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I woke up that morning and found
two inches of snow covering my porch. The first snowfall after autumn
is bittersweet. Ski season’s arriving soon and the thought of linking
tele turns through the trees gives me the same rush as hooking into an
8kt thermal and riding it to 10 000ft. Here in Vermont, an area known
for great skiing, we rarely have three feet powder dumps or 8kt lift to
ten grand, but knowing it can happen in a big part of the fun. While I’m
excited about skiing, the snowfall signals the end of the soaring season.
There will be a few more days to fly. These are mostly local flights with
a few meagre wave days thrown in, but the possibility of going cross-country
is pretty remote. It’s a bit ironic that snow signals the end of
flying for the year since if it weren’t for a fluke springtime snowstorm
my career in aviation might not have happened or if it did, might be very
different.
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When I was 11 years-old and living in Connecticut we rarely had
snow on the ground after the first of April. The winter of 1977
was very different; there were still snow piles on the ground on
April 15 (income tax filing day). My father hates snow and filing
his taxes and I remember him being in an extra foul mood as the
temperature dropped, clouds rolled in and left almost a foot of
snow by morning.
The neighbourhood kids had one last shot at sled riding glory and
we decided to ask a neighbour, John Hubble, if we could use the
hill beside his house to make a few runs.
We were a little afraid of him
None of us kids knew much about Mr Hubble except that we viewed
him as some old hermit who drove a powder blue Volkswagen Beetle
and kept his bull terrier chained to the sugar maple that shaded
the north end of his stone house. We were a little afraid of him
and it took a bit of time to screw up the courage to ask the old
guy with the big dog if we could use his hill.
"Sure boys. Go right ahead," he answered with a big toothy
smile.
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After the third or fourth run we were trudging back uphill when we saw
Mr Hubble waiting for us at the top of the run. "Look," said
Spencer pointing up the hill. Silhouetted against the blue sky was a gargoyle
with a thin S-shaped body, shoulders slightly hunched from hands being
stuffed deep into front pants pockets, the arms locked at the elbows.
Spencer and I both slowed a bit hoping we could freeze him out and make
an escape for home. It didn’t work and he was still there when we
arrived.
"You boys like aeroplanes?" he asked. "I have my own plane
and if it’s okay with your folks I’d like to take you flying".
How it all began
Two weeks later I found myse |
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