[color=lightsteelblue][h2][b][center]Chris MacDonald[/center][/b][/h2][/color]

Chris gave a nod of confidence seeing Iris take the controls. Her broad smile was infectious and was the kind of reaction that was most satisfying. There was nothing he would let her do that could cause any harm. Just to share a little bit of the art of flight with someone willing to put  apprehension aside was one of the best parts of being a pilot. The joy of flying was natural and something so few got to experience apart from the sterile repetition of loading themselves into a bus in the sky. It was tragic. He often considered his belonging in a time and place like Azul where the mystique of man and machine together still existed. “[color=lightsteelblue]So what we’re gonna do is go ahead and start our descent.[/color]” He said, a little instructional in his tone, but relaxed all the same. Smoothly he countered her eastward drift with the rudder and eased the throttle back, the action putting Isla Ramilo back on the nose as the engine’s monstrous torque subsided. The plane’s attitude still wasn’t level, but he continued unbothered: “[color=lightsteelblue]From where we are now it’s actually pretty easy, but let’s level the wings first.[/color]” He wiggled the yoke in his hand gently to get her attention and guide her hands to mimic his instructions.    

Giving a passenger a chance at the controls was about the oldest pilot trick in the book, but it worked almost every single time and interestingly he found women tended to take to it more naturally whereas men would grab the column and suddenly feel like they had to be John Glenn. With the ladies there was more appropriate caution and he could see the balance forming in Iris’ glance. A mix of challenge, fear and determination. It was a good look for her and seeing her settle down and not hold a deathgrip, he reached over next to her leg and trimmed the controls again to give her more response. “[color=lightsteelblue]Doing fine,[/color]” He said, watching the horizon of blue water settle evenly. ”[color=lightsteelblue]Don’t worry about the rudder pedals or the throttle, I’ll handle those.[/color]” He pointed to the vertical speed indicator, not expecting her to follow, but more as a reassurance he was paying close attention. “[color=lightsteelblue]We’re already descending at a steady rate,[/color]” He continued. “[color=lightsteelblue]All you need to do is keep the island inside the prop disc and we’ll be right where we need to be, so keep your wings level and aim the nose towards the island. Once we get around five-hundred feet, I’ll take over.[/color]”   
  
They came in over Playa Diamante just before the altimeter ticked under five-hundred ASL. Chris watched Iris’ wrapt expression and the odd twitch of her nose that seemed to follow intense concentration before he broke the trance and took the controls back. She looked both disappointed and relieved. “[color=lightsteelblue]Not bad.[/color]” He said, looking over the nose as Isla Ramilo now moved underneath them. The shape of the island curved away and they were over the natural lagoon. A few boats sat calmly at anchor and he caught a glimpse of their shadow passing over the neatly rowed fields of the Cardenas Winery. From there his eyes looked up for three flags atop the main house of the hacienda he used to judge the wind before glancing back down at the boathouse coming up on his left. They came by low and leveled off again. Chris craned his neck a bit, seeing no one. Miguel’s marina staff were likely still on siesta he thought, turning his wrist to check the time, however he knew the sound of his prop would quickly rouse them.  “[color=lightsteelblue] We’ll do a quick circuit and make sure the lane is clear, we don’t wanna run over a swimmer.[/color]” He joked. 

Gentle waves were visible rippling under the evening sun and the clear water was no more disturbed than a bathtub. Chris glanced at his watch again and pointed over the engine to a regal looking estate, just on the edge of waterfront Puro Parque. “[color=lightsteelblue]There’s an old lady that lives in that house right there past the jetty,[/color]” He said with a smirk. “[color=lightsteelblue]And she [i]absolutely hates[/i] this airplane.[/color]”

Azul had no ATC of any kind and other aircraft were rare, but he still scanned the area as they zipped by the house close enough it was easy to make out the irate resident down below shaking her fist next to a swimming pool before the portside float came up and he banked into a lazy upward turn that trimmed off the excess speed. As they ascended there was enough attitude in the wing to feel the pull of gravity and look down Iris’ window to see nothing but varying shades of candy blue water across the lagoon. They climbed and cut a sharp picture as the plane stood smartly on its side, gently carrying through the arc of the turn. As the nose came down they were pointed back parallel to the dock and Chris’ movements became more purposeful as he lined up just past a single buoy that denoted his “runway” for Isla Ramilo. It was clear. He permitted himself a tiny grin of satisfaction at his handiwork. Hemingway wrote books, Michael Jordan played basketball and Chris MacDonald flew airplanes. It was that simple. One hand reached down again to drop the flaps and turn on the hazard lights. A gentle flair and the floats kissed the water, skimming over the top like a skier as they crossed back in front of the marina. 

[@Fading Memory]