The (Un)Joys of Flying
I’ve known the sensation of flying since I was an infant. My dad, a former Naval aviator, had a 4-seater Piper Cub, and used it. Back then, I was relegated to the back with my mom, since my older brother always got to “help” Dad up front. In those days, both my parents smoked. Between the hot, stuffy cabin and the wretched air inside the plane, it was never long before I had to ask for “the bag.”
Nonetheless, I have always loved flying. Maybe because I couldn’t see out the window back then, the window seat has since been my choice on hundreds of commercial flights. There’s something magical about gazing out dreamily, letting the landscape below serve as a motion-picture screen of terrain and geography. I muse about the people down there. Who are they? Are they happy? How are they doing in these times? Every sculpted and irrigated section was carefully tilled and sowed and harvested by someone. Every tiny rivulet and creek feeds into each larger branch like a root system, or a lung. The rivers and creeks nourish the trees along their banks, the darker greens of their vegetation delineating their courses. Undulations of ground, even on the “flat” lands of the Great Plains, evoke the vast floor of long ago seas. Sometimes hills and mountains reach toward my vantage point. I remember the astonishing black and white of bared ridges on immense mountain ranges in Alaska thrusting through the winter snow in breath-taking designs. And what a thrill to fly over well-known places—the Grand Canyon, or Chicago—or past the highrises of Kowloon at the old Hong Kong airport. I especially love watching the approach to the place I’ve called home for 30+ years, picking out streets and byways I often drive along myself. When planes overfly me, I am happy to report to anyone wondering from above that I’m ok. All is well.
But lately, air travel and being up in the sky has changed. The hassles of security, delays and cancellations, rude (and dangerous) fellow passengers, seats reminiscent of sardine cans—all contribute to a sense of nostalgia for bygone days when air travel was, well, fun. I recently sat in a busy airport, which could be anywhere since they are all as busy as anthills nowadays. I would have been home by the time I whipped out my writing pen, but the aviation system failed me, yet again. It killed my plans—without apology. Sadly, I have developed exceedingly low expectations for air travel anymore. That way, when things go as they should (!), I can be thankful. This screwed up logic is what helps, a little, on such days as this most recent interrupted trip (which also cost hundreds of extra dollars and another full day).
Equally concerning to me is the impact of all those airplanes, all that jet fuel, all that inevitable turbulence. There is now a remarkable difference in the skies from when I was a kid. Back then, from my Dad’s Piper Cub, the sky was consistently brilliant, blue and clear. Afternoon thunderstorms usually rolled through and cleared the air. A cloudy day in Colorado was rare. When there were the rare cloudy days, the brilliant blue returned as soon as once we rose above them. But rarely is the sky actually clear any more.
Now, it seems that layers of gunk are the norm and clear skies the anomaly. Evidence of deteriorating air quality is easy to witness from every airplane window lately. Seldom do airplanes rise above the multiple layers of grey mess. Instead, we fly between them, pancaked by haze and clouds both above and below. My special flight to somewhere that I looked forward to for months? It’s one of dozens just like it taking others on their special journeys every single day, from thousands of places. How can it not impact the Earth’s atmosphere, for tens of thousands of jet engines to blast off all the time, all over the globe? It’s like stirring milk into coffee. Once it’s blended, well, it doesn’t separate again. Isn’t that what all those jet engines are doing to our skies? Yes, there are forest fires and other contributing causes, but I have to wonder.
I can’t/won’t blame anyone for wanting to fly, here at the tail end of the pandemic. I’m flying, too. But my lord! I am happy for people to be able to get out and enjoy the world, but the modern scene isn’t always pretty. As I sat at my departure gate recently, I looked around at the hordes of travelers. I had plenty of time, after building in tons of time in my quest for the most stress-free journey possible through the TSA gauntlet and the subsequent passage out and down and up and over and along the long concourse to Gate C47. It provided me with a full 90 minutes for pondering the state of aviation. I have to say, it sure ain’t what it used to be.
