Everybody, Always

We would need every inch of lake to get up and over the trees at the
far end. Sometimes prayers are spoken, and other times they are said in
our actions. Adam put his hands on the controls and threw in all the
throttle. I said, “Amen.”
I had one eye on the speedometer as the plane picked up speed. Adam
got us to thirty and then forty miles per hour. The plane skipped across
the surface like a ski boat. He kept increasing the speed while the trees at
the other end kept getting bigger in the windshield. When the plane
passed fifty-two miles per hour, I started anticipating liftoff. Adam knew
what to do to get us off the water.
Adam pulled back before we ran out of lake, and we cleared the tops
of the trees as we sailed out of the canyon.
Adam let out a big yelp, and I was woohoo-ing. I was going to give
him a chest bump but figured we’d crash, so I didn’t. The lake was
disappearing behind us as we flew back toward the Lodge, all grins. I bet
Adam was working on the story we would tell everybody when we got
there.
I turned to Adam again and said, “Okay, turn the plane around and
let’s see if you can land us back in the lake.” Adam started shaking his
head again so hard I thought it might fall off. We had a good enough
story, right? Then I saw him mentally switch, and he started to turn the
plane.
When Adam entered the canyon, I didn’t say anything.
When he started descending into the canyon, I didn’t say anything.
When he made his turn at the wide spot at the end of the lake, he
nailed it. I didn’t say anything.
As we made the final descent toward the lake, Adam threw the yoke
forward. We were still fifty feet off the water when he flew past where I
had landed previously. I didn’t say anything.
Adam landed the plane like a boss, and we came to a stop. Adam had
flown into that canyon as an eighteen-year-old, but when the Beaver
touched down on the water he looked thirty-five. I looked like I was a