"The plane will be here in twenty-nine minutes." The mix of feelings rushes through me along with a quick little jolt of adrenaline as I hear this from the school secretary. Nothing is for sure out here, but the odds of leaving just got a whole lot better. All morning the wind had been howling and the prospect of getting seven junior high basketball players and two coaches (myself included) to a village thirty miles north seemed poor. But this recent message from the secretary means that all the preparation - bags packed, sub notes and substitute standing at the ready - may pay off this time. I grab my things, give final directions to my class and the sub, and rush out to check on my team. They have assembled in the entry way and are in the process of suiting up. I join in the process: snowpants, boots, parka, hat, mittens, goggles ready if needed for the four-wheeler ride to the runway. We pile our bags into the trailer behind the snowmobile and we pile into the second trailer behind the four-wheeler. I am thankful that our ride is with the wind but worry at the same time knowing that this will mean we will be flying pretty much into or across the wind to Newtok. 
After putting our bags into the belly of the Cessna Caravan we pile into the cabin. The Caravan, while larger than the 207s I have spent more time in, is by no means large. It does fit us nine and the pilot comfortably - think conversion van - but still in the single engine category. I am hoping that this nominal increase in size will keep us from getting too tossed around in the air too much. Our pilot's words prior to take-off do little to quell this fear, "Buckle up, it's going to be a bit rough." As the engine roars and we lift off, the increase in elevation provides an excellent view of the bay and frozen Bering Sea below us. It truly is a sight that photographs cannot begin to capture. Of course I tried, but gave up after a few shots through the fog gathering windows and grew content just looking out. While all this was happening I realized something else. The flight was remarkably calm. Not even the tiniest bit of bouncing around. We landed in Newtok twenty minutes later where another trailer and sled was waiting to bring us to the school. 
Our arrival coincided with the ending of the mellowest pep fest ever. After the pep fest we were treated to a delightful school lunch (one thing that is identical to anywhere else) and then the request to go to the store picked up. Fine, to the store we must go. A quick journey into the wind brought us to the first store. After only a few quick minutes, requests began coming in to go to the other store. Maybe, just maybe, there would be something of great rarity at the other store. After visiting both stores it turned out that there was not, in fact, anything in either store of great rarity. Oh well. We were here to play basketball after all - not shop.We were slated for three games Friday one final game Saturday morning. Our team has developed an unfortunate habit. They go out and play a strong first quarter. After that the level of play comes down a bit, any lead we had evaporates, and things begin to crumble. Frustrating to watch, frustrating for the players, and overall not good for team morale. Long story short - we lost four games bringing our cumulative record to 0 and 8.
Besides playing basketball and watching basketball our team found time to hang out with, chat with, flirt with, and all the other things one can do with friends and family they rarely get to see. And of course Friday night I got one more opportunity to experience the life of a chaperone of teenage boys. Not great. Here's a quick outline of how it works. Lights go off. Everything is quiet, but no one is trying to sleep. All are waiting for someone to make the first move...or sound. And then it comes. A quick little arm fart. Again - utter silence. Who will make the next move. A reprimand, laughter, nothing? In this case - nothing. And then another fart. Braveness from darkness. Anyone with an arm and a desire can join. What fun. Fart. Laughter. Long fart. Longer laughter. Oh this is so funny. Or totally not funny. I find that the level of hilarity is inversely correlated with age. The younger you are the funnier it is, but as you advance in age the comedy begins to fade. Factoring in the time of night and the proximity of the wake up call also affects one's opinion of how funny things are. I am realizing, much to my dismay, that I am no longer finding these things funny, but rather getting quite concerned over how little sleep I am bound to get after all this farting has passed. Thankfully my boys were not part of the problem and thankfully/eventually the fun wore off bringing a time for a bit of rest.
Morning came early, as it always does when traveling. Breakfast consisted of a product I had never had before - pancakes individually wrapped. Peculiar the things that come in bags. Two pancakes sandwiched together with something resembling strawberry jam in the middle. You know they are bad when you have kids complaining about them. At this point I am praying that the weather clears if merely to eat real food again. The weather, however, is as deaf to my prayers as always. We find out that we are on a weather hold. High winds in Tununak are preventing the airplanes from flying. Arrgh.
We settle in. The frustrating thing about flying in rural Alaska is that no one has any idea of what is going on. Rumors fly, phone calls are made, reports conflict. It is an experience of what seems to me to be a complete and utter communication failure. What is worse for me is that the airline, for some baffling reason, is also just as confused as we are. Here is a typical conversation.
Us: "Any news on the charter from Newtok to Tununak?"Them: "Still on weather hold. Call back in an hour."
-one hour later-
Us: "Any news on the charter?"
Them: "They just left."
Us "Left Bethel?"
Them: "Yes. They are going to Chefornak, then Toksook, then Newtok. Should be there in an hour and a half."
-one hour later-
Us: "Is that charter still on schedule."
Them: "What charter?"
Us: "The one that was coming to pick us up in half an hour."
Them: "Two caravans just left Bethel to pick you up."
Us: "When will they be here?"
Them: "One hour."
-half an hour later-
Us: "Is that charter still on?"
Them: "Yes, pick up ten minutes."
-forty-five minutes later-
Us: "What happened to the plane that was sent?"
Them: "One is leaving Toksook on its way to pick you up."
Seriously, this is not an exaggeration. To make things more annoying, remember that we have been wearing snowpants the whole time anticipating that all-of-a-sudden ten minute warning.
In the end we did end up securing a plane. Our flight, while quite a bit more turbulent was safe and short. The views flying over the frozen Bering in February again took my breath away. We landed on our runway with the school snowmachine and four-wheeler waiting with their drivers to pick us up. On the drive back to the school and our housing I am struck again at how good it feels to be home.
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