JANUARY 17, 2021 – Yesterday my wife and I with son-Byron and daughter-in-law-Mylène, loaded a weekend’s worth of gear, food, and accessories into the RAV4 and headed north—first to the Amnicon Falls State Park in extreme northwest Wisconsin, then southeast from there to the Red Cabin. Byron drove, and because Mylène tends to get carsick when traveling in the backseat, I had to relinquish my seat on the “flight deck” and fly coach. (When entering a car most people think it’s . . . a car. When I climb into a car, it turns into an airplane.) I soon adjusted to this arrangement. From the side window I saw things I’d normally miss when looking out the cockpit.
To make time and avoid potentially sub-optimal road conditions along alternative routes, Captain Byron flew via auto-pilot along I-35 from the Twin Cities to Hinckley, Minnesota. From there we flew VFR (“visual flight rules”) east to our hiking destination. Byron stuck a three-point landing on the icy runway tucked away in the pine-balsam forest of the state park. Just beyond was the rugged scenery of the Amnicon River.
For the next two hours we hiked along well-trod snow paths in the park. The surrounding nature was beautiful, and walking in fresh, wilderness air was as good for the soul and psyche as for physical health. But something was off . . .
It was January—not March! The snow wasn’t three feet but barely six inches deep. Because it was old and settled, the hiking paths—particularly along sharp inclines—had become icy and treacherous. I thought about how throughout my younger days, a person could rely on winter in these parts being winter, including deep snowfalls followed by long stretches of subzero (Fahrenheit) temperatures.
Yet there we were, dressed for late March.
Once aboard the plane—er, car—again, I pulled out the digital version of the in-flight magazine in the seat pocket in front of me. That is, I checked the newsfeed on my phone. Oops! No service. I turned my gaze out the side window and admired the wild scenery as we caught a glimpse of Gitche Gumee (read your Song of Hiawatha) before banking south toward the Red Cabin. As we entered ATC (“air traffic control”) – Hayward, I regained connection with civilization.
BAM! Reality struck with a vengeance. And I’m not talking the reality of “political nonsense.” I’m talking “science,” as in an article published by Science X (see www.phys.org). The title: “Worried about Earth’s future? Well, the outlook is worse than even scientists can grasp.
Good thing I wasn’t piloting the plane. Or maybe not a good thing: If I’d been at the controls of our gas-guzzling airplane, I wouldn’t have been sitting in coach reading a disturbing article on the screen of my “in-flight magazine.” Nor would I have been forced to confront my full-fledged membership in the culture of consumption.
How to change our flight plan—in time. That’s humanity’s biggest crisis.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
