The pilot announced that the larger of the two bush planes was overweight. A week of Alaska’s famous salmon fishing meant that hundreds of pounds of flash-frozen filets were responsible for the tip of the scales. Two people would need to ride back to Anchorage in the smaller plane.
My father volunteers both me and my husband and we eagerly agree. The flight into Iguigig had been striking. Flying low through the Lake Clark Pass, glaciers loomed above us. Waterfalls cut their path down the steep mountain walls into striking turquoise waters below. I imagined re-experiencing that beauty in a romantic private plane setting, with the pilot pointing out sights as I canoodled with my husband.
We wave good-bye to my father and the other passengers as their plane takes off. I didn’t think anything of the light rain and breeze that had been increasing all morning. Continue reading Ooo Wee Ooo, I’m Gonna Die Like Buddy Holly