Blogger’s note: This is the rest of the story that I started in my recent post “Stay in the moment.”

I write this from the warmth and safety of my teacher trailer in Twin Hills, Alaska. How, you may ask, did I get from being grounded on the runway at King Salmon, to here, in one afternoon/evening? Allow me to enlighten you.

We sat on that runway, with the flight attendants distributing snacks and coffee, and the young pilot thanking us profusely for being so patient and kind, for about an hour and a half. We were told that the weather system that had stopped us from landing in Dillingham was small and fast moving, such that, the longer we stayed on the ground here, the more likely we were to encounter clear weather there. Meanwhile, they took all of our bags out of the airplane, ostensibly to count them. They swore that they put them all back. Subsequent developments caused me to wonder about that.

Anyway, we finally got going. After circling Dillingham for about ten minutes to burn off some of our brand-new fuel (I really don’t understand how that works, but that’s a speculation for another day), we came in for a smooth landing.

OK, great, I thought, as I looked about, smiling bravely. I’m here, but how am I getting to Twin Hills? I have three maxed-out suitcases, I’ve been told that Local Airline #1 hasn’t landed in Twin Hills for almost a week, I’ve already missed the flight I was scheduled on anyway. I called Airline #1 a few times, with no answer. Somebody else suggested I call Local Airline #2, as they have smaller planes and can thus sometimes land when others can’t. So I called them, and they answered. I explained my situation, asking if they might be heading to Twin Hills that day. The young woman said she would call the pilot and then call me back. Meanwhile, only two of my three bags came out of the porthole (there is no carousel, just a door that opens up so that bunch of guys can start heaving bags through it).

Meanwhile, suffering no illusions that Airline #2 would actually call me back, (they didn’t) I went over to Airline #1 with my two surviving suitcases (wouldn’t you know that the missing one turned out to be the one containing that huge bag of frozen chicken that I mentioned earlier?). Then I went back to the Alaska Airlines counter to finish filling out my claim regarding the missing bag, and found about ten other people doing the same thing. I then realized that I had already taken my other two bags over to Airline #1, and I had to schlepp back over there once again to figure out which baggage claim number was the one on the missing bag.

I only growled once, when the Alaska agent asked me on which airline I would be travelling to Twin Hills, (so that they could send my missing bag on the same carrier). I snarled something about going on whatever airline could be bothered to call me back, but quickly recovered my manners.

When I got back to Airline #1, there were about thirty people in the waiting area, all trying to get to different communities. I kept hearing people behind the counter saying things like, “we only have one pilot today,” and, “this is going to be our last flight.” Thinking that I might be able to at least leave my heavy bags behind the counter instead of having to schlepp them all over town in search of domicile, I diffidently approached the counter.

The young woman said, “where are you going?” I told her, and she proceeded without comment to check me in. Though puzzled, I obediently placed my bags on the weighing platform one at a time, and then at her bidding I collected my carry-ons and stood on the platform myself, studiously not looking at the number that appeared on the little screen.

Meanwhile, at least three fellow teachers were also stranded, and one of them ran into a friend who offered us all a place to crash should we need it. This friend also voluntarily brought over a big crock of salmon pasta and some hot chocolate to share with any and all weary travelers. I had no idea if the flight I had just checked in for was actually going, and if so, at what time. So I sat in the waiting area and dug into that pasta, and tried between huge mouthfuls to properly express my gratitude. Did I mention that, on this day of all days, I had forgotten to bring snacks?

After about an hour’s wait with no information, a young person walked out from behind the counter and said “Togiak and Twin Hills.” Hardly believing my luck, I scrambled up and out the door, trying not to look too happy in front of all those folks who had remained seated. 

That flight was indeed the last one of the day, and lots of poor, unfortunate souls had to find floor space in Dillingham that night. I flew out with seven other lucky ducks. Everybody else got out at Togiak, and the pilot and I did the hop back over to Twin Hills by ourselves. As we approached he saw me taking pictures and offered to buzz the town for me. 

I got some fun, cold pics.

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