We go to Anchorage, Alaska for the installation of the new Rotary International District Governors. There was no mention of how we got to Seattle from Sacramento, California in the journal.
The flight is an hour late leaving Seattle. Will Anchorage be there? Or will some warp in time declare Anchorage another dimension and will we arrive at the right place, but the wrong time?
Along the way the pilot points out a few lonely looking outposts and declares (in a cheerful voice) that none of these airstrips are long enough to use in emergencies. I check under the seat to see if the bottom cushion really does have straps to put my arms through.
The approach to Anchorage is through heavy clouds and fog. We seem to be low enough to ski across the snowy slopes of mountains that loom suddenly and unexpectedly out of the white mist. Then we make a steep bank, wings seeming almost vertical, and skim across the gray waters of a large bay. There are a some bumpy moments as we rise and fall over a couple of island ridges covered with dense forest, trees with brilliant red and yellow foliage. We touch down on a patched over, rough runway that introduces us to the Anchorage outback.
Luggage in tow, we find a cab to take us to the hotel. On the way, I watch the wind blowing the colored leaves off of the trees. I think the trees are bare by the time we get into the city. The cab driver says we’ve experienced Fall.