This happened last Thursday in Parkland, WA
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Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.
There is a time for the evening under starlight,
A time for the evening under lamplight
(The evening with the photograph album).
Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.
Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,
The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.
When all Earth’s seas shall Levitate,
Dark shawled within the skies,
Upon our eyes will Starfish dance
Their waltz of Blind surprise.
The sun will Rise within wine Dark
As Argonauts imbibed,
Whose drunken arms embrace that sleep
Where Phaeton’s horses Stride.
Upon all of Earth’s wind-sanded shores,
As dolphins Learn to soar,
All we once were on the land
Shall be sealed behind the door
Of Ivory and Chastened Gold,
That the Mystery solved complete
Shall never til the seas’ Long fall
Wake mariners from their sleep.
— Van der Leun
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
— Walt Whitman
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
— The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot
Gerard Van der Leun
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Perfect! I love to see good policework. You might say he did nothing but in fact he responded calmly, checked on the pilot, and helped him clear the roadway.
Keep in mind that this is not 10 miles from where the nutjob stole a cargo plane, took it for a jy ride, and crash landed it on an island near Tacoma. The nutjob to regular folks equation in the Tacoma-Seattle region is critically balanced on the nutjob side.
This pilot was not a nut, that we know of, but if his plane was working that well it makes me wonder if perhaps his fuel was critical.
Since he’s right next door to the Air Force base, I wonder if they’d have any interesting inout on the matter?
Road landings, and takeoffs, aren’t uncommon in Alaska aviation history.
A few years back (OK, a bit over 50 years back) a guy that worked for me was doing his solo cross country flight for his pilot’s licence.
He got a bit disoriented, wasn’t sure how to get back so he brought his plane down on Chena Hot Springs Road taxied along and checked the mail boxes. Then, mailing addresses where something like 16 mile Chena Hot Springs Road, 24.7 Chena Hot Springs Road, 34 mile Chena Hot Springs Road, etc.
So! He found out where he was, which direction (toward or away from town) he was going, made his way back and got his pilot’s license. Of course he didn’t feel it was necessary to tell his instructor about his touch and go on the road.
When I lived in Alaska myself and two buddies flew out of Anchorage over Cook Inlet for some salmon fishing. When our three days were up our pilot never showed up. Another plane came in to take a different group back so we asked him what happened to our pilot. He didn’t know but said he would come back and get us which he did. We were pretty unhappy when we checked in at the private terminal we flew out of three days ago. But they told us that after the pilot dropped us off he was supposed to fly South West across the inlet to Homer but he never made it. They assumed he came down somewhere in the ocean.
But just to show we all never learned the next year we flew into the middle of nowhere to go caribou hunting. Two planes, four hunters and gear. I flew in a cub piloted by a 20 year AF vet pilot. We flew at a couple thousand feet and landed beautifully on a big lake. I could see the other plane a couple thousand feet below us. A week later the other pilot came to pick us up. He too had 20 years experience but all ina Bush plane and self taught. He loaded up most of the meat from 4 caribou and three of us hunters and took off. Well, he tried to take off but couldn’t break free from the water since we were overloaded. So he quickly turned the plane around barely touching one wing to the water (I’m going through my mental process of what I do when we flip over). He gunned it full throttle to take advantage of the waves he had generated, told us all to lean forward, tilted the plane so it was on one float and proceeded to bounce wave to wave until he got some air and we were off. We flew about 100′ off the ground (the trees that far north are stunted and rarely reach 75′ in height) so he could look for game. If he saw a moose he would flip the plane onto it’s side so we could see it and considerately flipping it over to the other side as well so it was easy for all of us to see. We saw 3 moose, a small pack of wolves and a dozen caribou. Each time he did the double flip for our viewing pleasure. When we finally got to the place he was supposed to land we missed it by a mile or two. He was flying visual and so low you couldn’t see anything. But he knew when he crossed a paved road that he was in the wrong place. Anyway I almost kissed the ground when we landed but thought that might be too dramatic.
“Keep in mind that this is not 10 miles from where the nutjob stole a cargo plane, took it for a joy ride, and crash landed it on an island near Tacoma.”
Actually, he dove it into the island and was killed.
One of my friends was taking flying lessons in the mid-seventies. Came time for his first solo so the instructor gave him the usual instructions, stay below 2K, don’t go more than 5 miles from the airport, etc. 20 minutes later found him about 10 miles NE of the airport going through 14,000 over NE Cape Coral, which had miles of roads but not a single house. Of course, he didn’t know anything about carb heat so about the time he settled in to enjoy the view the engine quit. He told me later that it was very exciting but with all the empty roads he was able to get the plane on the ground with no dents. Ironically, a car pulled up and it was 2 of his good friends who were out riding around and had seen him come down. They got the plane turned around and he said about the time he had quit shaking enough that he thought he could fly the carb ice had melted and he was good to go. An easy takeoff, a low and slow flight back to the airport where he checked in and left, never to fly again!
He should have only rolled down his window enough to hand the officer his registration, insurance, and license (maybe flight plan, too). Call your lawyer. Or this…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OEvMc-K8XHY
That pilot did a bang up job. Nailed It!
I think it’s highway 99, a well known and nasty little speed trap south of Sea Tac Airport near Seattle. I would certainly not tell the cop anything. In front of the judge I would ask if one could be charged with speeding when the tires are not on the ground. With my luck though, they would probably still get me for the wide load and no street license.