When Dogs Fly

When Dogs Fly

I got the call in between meetings with my kids teachers on Parent Teacher Conference day at HPA. On the phone was my long time friend and flying partner Captain Jeff McConnel. Jeff told me the flight we'd talked about the night before was a go and he'd meet me at the Kona Airport at one. I sat through another four conferences with teachers telling me how wonderful my kid was and if they would just turn in their homework they would be an A student instead of a C one. Funny, every night before they go to bed I ask them if they have finished their homework and they always say yes. Somethings not right here, but I have to drive the hour home and throw some clothes in a bag.

Jeff is already at the airport when I get there, beside him is a large dog cage containing two puppies, our passengers I surmise. Our task today is to fly from Kona to Kauai and drop one dog with it's new family, then jump back in the plane with the remaining pero and beat feet to Oahu before the sun goes down and give the little fella to his new humans.

The flight to Kauai should take us around two and a half hours. As we approach the island of Molokai a vast carpet of dense whipped cream like clouds slides beneath us. For the next hour and a half we fly above this now horizon to horizon floor of clouds. Gradually climbing to stay above the rising base we eventually find ourselves at ten thousand feet with no sign of a break in the undercast and no sign of Kauai which should be just ahead of us somewhere. Very high over a solid sea of clouds with the sun heading for the horizon in front of us we are getting close to having to make a decision. Do we keep flying over where the island should be and hope for a puka (Hawaiian for hole) we can drop down through and slip in to Lihue? Or do we turn around and hope there's a puka somewhere between us and Oahu we can take our two charges to Honolulu through? Gladly that choice did not have to be made as we suddenly crested over a line of thin haze and the island of Kauai began to form itself below and ahead of us. We made a dive bomber approach into Lihue Airport, hustled the dog across the tarmac to a delighted woman and two small girls with ear to ear smiles as they held their new pet. 

Handshakes, your welcome, sure we'll take a picture of you and "Precious" and then we race back to the plane in hopes of making it to Oahu before the sun hits the water. As we climb out we agree that we're not going to try and get on top of this weather on this leg, we're going to have to go under and hope that there is enough room for us between the bottom of the clouds and the Pacific Ocean. There is around 85 miles of open ocean between Kauai and Oahu. Normally you would very much like to have a whole bunch of feet between you and the sea while crossing this amount of water, say eight thousand feet. This gives you the very welcome cushion of time and distance to glide before you go swimming should the engine suddenly decide to give up. We on the other have found ourselves flying at two to three thousand feet dodging rain squalls dropping grey curtains of water around us. Our margin of error was being whittled away by the minute as the sun began going down in the west behind us and there was no sign yet of our destination ahead us in the east. Wandering about, a few thousand feet above the sea, passing through rain squalls in the dark was not what I'd signed up for and I was most certainly hoping to avoid it.

"Kolekole Pass!" I said to Jeff pointing to a dark shadow in the distance. "That's the pass in the middle of the Waianae Range that the Japanese flew through on there way to bomb Pearl Harbor on December 7. I did a report on that in high school and I know that is Kolokole pass at 11 o'clock...bet ya a bag of burritos on it!" I told Jeff.  Well, Jeff now owes me a bag of burritos as it was in fact the pass and we were able to navigate our way around the West side of Oahu and make a fine pre sunset landing at Honolulu airport just before the sun set. We handed off little 'Yet To Be Named' dog to his new owners and made our way to Jeffs 38 sloop moored in Kewalo Basin in Waikiki.

Each Friday night at the Hilton hotel in Waikiki they put on a grand fireworks show. And so Jeff and I along with several of his fellow boat folks and his fine girlfriend Cheri sailed out of the harbor, opened several cold Kona beers and spent a wonderful time watching the fireworks as his boat gentle bobbed in the calm waters off Waikiki, Hawaii. An exceptional end to an at times tense yet enjoyable adventure in the sky.

The following morning I looked at my log book and realized that I had not flown solo as pilot in command of a plane out of Honolulu International Airport since December 1978. Keep in mind that almost all my flying the last ten years has been on the Big Island to shoot photos of property usually within fifty miles of my home airport. Honolulu is a big time busy international airport, speeding jets a plenty coming and going all over the place. You need to do things the right way at an airport like Honolulu, they don't take kindly to small planes flown by pilots that aren't meeting the same standards as the high paid jet jockeys they normally push around.

So I was a bit apprehensive as I taxied out in 26Mike to head home to Kona. I practically hurt my ears straining to make sure I understood each instruction the controller threw my way: "After takeoff maintain runway heading till you get to the H-1 freeway, climb and maintain 1,500 feet then turn right toward downtown Honolulu then make a right turn to Kewalo Basin and proceed one mile offshore to parallel the shoreline until you are one mile south of Diamond Head...got that?",  "Uh...yeah". I was happy for the shoreline departure as it would allow me to grab a few photos as I passed Waikiki.

The flight back to Hawaii was mostly uneventful until I passed the island of Kaho'olave some 70 miles from Kona. The VOG (Volcanic Smog) had blown in leaving the entire Alenuihaha Channel a grey sea of sulfuric acid gas between me and home. The summits of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa could be seen rising up through the haze.

Using the telescopes on Mauna Kea as my target I flew straight to where the Four Seasons Hualalai should be and spiraled down through the vile muck until a I could see the lava beneath me and made my way home from there. A wonderful twenty four hour adventure. I shall try do this more often I think.

Laters...Brian