No Doors? No Problem…
That surely can’t be it I thought, as we walked across the tarmac toward a Volkswagen Beetle on skis with a long purple tail and a spinning propeller on top!
Oh, and NO doors!
I looked at Pat. She was zipping up her sweatshirt and adjusting the flotation device strapped around her waist… “We will be flying over water,” they told us at the staging area explaining how to operate the device. The brochure hadn’t mentioned water landings.
There were four of us. A couple from Minnesota were in the rear seats, Pat and I had the front. I wondered as we approached where the pilot was going to sit. Then I spotted him, taking up almost half of the front seat.
Pat had originally reserved a flight on a six-passenger glassed-in helicopter, but they called us the day before we were to tour the island of Kauai by air and told us only four people had signed up and they needed six to fly. That’s when I said: “Ask them about the doors-off flight.” Forgetting for a moment that I have a fear of heights.
A guy helped Pat into the front seat next to the pilot, strapped her in and gave her headphones and a mic in case she wanted to chat during the flight. I looked at the remaining space in the front. It was about half the size of my butt. Before I could question that, the same guy helped me up and into the helicopter. I looked at Pat, she moved over an inch-and-a-half. Thank you, I mouthed, as the sound was deafening.
The guy strapped me in. It was the same kind of strap that was on the grandkids’ car seats – a strap over each shoulder and one up from the crotch, connecting into a big round button. I thought about Jack and how at age six, he had learned how to push that big button when we arrived somewhere to release himself. Don’t touch the button, I said to myself. Don’t touch the button.
Our pilot was named Chris. According to a placard we had seen, he’d flown for a number of years for various groups including as a search and rescue pilot. This made me feel better. We took off.
There was a looped strap hanging just inside the doorless door. I grabbed it as we gained altitude and banked toward my side. Dangling from my wrist strap was my cellphone. Around my neck was my Canon camera with the telephoto lens. We were not allowed to wear hats, flip-flops or anything that might fall out. I wondered if they would admonish Pat for bringing me.
After a few moments we had leveled off and the pilot was giving a narration about taro and coffee plantations we were flying over. I took a photo…of my knee. We climbed. I was having a terrifyingly good time. We went over the mountain and banked into a canyon and saw our first waterfalls.
Chris got us close and then hovered. You may not know this but a hovering helicopter the size of a compact car in the wind moves around a bit. I took a quick video…of the ceiling.
We were now on the Nā Pali Coast on the west side of the island. It was breathtaking. Breathe, I told myself. Breathe. We entered several more canyons with waterfall after waterfall. My camera was set for continuous shooting. I had no idea if it was working. We headed out over the ocean. How did the life jacket work again? Chris pointed out some caves and “Puff the Magic Dragon,” the formation the song was made for, in Hanalei. Then we headed into a dark foreboding canyon that Chris told us received more than 400 inches of rain per year. We hovered. I now know what a sock in the dryer feels like.
We headed back over the mountains and landed safely on the tarmac. It took me several minutes to unlock my fingers from the strap. They helped us out and took photos of us standing near Chris. At the staging area, there were a dozen new people. “How was it?” they asked.
“Stupendous,” I said, as I staggered away heading for the nearest Mai Tais.
