Ice Land

Flying over the Atlantic Ocean towards Reykjavík, Iceland, I thought, ‘my father used to fly over these waters hunting Russian submarines.’

I would have been a pre-teen when Dad took off for the six-month deployments.  So handsome in his olive green flight suit, we watched him climb into the aircraft, wave from the cockpit windows and start the engines.  Grey and white, I remember with four engines and a long stinger, he’d taxi to the runway.  We’d wave like crazy as he flew away.  I’ve loved Orion P-3 aircraft ever since.

Never did it cross my mind to visit Iceland.  But here I am.  With Larry.  Fifty years after my father flew over these waters.

Let’s see how cold it gets.