the way to six thousand. At ten thousand, I levelled off.
"Saves a lot of fuel," I said. "Heading?"
Marissa looked at the clipboard. "One eight zero degrees. And Max, thanks for the show. You're really a great guy you know."
"Pilot's airplane," I answered scanning the instrument panel and nudging the port throttle to bring the engines into synch.
" Maintain heading?"
"Affirmative."
"One eight zero degrees, Roger. Max how did you find that thermal so easily?"
Tilting my seat back, I smiled. "I followed a couple of eagles. Keep your eyes open and scan for traffic."
I glanced down. The Pacific was living up to its name. It was as flat as piss on a plate. I relaxed thinking of an old bush pilot, who allowed me to practice my flying while he pretended to be asleep. I observed Clarissa covertly. She was alert. Confident that I could trust her judgement, I fell asleep in the time that it takes to tell about it.
All too soon, a succession of gentle fingers began doing a minuet on my chest. I woke lazily. Once I'd stretched and had my allotted sip of water, I felt refreshed. Pace your drinks and you never have to abort a long flight. I fixed our position, courtesy of the GPS.
"Change course. Steer one eight niner degrees," I said. "We're going offshore, I think the winds will be more favourable."
She made a fairly smooth turn just a touch too early on the rudder. Due to aileron drag, the aircraft yawed slightly before the ailerons kicked in. Clarissa rolled out onto the heading rather nicely though, I noticed. She had the makings of a pilot; I was convinced.
"Coming up on ten thousand. Bring both throttles back slowly and smoothly." I showed her how to place her hands.
"Like this?"
"You're getting the hang of it. I'll set the pitch. It's as finicky as all get out. We have a slight tailwind. We're making good time."
"Take it for a moment will you. I want to stretch."
"I'll drive for the next half-hour and then you can spell me off for a bit."
I yawned but was positive about everything. Both Lycomings were ticking over sweetly. The sun was shining brightly. To my left there was a big build up of clouds, rolling banks of them. I let Clarissa sleep until we had cleared Mexican airspace.
"Guatemala control. 99 Alpha Bravo en route Costa Rica, ten thousand. Twenty five miles west."
"This is Guatemala Control, 99 Alpha. We copy."
"Aztec 99 Alpha Bravo, this is El Salvador Area Control. We copy."
"Roger El Salvador Area Control. 99 Alpha Bravo out."
I touched her arm. She looked up. "What's wrong?"
"Guatemala is to our left," I said. "Nothing's wrong."
"Just off the port wing. I see it. It doesn't look any different than Mexico."
"Why would it? Two hours and ten minutes to San José."
"We just left San José," Clarissa replied. "Are we turning back?"
"Does it look like it?"
"No."
"St. Joseph was a popular saint. Every Latin American country has a San José. Costa Rica's capital is also called San José."
"Won't be back for many a day," Clarissa said.
"You can drive. The aircraft is on autopilot but keep one hand on the controls at all times. Your job is to monitor the autopilot."
"Pilot's airplane," she acknowledged.