Flying Carpet

As the date approached, however, winter gloom threatened both our flights and our brief photography window. Skies were gray, it was cold, and residual snow flecked the ground. What’s more, an approaching cold front threatened rain, snow, and strong winds.

Thankfully, the approaching frontal system unexpectedly slowed on Collins’ arrival day, allowing me to pick him up after all. Another pilot friend, Scott Tabako, came along to sample Sky Harbor before flying there himself.

“Take out your cameras,” I briefed my friends before takeoff. Sky Harbor Tower issues departing northbound light airplanes a low, scenic turn over the airline terminals to avoid jet arrivals and departures.

Despite smooth flying homeward that afternoon, our legendary Arizona scenery was dulled by haze and a high overcast. Right up to entering Flagstaff’s traffic pattern, I fretted about weather dooming our photo mission. But at the instant of touchdown, my concerns and those weeks of gloom were swept away by golden light, salmon-colored clouds, and crimson-splashed mountains. Tired as Collins was after traveling from the East Coast, he retrieved his camera and snapped away into that miraculous sunset. Relieved at accomplishing at least one good photo session, Collins, Jean, and I talked family, flying, and photography over dinner.

“Why not shoot in desert scenery when you land at sunny Tucson?” offered Jean when I lamented tomorrow’s bleak forecast. It was a great suggestion—providing we could get there.

The following morning dawned cold but unexpectedly clear, so Collins and I set about shooting around Flagstaff Pulliam Airport. The wind began howling just as we wrapped up our final shots.

Collins was resigned to driving a rental car four and a half hours to Tucson, but I hated to impose that on him if we could fly there in 90 minutes. The precipitation threat had now lagged into evening, but Flagstaff’s afternoon forecast called for 30-knot wind gusts. Tucson was to remain clear and calm all afternoon, so we loaded Collins’ gear and took off. The only question was whether I could get back.

Battling headwinds, we inched over the scenic Mogollon Rim, Mazatzal, and Superstition Mountains. Collins humored my enthusiasm for aerial sightseeing: Roosevelt Lake where a Lindbergh competitor’s airplane sank in 1927, and Picacho Peak, site of the westernmost Civil War battle.

After landing at Marana Regional Airport, Collins applied Jean’s suggestion and posed the Flying Carpet before giant Saguaro cacti. We’d planned to lunch at the field’s Sky Rider Coffee Shop, but the approaching cold front compelled me to launch homeward.

Throughout my return flight, Flagstaff indeed reported those forecast 30-knot winds—fortunately, right down the runway. Within sight of home, however, the recorded weather updated to report 42-knot gusts. By the time I turned final, winds were “only” gusting to the upper 30s, which at least sounded better. You’ll hear pilots say, “I don’t train in strong winds, because I don’t plan to fly in them.” Sometimes the weather changes in real time beneath our wings, so we’d better be prepared.

I tightened my belt, and with some rocking and rolling, completed the final leg of my mission. As for the photos, Collins later reported that they’d turned out great all around. As so often happens with piloting, all that waiting and worrying had been rewarded with a sky full of flying adventure. And, oh, that magical sunset.