Prairie Sky: A Pilot's Reflections on Flying and the Grace of Altitude

River Flying: The Red River

27 River Flying The Red River Thursday THE FLOOD WARNING CONTINUES FOR THE RED RIVER AT FARGO . * AT 9:15 PM THURSDAY THE STAGE WAS 36.9 FEET. * MAJOR FLOODING IS OCCURRING AND FOR THE NEXT 7 DAYS . . . MAJOR FLOODING IS FORECAST. * MAJOR FLOOD STAGE IS 30.0 FEET. * FORECAST . . . THE RIVER WILL CONTINUE RISING TO BETWEEN 39.0 AND 40.0 FEET BY SUNDAY APRIL 10TH. * THE WILD RICE RIVER NEAR ABERCROMBIE AND THE RED RIVER AT ENLOE HAVE SHOWN DECREASING FLOWS . . . WHICH SUGGESTS THAT THE PRIMARY RISE IS NOW ENTERING THE FARGO AREA. THE CURRENT RATE OF MOVEMENT SUGGESTS THAT THE PRIMARY CREST SHOULD REACH FARGO ON SUNDAY . . . AND POSSIBLY AHEAD OF THE RUNOFF FROM ANY SIGNIFICANT PRECIPITATION THAT COULD OCCUR FROM LATE SATURDAY INTO SUNDAY. THIS MEANS THAT IF ANY SIGNIFICANT PRECIPITATION DOES OCCUR AT THE TIME OF THE CREST . . . IT WILL LIKELY MAINTAIN HIGH WATER LEVELS FOR A LONGER PERIOD OF TIME. * IMPACT STATEMENT—AT 40.0 FEET . . . IN FARGO . . . TOP OF THE ISLAND PARK DIKE. IN MOORHEAD . . . RED RIVER IS LAPPING AT THE BASE OF THE HERITAGE HJEMKOMST INTERPRETIVE CENTER. —The Weather Channel Alert/National Weather Service 28 Prairie Sky Friday It’s always three syllables. Oh my God. Je-sus Christ. What the hell. The list could go on. Ho-ly Cow. Look at that. A trinity of breath in the face of doom. “Fargo ground,” I say, “Cessna Six Zero Six Five Mike is at the north ramp, ready to go. Information X-Ray. I’d like to depart to the south and do some river photography, at or below two thousand five hundred feet.” “Cessna Six Zero Six Five Mike,” comes the reply, “Fargo ground. Runway One-Eight at the Charlie intersection, taxi via Charlie, maintain at or below two thousand five hundred. Squawk zero four five one.” High noon at the Fargo Jet Center, and my friend Jonathan sits in the right seat, camera at the ready. We are going up to see the river today. The Red River of the North. Just to look, to get a glimpse of the size of the thing. We’ve had deep, hard snow this past winter, and the snow is melting fast. It’s a beautiful spring day. Warm air. Gentle breeze. If it wasn’t for the river, you’d think this is exactly what spring should be. But there is this river. Once again, the flood has come. “Zero four five one,” I say. Jon and I have lived here long enough to have a history, a physical history, with floods: 1997, 2009, 2010. We have a memory in our backs and shoulders from throwing sandbags in ice storms and hail, high-speed emergency help to save the homes of people we rarely knew beyond the simple, profound fact they were our neighbors. In a sandbag line, or straddling the wall itself, a fast-rising river is both intimate and a mystery. You can feel it against your ankle and thigh. You can feel the want of the water, the way it wants to tear down every sandbag wall and earthen dike. But you can only imagine how large it is. There is an ominous, minor-key chord playing somewhere in the distance, you think. But you cannot tell how far away. Jon and I have traveled a lot together—London, Delhi, Hong Kong, Christchurch—but this is the first time he’s flown with me as the pilot. “Do you want to steer?” I ask as we begin to taxi. “Nope,” he says. His seat is pushed all the way back so he can use more of the window for pictures and video and his feet cannot reach the rudder pedals. Air traffic control clears several other airplanes for takeoffs, landings, taxiing to and from the parking areas. Jon hears it all in his headset. “Do you understand anything they’re saying?” I ask. “Not really,” he says. And then a moment later, “Do we have parachutes?” River Flying: The Red River 29 I know he’s teasing me. “No,” I say. “But there is an airbag in front of you.” At the runway we wait for a twin engine to take off in front of us. “Does the wind give you any problem at takeoff?” Jon asks. “Not really,” I say. I can’t tell if he’s nervous or simply curious. We’re cleared for takeoff...