Flying the Edge of America:
Astoria, Oregon
Some blue skies
Julia and David departed Jack McNamara Field at Crescent City
in the same terrible weather they had landed in. As they zipped
down the runway they saw it fall away to reveal a rough gray and
white capped ocean below; above them only dark clouds. In the
dreary sea they saw rocky outcrops outlined by white foamy waves
disappear into the mist. Matilda (their trusty aircraft) was
oblivious to these views. She just ran her engine at full power,
her wings grabbing at the air pulling them upward. For Julia and
David it was disconcerting to takeoff into such a scene. They
could not put aside thoughts of falling into the cold
unforgiving sea. But soon Matilda had lifted them above the
ocean and the cloud, into clear air. Far above them was a gray
cloudy ceiling, below a field of cloud with the occasional hole
in it revealing the coastline. They flew in clear air between
these cloud layers and soon fell into the monotony between the
frenzy of takeoff and landing. The cloudscape passed them by as
they listened to music, the tedium only broken by occasionally
identifying themselves to each new air traffic controller as
they flew north up the rocky Oregon coast.
Astoria, Oregon
The Lewis and Clark expedition had spent a cold and wet winter in
Astoria, Oregon and the month of the Columbia River in 1805, waiting for a
ship that never came to take them home. It must have been hell for them.
Things were bad enough for Julia and David in July at a full facility
campsite, even with electricity to power their radio and laptops. The
campsite that they found themselves at was very different to the state park
they had left behind in California. This time the campground was like a
small town filled with RVs, deluxe tents, and paved roads. Nature seemed
more contained, and the luxuries of civilization more apparent. But it had
also lost the charm of camping in the redwoods. They felt out of place
without an RV and several kids, or a set of Harley bikes and cooler of Bud
Lite. And they were exhausted from the first two days of the trip. Only
another three months to go, Julia thought to herself as they unfolded the
dew-dampened tent, and watched a beetle they had flown from California crawl
out of the nylon onto the grass.
Continue the adventure, in my next excerpt from Flying the
Edge of America.