I have flown 4 million miles across six continents on countless flights. But one flight left an indelible impression on me.
It was on an Embraer Regional Jet. We were bound for Grand Rapids, Michigan. Once we reached cruising altitude, the Captain welcomed us and said: “Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.
The sun had set by the time we neared Grand Rapids. The sky was pitch black. The Captain told us it was going to get bumpy. Sure enough, in a few minutes, the wind began to toss the jet around like a reed. Then the fireworks started. Intense lightning flashes lit up the sky. The bolts being shot across the sky were exploding like flash bombs.
I have seen too many WWII films about the bombing of London (and lived through the Indian Air Force bombing runs over Karachi in 1971) to not let my imagination drift in that direction. But the whole sky was lightning up, on a scale that can only be compared to the sea storms in Homer’s Odyssey. My eyes began searching for the giant serpent that came out of nowhere and crushed the ship into a pulp. Except we were in the air and not in the Mediterranean on a ship.
It went on and on, like a torment without end. With so much up-and-down movement, I did not think it was feasible for us to land but the Captain kept on going.
Of course, I reminded myself that we were on a US air carrier, not on Egypt Air flying into the Sinai with people standing and talking in the aisle. Or, on Aegean Airlines flying from Santorini to Athens in a storm. Then I thought of the crash in Buffalo, New York. But those pilots were quite junior and working on a minimum wage. They made errors that caused the plane to nosedive into eternity. And I thought of the plane that went past Minneapolis because the pilots were playing on their laptops. And of the Air France crash over the South Atlantic with a brand-new Airbus.
I knew this was not a dream. But as I told my clients over lunch the next day, I will have to think it was, since I must keep on flying
I said all the prayers I knew, even a few I did not. The Captain told us that he was going to abort the landing because “it was not safe.” Sweat was now accumulating on my spine, and I felt the need to take off my shoes and socks. And then came another bombshell. We did not have enough fuel to circle Grand Rapids. He was going to fly us to Chicago to refuel and attempt another landing once the weather improved.
Was he telling us everything? Or this was going to be it, in the middle of nowhere. Just like that. I thought of the little children who were on board and the one baby who was just 2 weeks old who could barely keep his eyes open. Did they know what lay ahead?
And, of course, I thought of my wife and daughters. I wanted to talk to them but that was out of the question. At one point, I simply wanted to jump out of the plane because it certainly was going to crash or have its wings blown off or the fuselage ripped open. I could not figure out why the flight had not been cancelled. And I cursed the airline and the Air Traffic Controllers and everyone else in the aviation industry.
I took out the in-flight magazine and saw on the map that we were going to fly over Lake Michigan enroute to Chicago. Wonderful! I wondered what kind of fish lived in the lake and concluded that sharks were probably confined to salt water. Of course, I would have to open the exit door if he ditched the plane but maybe there would be no time to exercise that option.
Finally, we landed in Chicago. Uneventfully! Much to my amazement we were refueled in 20 minutes and even given permission to fly out. I wanted to get off the plane but that was not an option. So we headed back up, once again, with feeling. The Captain reassured us there was a break in the storms and he would not put us through the hell we just had been through. As if he knew.
For several minutes, it was smooth sailing. And then the shaking started again. I could not believe what the Captain was doing. I imagined he was some type of Dracula hell-bent on taking us to an early grave with himself. He kept flying and we kept unwittingly going along with him. At one point, the huge flashes of lightning that covered the entire horizon in a series of giant cascading balls reappeared. I was reminded of what T. S. Eliot wrote in his masterpiece, “The Waste Land,” Part V, What the Thunder Said: “He who was living is now dead/we who are living are now dying/with a little patience.”
And then, magically, the sky began to clear. Some lights on the ground began to appear. They had never looked so welcoming. All the aerial disturbances were now on just one side of the plane. He was skirting the front. We landed around midnight, but at such high speed that it took him forever to slow us down and not overshoot the runway.
I could not believe we had survived. As we were deplaning, I saw the Captain and said, “You deserve a medal.” He laughed it off. Maybe he was a Navy seal in a former life. Or maybe in his current life, and the flight was necessary training for a forthcoming operation.
I knew this was not a dream. But as I told my clients over lunch the next day, I will have to think it was, since I must keep on flying. They were spellbound by the tale. More so than with the energy policy discussion that came later in the afternoon!