(December 2010) — High-frequency radio, used for beyond-the-horizon communication prior to the introduction of satellite relays, was subject to the whims of various ill-natured atmospheric elves and goblins; but when it was good it was very, very good, with the clarity and nuance of a fine telephone connection. So it is that I can still hear in my mind’s ear, though it was nearly 35 years ago, the coaxing tone, as if the speaker were addressing an uncomprehending child, of that friendly airline pilot’s voice: “No, fifty, not fifty thousand. Three hundred pounds. He is a very small airplane.”
Very small indeed: a 23-foot wing carrying Nancy and me and a couple of suitcases over the North Pacific. We were on an IFR flight plan, and every hour we would make a position report — an empty ritual, in reality, since for most of the trip, in those pre-GPS days, our navigational equipment was limited to a compass and a clock. A Tokyo controller had inquired about our fuel state, and on hearing my reply of “fifty gallons remaining,” he had confirmed with “fifty thousand pounds.” Somewhere high above us in the darkness — it was inky night, and had been for many hours — an eavesdropping airline pilot understood that the young Japanese controller had never before spoken, and would in all likelihood never again speak, to an airplane arriving from America so scantily provided with fuel.
