Tomb of Atlantis (7 page)

Jack's next destination was Spring Point Airport on Crooked Island, about three hundred miles east of Bahamas Islands. Sitting patiently on the runway, he received his clearance to depart. Like so many times before, he once again advanced the throttle and taxied to the runway. Lining up on the long single strip of pavement, he moved
the throttle to maximum power.

He
climbed to his assigned altitude and leveled off. Settling into his long flight, it became routine and uneventful and three hours seem to disappear before he realized.

With thirty minutes left to the flight
, he watched Crooked Island grow larger and more distinct in his windscreen. Checking his gas gauges, the read nearly empty. With nearly forty miles to go, it was going to be close.

As the minutes ticked by, Jack began to wonder if he was going to need to make a water landing. His fuel gauges were now reading zero. He looked off his wingtip and was now following the coastline of Crooked Island. There seemed to be nice sandy beaches and inviting turquoise colored water, but none of that interested him at the moment. He kept his eyes focused on the far side of the island, hoping to catch an early glimpse of the airport.

Like a weight lifted from his shoulders, he spotted his destination airport, Spring Point, a couple of miles out in front of him. With virtually no air traffic being broadcast over the airport’s radio frequency, he dispensed with the protocol of flying a standard rectangular landing pattern and decided to fly straight in as he descended. There simply was no time to waste.

With airspeed and altitude bleeding off quickly, he scanned the area for other traffic as he fought the bouts of moderate turbulence that continued to rock the plane. Half a mile from the end of the runway,
he wiped his hands on his shorts, but the act was futile. With his shorts drenched in sweat, he only picked up more moisture on his hands. In resignation, he re-gripped the stick and concentrated on the landing.

Moments later
, breathing a great sigh of relief, he crossed from grass to tarmac, touching down on the single runway that stretched out nearly four thousand feet in front of him. He made it.

“Man, that was just too close,” he whispered under his breath.

----- ----- ----- -----

Except for a lone person manning the fuel truck, the airport was eerily deserted. This far out from civilization, the only sound
he heard was the sound of the wind whistling through his ears. He felt at peace with the silence and solitude and wanted to stay longer, but with one hundred five miles left to travel and late-day clouds threatening on the horizon, he knew any time wasted would be foolish. Minutes later, he paid for his fuel and was off again—his final destination: Providenciales International Airport on Turks Islands.

Jack departed the airport and headed on his south-easterly course. Climbing out, he immediately began to see ominous dark cumulous clouds loitering menacingly around Crooked Island.

“Hmm, if they’re here, they’re there,” he theorized about his weather conditions at his final destination.

Prior to departing, he had checked the weather for his last leg. The National Weather Service was now reporting deteriorating conditions. Scattered and broken clouds that had appeared harmless before, had now formed into an overcast that was producing strong winds and moderate gusts, threatening to make the landing at his destination a difficult and nerve wracking experience.

Jack leveled off at eight thousand feet. Flying over open ocean, now nearly thirty minutes from shore, the clouds disappeared and the turbulent air smoothed out considerably. With the horizon devoid of clouds and only an hour left of flying, he began to feel relaxed, letting his guard down a bit to take in the beauty of  his surroundings.

He
looked off to his left. Far in the distance, he noticed two small islands marked on his flight sectional as Plana Cays. From what he could make of them, they were completely uninhabited. Surrounded by tranquil turquoise water, he made a mental note to stop there on his way back home and enjoy the quite beautiful beaches.

Up ahead, Jack could see the next island along his route of flight: Mayaguana Island. From his vantage point twenty miles away, he noticed that half the island was covered in clouds. Although they looked delicate and unassuming, he knew their appearance signaled unfavorable wind conditions below them. Checking his watch, he noted the time: three forty p.m.

“Forty minutes to go,” Jack said to himself. “Hope the clouds on Turks don’t get any worse than those.”

Staring out through the windscreen, he scanned for the first signs of land. He squinted hard as the sun’s rays penetrated his sunglasses and noticed a discoloration that lay just above the horizon. Slightly bluer than the surrounding skyline, at first it was difficult to differentiate. Within minutes, the landmass seemed to turn a deeper blue and now became clearly visible.

“Ah ha, Turks,” Jack announced to himself, excitedly, then added, “Huh, a lot more mountainous than I thought.”

Something didn’t seem right.

Mountains
, he thought to himself.

Jack reached into his flight bag and pulled out a folder. He then pulled out a picture of Turks and Caicos Islands. The photo was obviously taken from out at sea and clearly showed the profile
of the island.

“Those islands are flat,” Jack said to himself, still a bit puzzled.

He looked again at the land on the horizon. There was no mistaking the mountainous shapes that rose up from the land.

“That can’t be Turks. Am I lost?” he said, now worried. “What island is that?”

He opened his flight sectional fully and scanned the area as he tried to match up the landmasses outside the plane to the map in his hand.

“That’s gotta be Turks,” he said to himself, with ever increasing confusion.

Moments later, as he flew nearer to the large landmass, Jack heart dropped to his stomach.

“Holy shit! Those aren’t mountains. Those are storm clouds!” he blurted out in horror.

The closer he flew, the more distinct the shape of the clouds became. At first, their bluish hue made them appear as mountains far in the distance. With each passing mile, their blue color became darker and more defined. Jack could now see the land that stretched across the horizon, but more importantly, he could see the thunderstorms that towered above it. A sick feeling came over him. This was far worse than he envisioned.

Suddenly,
he felt a jarring blow of turbulence. Quickly he reacted and leveled the wings.

“Whoa, I didn’t see that coming,” he blurted
loudly.

He checked the mileage on his GPS’s. The readout displayed twenty-seven miles to his destination.

“Wow, it’s spitting out turbulence thirty miles away,” he said to himself, anxiously.

Within seconds, he began to feel a slight buffeting on the plane. With each passing minute, the buffeting increased and became more intense.

He looked down at the ocean below. The seas had turned a deeper blue and he could now see tiny whitecaps on the tops of waves.

“Whitecaps. That’s not a good sign,” Jack said dryly. “That can’t be good for an emergency landing.”

Nervously, he watched as a layer of broken clouds passed above him. He was entering the outer bands of a thunderstorm.

Again, more turbulence rocked the tiny plane and
he reacted quickly, instinctively adding opposite control inputs to level the wings. Within a short time, the occasional gusts of wind that jarred the plane became a continuous barrage that required his complete attention. Working the controls quickly and deliberately, he was able to stay ahead of the worsening conditions.

Only ten miles from shore, the broken clouds transformed into a dark and scary overcast. Jack sweated profusely as he continued to fight the turbulence. As his hands slipped off the controls, he wiped the sweat on his shorts
, then quickly grabbed the controls once more.

Suddenly,
he felt his body being compressed into his seat. Hit by a large column of rising air, he watched the altimeter begin to climb rapidly. Instantly, he reacted, lowering the nose of the plane, and adding power, trying to fly back down to his original altitude.

Without notice, his lap belt tightened and now
he felt the plane free falling out of the sky. Hit with a column of descending air, he fought to keep the wings level. Immediately, he pulled the power and raised the nose of the plane to slow his descent. The force of the downdraft was violent. Jack watched in horror as the altimeter unwound as he lost thousands of feet.

With his heart in his throat, he cried, “Oh my God, I’m gonna hit the water!”

Struggling to hang onto the controls, he pushed the power setting to full and pulled back on the stick aggressively to raise the nose of the unresponsive plane. He watched the seas quickly rising up toward him as
he fell out of the sky.

Suddenly, another violent blast of wind jolted the side of his plane and rocked the wing
s nearly vertical. Falling sideways down toward the water, Jack threw full opposite controls into the plane. In the fight between nature and man, nature was winning the battle.

With only four hundred feet of altitude left before impacting the ocean, Jack threw in his wing flaps and cut his power to idle. Still holding his opposite control inputs, his heart pounded wildly as he waited for a miracle.

“Come on!” he yelled at his plane over the deafening sound of rushing air. “Do something.”

Ever so slowly, the wings started to level out. As water rushed up at him, the nose of the plane
began to rise. With the wings now leveling, Jack continued to hold the stick back in full climb configuration. He watched the altimeter begin to slow its downward momentum. Looking down through his windscreen, he could clearly see the whitecaps breaking off the tops of waves. Fear and panic ripped through his body as he fought the forces of nature.

“This can’t be happening,” he cried out in disbelief.

Still falling, Jack was less than two hundred feet above the water. Quickly, he opened his door and prepared for impact. A gust of wind rocked the plane and forced the door to its full open position. Suddenly, the plane slowed and veered to the left toward the open door. It was now an anchor in the sky. He reacted quickly and brought the nose of the plane back around to the right.

Less than fifty feet above the water, the
descent slowed dramatically. Jack held on in desperation. He had never crashed before and the fear he felt was paralyzing. All he could do was hang on and wait for impact.

Forty feet…

Thirty feet…

Twenty feet…

The water rushed up to meet the plane.

Jack heard a loud siren that signaled the wings were about to stall. His eyes darted to the airspeed, then over to the power. Quickly, instinctively, he
thrust in the power control, silencing the sickening siren and all but reversing his descent… but it was too late.

Although his descent had nearly stopped, he still wasn’t climbing. The floats contacted the waves. Fearing the sudden water strike would cause the plane to somersault end over nose, he instantly pulled the power. The plane hit another wave and launched it skyward. Suddenly, the stall warning blared due to lack of speed and
he thrust his hand forward against the power. The plane instantly lurched forward, as it picked up speed and settled back into the waves.

Jack held the stick back to keep the nose from digging into the waves as the plane plowed through the water.

Like a great anchor, the drag from the plane’s weight in the water dramatically reduced its speed. As the plane continued to crash through the rough seas, he needed to make a decision: land and ride out the storm on top of the water or take off and try to survive in the air.

Jack immediately cut the power. The floats grabbed the water and slowed the plane to a near stop. Suddenly, a large wave broadside
d the fuselage, nearly capsizing the small plane. Before Jack could think, another violent wave slammed into the side once more.

“The hell with this!” he yelled.