The Stowaway

‘A stowaway is someone who hides on a ship, airplane or any other moving vehicle in order to travel without paying or being seen.’

When Nik promised to take me to Alaska some day, I never in a million years dreamed he would fly me there from Bequia in a little one-engine Cessna! That, however, was his plan, and after a few flying trips to get me used to the plane we began to plot our journey.

Due to the remoteness of some of the areas we’d be flying over, Nik decided to remove the 2 passenger seats; this would allow us to sleep in the back of the plane in the event we were forced to land in bear territory, an event I fervently hoped never came to pass! We also purchased a hatchet for emergencies, and 2 sharp knives that were sheathed and attached to our seat belts in the event we needed to cut ourselves loose. This, also, was an event I fervently hoped never came to pass!

In preparation for the trip, I packed leather duffel bags with clothing for all temperatures. A journey to Alaska from Bequia would entail 100 takeoffs and landings, and light summer clothing as well as heavy winter attire would be necessary. Such an epic flight was a big undertaking in a small plane but we’d be doing it gradually, stopping at hotels each night whenever it was time to land.

We left Bequia, and worked our way up the chain of islands and into the United States. Until we got to the States our stops for fueling and over-nighting were pretty much a “given”, but now we could simply fly by the seat of our pants all the way to Alaska! When we got to California, we decided to drop in on friends living in Palm Springs, and headed for the Palm Springs International airport.

Palm Springs caters to the wealthy, and I laughed when a red carpet was rolled out for our lowly Cessna when we taxied up to the FBO!  Two young fellows in a golf cart stood by to assist with luggage and to carry us to the general aviation facility, so I began pulling the duffel bags from the tail of the plane. It was time to launder the summer clothes we had worn up until then, and the luggage containing warmer clothes needed to be rearranged.

Lo and behold a large, very sluggish centipede crawled out from under one of the duffel bags and, fearing centipedes more than anything else in life, I screamed, ‘CENTIPEDE!” Nik quickly passed me the emergency hatchet and told me to kill it, so I raised the weapon to do just that until he shouted, “NOT in the PLANE!” In my haste I probably would have done serious damage to the Cessna, it’s lucky he warned me in time! I quickly flicked the centipede onto the tarmac and frantically chopped it into little pieces. I watched in horror as the pieces kept on moving, those buggers are REALLY hard to kill! Once I was satisfied that the centipede was truly dead I stood up, and laughed when I saw the two young fellows who’d come to help with the luggage cowering behind their golf cart!

Nik called out, “what’s the matter? Haven’t you ever seen a centipede before!?”

“Not until now!” came the reply, which for some reason made me laugh even harder.

That centipede must have traveled with us all the way from Bequia to California, stowed away in the luggage where he couldn’t be seen. I’m glad it didn’t decide to climb up Nik’s jeans on final approach, and I’m sure Nik is too!