Anne Z. Cooke: Answering The Call Of Alaska

“Piece of cake,” says Jerrod. He sees the overhead light blink on and stops by my seat. “These Alaska pilots do it every day. Snow is like mother’s milk to them.”Out the window, I can see the Chugach Mountains, the string of peaks looking like mounds of whipped cream. Jerrod smiles confidently and buttons his uniform jacket for the landing. I hold my breath as he hurries back to his seat, and, sure enough, our plane floats down onto a snow-blown runway as smoothly as a skater gliding on ice. I hear an audible sigh of relief from my seat partner, as flurries whirl around the plane. She relaxes her grip on the armrest and takes out her lipstick.Read more here:


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