Wyatt was inspecting a communications facility in Alaska.
Since he had little expertise in flying in small planes, he was a bit jittery once they approached a touchdown strip in a snow-covered space.
The pilot descended to only a couple hundred toes, then gunned each engines, climbed, and circled again. Whereas Wyatt’s coronary heart pounded, the passenger beside him appeared calm.
“I’m wondering why he didn’t land,” mentioned Wyatt.
“He was checking to see if the touchdown strip was plowed,” the person mentioned.
As a second strategy was made, Wyatt glanced nervously out the window. “It appears plowed to me,” he commented.
“No,” mentioned his seat mate. “It hasn’t been cleared for a while.”
“How are you going to inform?” Wyatt requested.
“As a result of,” the person knowledgeable him, “I’m the man who drives the plow.”