Above Vancouver Island
I don’t like flying. It’s just one of those things. Don’t mind the taking off, don’t mind the landing, it’s the long menacing in-between bit that I can’t stand, the time when you begin to realise how far above this tiny planet you are and how little you know of aircraft repair mechanics. Have you ever noticed that the turbulence monster always waits until you have your chemically constructed in flight “meal” in your lap before it begins to shake the plane?
J and I survived the flight to Toronto albeit with a seven hour detour via Manchester due to, allegedly, a wheel bay cover that wouldn’t shut. I say allegedly as that was the official line. This didn’t quite cover the stream of liquid issuing forth from somewhere on the plane’s underside or the escort down the runway by the massed legions of Manchester Airport’s finest, and noisiest, emergency vehicles. However we did make it to Canada in one piece…albeit a good deal later than first imagined.
The second flight of our trip saw us bumping over the Prairies to Calgary for a day at the Calgary Stampede. I’m pretty sure Air Canada provided the training for the rodeo riders by turning off the seatbelt sign as they skimmed the tops of the churning cloudbank, timing how long the poor sods stayed in their seats.
Taking account of the preceding diatribe the next sequence of photos may come as some surprise.
Take the smallest plane you can find. To make things a wee bit trickier pick one without any wheels! Then go chasing whales and fly in between the peaks of Vancouver Island’s mountains…and enjoy every nail biting minute!
These are not the best photos in the world but for both me and J are just phenomenal memories.