AStar

My stomach did a flip-flop as we lifted into the fog. We hovered for a moment above the hangar as the tail swung us around to our northwest bearing. Everyone seemed to be in silent prayer that the viz would improve past the lighthouse as promised. In the meantime we had 40 minutes of dangerously low flying along the rivers, but at least the bear-watching would be good. Katherine plugged in her iPod and turned Thievery Corporation on the headsets. The blades sliced the foggy ceiling and we swayed along a serpentine line towards the coast. Electronic beats blended with the thump of the rotor and the pounding of hearts. We were viewing the world from above in a haze. We traced the river path through mountains of evergreen and finally northern bog, over the flights of eagles that spied the grizzlies fishing salmon. I pulled my awareness back into the helicopter just long enough to note the Zen-like expressions of the other three occupants. Slowly the outline of the lighthouse and red and white outbuildings came into focus. A rainbow halo appeared around our shadow on the clouds, moments before we burst through the white wall to the Pacific.