Flight with the Ex-Presidents

                                      

It’s so crammed inside the small Cessna it feels like I'm playing a long game of Twister with the other passengers--they're only temporary though.  Cowered behind the pilot seat, I observe the anxious faces of three men about to take a 10,000’ tumble. I myself have a parachute loosely strapped on in case I see the bottom of the pilot’s sneakers leaving the plane, but I'm hoping for the best. Rick, the veteran jumper, tells me I’m better off going down with the craft than pulling the rip on the spare shoot. Worse comes to worse, I figure I can tap into my “radical son of a bitch” side and hitch a ride like Keanu in Point Break (the entire time I'm wondering if these guys could be the Ex-Presidents. There's only three out of four though, and I reserve a moment of silence and gratitude for a recent fallen icon). 

                                    

The fact that we’re 10,000’ over the Pacific is a bit unsettling, but watching the jumpers launch off the wing I, in an odd way, hope for the shit to hit the fan so I skydive sans $200 fee. Glancing yonder at Cape Kiwanda, however, I have second thoughts and decide I’m comfortable where I am, especially now that won Twister and have the entire cabin to stretch my legs out.

 The view from up top offers a perspective I’ve imagined my entire life watching the small aircrafts constantly flying overhead in Pacific City. Cutting through the low-lying wetlands, the Nestucca River snakes its way from the coastal mountains and empties into the sea. From up here, the dune looks like nothing more than a bump and Cape Kiwanda between Cascade Head and Cape Lookout resembles Jerry Garcia’s ring finger. Haystack Rock—or Point Rock as I’ve come to know it—wears a white judges wig of sea foam visible only from this vantage.

                                                    

 Distracted by the view, I nearly excrete my innards in an instant as Captain Mike catches some G-force on turns that make my horizontal photographs appear to be taken in vertical composition.

                                    

Dropping in hot at the P.C. airstrip, Mike tells me not to hang on to anything but my seatbelt—preparing me for a rough landing. Surprisingly, touch down is flawless. “Not bad for a beginner huh?” the Captain tells me.