It was a crystal clear day, but the wind buffeted the small airplane as it descended towards the island.  "Always just at the altitude of the clouds" thought Coleman Bell, as he blew past a few puffy cumulus.  It had been a smooth crossing from St. Augustine, cruising at just under 10 thousand feet to avoid having to strap on the oxygen mask he didn't have.  Above the clouds, he watched as the ocean changed from a green to turquoise to the deep blue of the gulf stream and the abyss, and back again as he'd approached Abaco.

 

It was something of a milk run, but a strong frontal system had passed to the east a couple of day ago, and the wind behind it was going to make the approach into Treasure Cay a little tricky.  He pulled back the power, holding altitude at 3500 feet letting the speed bleed off to 120 knots.  Then dropping the nose just slightly, he descended to 1500 and entered the pattern.

 

"A little sloppy on the insertion" Bell though to himself as he came on course parallel to the runway.  He could see the windsock standing straight out to the south, swinging in the gusty breeze.  This was always a challenging approach when the wind was spilling over the scraggly pines that lined the runway, not to mention that the runway its self was not much wider than a two-lane road.  Still, he'd done it enough times to be pretty comfortable.  The first arrival rated a pucker factor of about a 7.  Now, it was rarely much more than a two.

 

As he crossed the midpoint of the runway, he ran through his final checklist, trying not to be distracted by Caren's Honda parked just outside the airport fence.  She could have afforded anything on the island, but had bought the Accord in the States a couple of years back and had it shipped to Abaco.  It was fairly new, but the harsh sun and wind-driven salt air had already begun to take its toll.  He though about the last time they'd been together, then shook his head and gave his full attention to getting the airplane on the ground in one piece.

 

Bell keyed the microphone on the airplane yoke.  "35 Lima Yankee is final for zero 4" he said into his headset to no one in particular.  There wasn't much traffic at Treasure Cay on Wednesday afternoon, and he liked it that way.

 

Now the airplane had his full attention.  "Gas, undercarriage, mixture, prop" he recited to himself ... a litany taught him by the former military pilot who had taught him to fly.  "GUMP", he chuckled.  Tanks to both, three green, mixture to rich, and prop at full forward. He lined up on the centerline of the runway and pulled the power nearly to idle, letting the airplane settle towards the trees.  His right hand nearly caressed the throttle as his feet danced on the rudder pedals.  The wind was gusty, and it was difficult to keep the centerline stationary in the windshield.  He added power to arrest his decent, skimming just above the trees.  Then, with the runway made, he pulled the power and began to ease the yoke back towards his lap.  The airplane flattened out but rocked in the air spilling over the trees at the end of the runway.  Now low and slow, the airplane responded sluggishly as Bell almost instinctively made small corrections as he bled off speed and lifted the nose.  A gust caught the left wing.  He corrected, but not enough to keep the plane level.  He landed on the right main wheel with a chirp ... bounced once ... and held the yoke back to his stomach as the airplane dropped back onto the runway ... right wheel then left.  He held the nose up as the speed bled off, then he lowered the nose gear onto the runway, steering with his feet.  As the nose gear touched the asphalt, Bell remembered to breath.

 

Increasing power, he turned the airplane around and taxied towards the tie-downs.  He knew customs would be a breeze.  It always was, and now the custom agents knew him.  In the back, he had his dive gear and a suitcase with a couple of bathing suits and t-shirts.  Things were pretty casual on Abaco.

 

Then he remembered why he was here.  Caren's call had come early that morning.  She had been out of breath, like she'd been running.  He asked her what was wrong, but all she would say was "Come now, I can't talk about it on the phone.   Bring your gear."  He couldn't tell if she was excited, or scared, but there she was, standing outside the fence as he taxied to the parking area.  He'd know soon enough