Al Batt, Tales from Exit 22

I was trying to get to Haines, Alaska.

I was planning to do a couple of talks at the Alaska Bald Eagle Festival and a segment for American Public Media&8217;s &8220;Weekend America.&8221;

With my lovely bride, Gail, by my side, I drove to the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport to catch a 7:30 a.m. flight to Seattle. We were both a little tired, having worked as election judges late into the night.

I parked the car and we made our way to the terminal &8212; an extremely poor choice of name for an airport facility. We proceeded with shoeless feet through airport security. I have flown before, so I carried my toothbrush.

The airplane took off on time.

We arrived in Seattle. It was there that Gail drank Seattle&8217;s Best coffee while we listened to a gate agent tell us that the weather in Juneau had turned from being so nice that songs were written about it to as nasty as a political campaign. There was a good chance we would not be flying &8212; at least not in an airplane. Travel in Southeast Alaska is iffy at best in November.

Winds, snow, clouds and fog torment the traveler. Nomads are subject to vagaries of the weather condition.

After a short wait, we boarded a plane and headed for Alaska. The sun was shining brightly as we left Seattle. I took that as a good sign as the sun does not shine all that often when I&8217;m in Seattle in November.

We arrived in Juneau where the sun was not shining. Snow was falling. Not good news.

Meteorologists had conspired to obnubilate our path. My wife is a positive person except when it comes to weather. Then she expects the worst.

We gathered our bags from the baggage claim area and walked the length of the small airport terminal to the desk of Skagway Air. This company operates planes that are only slightly larger than a breadbox. There we were informed that no one had been flying that day because of the weather. Our chances of flying were slimmer than a flagpole. The ferry had been canceled, so boating was not an alternative.

Gail and I added our bags to the cart holding those of three travelers headed to Skagway. I asked the workers to be very careful with my bag that contained my trail mix featuring yogurt-covered peanuts.

The owner of Skagway Air said we were going to try. The five of us climbed into the small plane and along with the pilot, filled the aircraft to the point of overflowing. It was as if static cling had gone wild.

The flight from Juneau up the Inside Passage to Haines takes only 35 minutes. The plane was noisy and the land and water below were well below us. Things were looking good until we neared Haines. Then things didn&8217;t look so good. We couldn&8217;t see Haines.

Skagway Air became Boomerang Air and we headed back to Juneau. I recalled an airplane that was forced to return to the airport after colliding with a flock of geese. As soon as it had landed, the

airport mechanics rushed out to take a gander.

Everyone in the Juneau Airport pretended to be happy to see us. We found a hotel room that maintained the temperature of Arizona in July. The temperature was in the 20s outside, but we slept with our windows open.

Bright and early the next morning, we were once again at Skagway Air. The weather allowed no flying. After hours of waiting, we boarded the aircraft with the same intrepid travelers as the day before. There was no withering of desire to get to Haines.

Our pilot informed us that he had soloed for the first time the day before. He&8217;d been in the church choir for about a year.

We headed for Haines, but the weather was still uncooperative. So we landed in Skagway, the destination of our fellow travelers. We went to the library and searched for Dewey and his decimals. Time passes quickly in a library and it wasn&8217;t long before we were picked up and taken back to the airport. We boarded the plane once more and after an eight-minute flight piloted by a craftsman, we landed in Haines and disembarked.

I felt like I&8217;d just tumbled out of a dryer.

One of my favorite writers, Aldo Leopold, wrote, &8220;Our ability to perceive quality in nature begins, as in art, with the pretty. It expands through successive stages of the beautiful to values as yet uncaptured by language.&8221;

The trials and tribulations of travel were worth it.

Alaska is that beautiful.

(Hartland resident Al Batt&8217;s columns appear Wednesdays and Sundays.)