Chapter 37
Trust exercise
Finn
Four o’clock sunlight caught the wings of the Cub as Alex banked us gently eastward, the federal wilderness dropping away beneath us in rolling waves of sage and pine.
We were on our way back from Jackson Hole after taking our longest flight yet—and watching her handle the controls with careful precision never got old.
“There,” she said, pointing toward a clearing below where a small herd of elk grazed in the afternoon shadows. “Are those the ones that come through your place in winter?”
“Different herd. Those’ll be further north when the snow hits,” I adjusted my headset and settled back against the seat. She had earned my complete trust at the controls. Natural didn’t begin to cover it—she flew like she’d been born to it. “Nice turn back there. You’re holding altitude exactly.”
“Thanks,” her voice carried that pleased note it always got when I complimented her flying. “I keep expecting the horizon to tilt or something, but it’s just...staying put.”
“That’s what good flying feels like. When it stops being work and starts being second nature.”
This was my favorite part of any day with her—just the two of us in the cockpit, Alex completely in her element, the rest of the world reduced to landmarks and horizon.
“You know,” I said as she banked us gently around a thermal, “watching you fly is almost as sexy as watching you dominate the corporate world.”
Her laugh filled the headset. “Almost?”
“Well, the corporate domination involved you in your underwear,” I pointed out. “Hard to compete with that.”
“Lieutenant Commander Walker,” she replied in her most professional tone, “are you suggesting I should fly in my underwear?”
The image that forced its way into my mind made my pulse quicken. “I’m suggesting you could probably convince me of anything when you’re being brilliant while half-dressed.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” the promise in her voice made me grin.
“Moose,” she said suddenly, her tone becoming more focused as it did when something caught her eye. “Two o’clock, by that beaver pond.”
I followed her line of sight and spotted the bull standing knee-deep in water. Massive antlers silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. “Good eye. Most people miss them. They blend right in.”
“The proportions are all wrong for blending in. That’s what makes them stand out,” she held our heading steady while we both watched the moose. “Like seeing a pickup truck pretending to be a car.”
That got a laugh out of me. “I’ll remember that the next time someone asks me how to spot wildlife from the air.”
The comfortable silence stretched between us, filled only by the steady drone of the engine and the whisper of wind past the struts. Alex’s hands rested lightly on the yoke, making tiny corrections with subconscious skill that usually took months to develop.
My thoughts drifted toward flight instruction—not just these afternoon lessons with Alex, but an actual future of it.
The idea had been circling in my head for weeks now.
I might not be able to give certified instruction from the air, but I’d had ground instructors during training who taught weather patterns, navigation principles, aircraft systems. Teaching felt natural in a way I hadn’t expected.
Alex soaked up every explanation, asked questions that made me think deeper about concepts I’d taken for granted.
Maybe there was something there—another path forward I hadn’t considered.
“You’re quiet back there,” she glanced over her shoulder briefly. “Plotting our next adventure?”
“Something like that,” I glanced toward the horizon where clouds were beginning to build. Nothing worrisome—just the usual afternoon development you could expect this time of year. “Just thinking about how much there is to learn about flying. Weather, navigation, aviation systems, and the like.”
“Meaning I’ve barely scratched the surface?”
“Meaning you’re a natural who’d probably love the technical side as much as the hands-on part. Knowing how to adjust when things don’t go according to plan.”
She was quiet for a moment, processing. “Do things often not go according to plan?”
“Sometimes. Usually nothing dramatic. Just weather changes, traffic conflicts, maybe a radio frequency that’s busier than expected. Good training means you’re ready for the routine surprises.”
“Routine surprises. That sounds like an oxymoron.”
“Aviation’s full of them.”
The clouds ahead had definitely thickened while we’d been talking, moving from scattered into something more substantial, but there was still enough clear sky between us and home. Alex had noticed too—her posture straightened slightly, scan pattern becoming more deliberate.
“Those clouds are getting bigger,” she swallowed.
I followed her gaze to the darkening cumulus developing along our route home. “We’ll keep an eye on them. Still plenty of clear sky for now.”
But even as I said it, I felt the first gentle bump of turbulence rock the plane, and Alex’s hands tightened slightly on the controls.
The next bump was stronger, lifting us momentarily before dropping us back into place. Her knuckles went white on the yoke.
“Just thermal activity,” I reassured her. “Afternoon heating creates updrafts around those clouds.”
“Right,” her response was clipped. “Normal turbulence.”
Another bump, this one with a sideways component that rocked the wings. The clouds were moving our direction now, their bases darkening from white to gray. Not dangerous yet, but building faster than I’d expected.
“How’s our heading?” I asked, giving her something specific to focus on.
“Two-seven-zero. Steady on course,” she responded.
The wind had shifted, and I could feel it in the way the Cub wanted to drift slightly south of our intended track.
Alex was correcting for it automatically—small inputs on the rudder pedals—but I watched her scan pattern become more rapid and less methodical as she tried to make sense of the fluctuations.
That’s when I heard it—the subtle change in engine note that meant trouble.
The RPM dropped from our normal cruise of 2300 down to 2100, the steady drone becoming slightly rough around the edges—enough to notice. Enough to worry about.
“Finn?” Alex’s voice wavered slightly. “The engine sounds different.”
I was already running through possibilities—fuel flow, ignition, carburetor. The humidity from the building weather ahead, combined with the temperature differential...
“Engine’s running a bit rough,” I confirmed, keeping my assessment matter-of-fact. “But we’re still producing power. Feel how we’re maintaining altitude?”
“The weather’s getting worse and something’s wrong with the engine,” her words came faster now, tension bleeding through her control. “Should we land? What if it quits completely?”
Alex’s body had stiffened in the front seat, her movements becoming tighter as her brain tried to process two variables changing at once—exactly the kind of compound problem that could overwhelm even experienced pilots.
“She’s still flying fine, Alex,” I replied calmly, drawing on years of talking pilots through much worse situations. “Keep your scan going. Airspeed, altitude, heading.”
But underneath I felt my own pulse pick up at managing both the engine situation and Alex’s rising panic—keeping her engaged while solving the problem. The building storm ahead meant we needed to move deftly, and I could already feel the first whispers of fatigue tugging at my concentration.
Focus. Diagnose. Solve.
“Engine’s telling us something,” I forced my voice to stay in teaching mode. “This humidity from that weather system, perfect conditions for carburetor ice. See how the roughness started right when we flew through that moist air?”
“Carburetor ice?” Her voice was tight, but she was listening. Still flying.
“Ice blocks the airflow, reduces power. But there’s a procedure for it,” I leaned forward slightly. “Reach over and pull the carburetor heat knob all the way out. Red knob on the right side of the panel.”
Her hand hesitated over the control. “What if—”
“Engine might get rougher for about ten seconds while the ice melts out,” I interrupted gently. “That’s completely normal. Trust the protocol, sweetheart.”
Her shoulders settled slightly as she took a deliberate breath. Then she gripped the red knob and pulled it out.
The engine immediately got rougher, RPM dropping another fifty as warm air flooded the carburetor. Alex’s grip tightened on the yoke.
“That’s exactly what’s supposed to happen,” I reassured her quickly. “Ice is melting. Give it a few more seconds.”
Five seconds. Ten. Then the engine smoothed out, RPM climbing back toward normal as the ice cleared and proper airflow resumed.
“There,” I smiled. “Good as new.”
Alex exhaled slowly. “That actually worked.”
“Always does. Aviation’s got procedures for everything, including weather trying to mess with our day,” I scanned the clouds ahead—still building, still moving our direction, but we should have time.
“Good lesson on in-flight mechanics, but let’s head home ahead of this weather.
Always better to be on the ground wishing you were flying. ”
“Than flying and wishing you were on the ground,” she finished, some of the tension leaving her voice.
I gave her a new heading to take us around the worst of the building storm. “Turn left to two-four-zero. We’ll skirt around the south edge of this system.”
Alex banked gently into the turn, her movements more confident now that the engine was running smoothly again. But the weather wasn’t done with us yet. The clouds continued building as we flew, their bases darkening from gray to charcoal, as sheets of rain began to fall in the distance.
“Is that rain?” she asked, looking toward the dark streaks ahead of us.