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The limousine navigated slowly down the driveway toward my seaplane ramp on the lake. The driver opened the passenger door revealing a middle-aged Italian gentleman, well dressed but not seemingly for an excursion in a seaplane. He was with an attractive girl who was much younger—maybe his daughter?

They had hired me for a charter down to George Town, Great Exuma in the Bahamas for a luncheon together. It soon became obvious this gentleman had conspired in an escape with his “sweet young thing” to enjoy a private rendezvous!

The Maule rotated off the calm water heading southeast for the 100-mile flight. Talking with ATC, I requested 5,500 feet practically guaranteeing a comfortable and cooler ride than the summer heat down low. About halfway across the shallow banks, we leveled out in the smooth, cool air. Small picture-book clouds sailed underneath us. The Exuma Cays drifted underneath showing their magnificent array of turquoises and indigo blues. A chain of cays 120 miles in length with an island for every day of the year!

ATC turned me loose advising a switch over to UNICOM on 122.8. All was quiet for less than a minute! The Italian, wearing a guest headset, leaned over and seemed to be in sudden distress pointing to his crotch with urgency, “Captain, I have to pee NOW!”

His girlfriend erupted in laughter behind us. “Sir we are at five thousand feet altitude, it takes time to get down.” I figured why not simply perform a water landing allowing the chap to pee off the float?

In disbelief, I noticed the man was already undoing his trousers retrieving what appeared a small appendage! “Wait!” I cried is desperation as my memory sounded the alarm of an edition of the Yachtsman’s Guide to the Bahamas wrapped safely in a Ziploc bag behind the co-pilot seat. I reached for the book, opening the plastic bag and hastily passing it to the desperate gentleman now holding his equipment in hand sending a steady strong stream into the bag. His lady friend could hardly contain herself, tears of glee rolled down her cheeks watching the surreal fiasco up front.

Wow, that was a close call I mused to myself, good save Captain! Good grief when is this man going to stop peeing? He must have drunk a gallon at breakfast.

But stop he did with an expression of relief handing me the brimming Ziploc. It barely made it over the flap handle to see a minute yellow stream watering the interior carpet. Damn, there’s a hole in the bag! His lady friend’s mouth dropped in shock. Seaplane pilots really do have to be on the ball for the unexpected. Once again a save was in sight.

Each chair had a towel draped over the back. I was a stickler for having passengers dry their feet perfectly before entering the cabin from their wade in shallow sea water. Unceremoniously, I ripped the towel from behind my guests back wrapping the leaking bag all while flying the airplane straight and level. “Keep it between your feet,” I ordered sternly while starting the long descent to our destination.

The landing in George Town harbor was uneventful and the Maule taxied obediently into the shallows where I let the two passengers disembark for their luncheon at the Peace & Plenty Resort. People walking the nearby roadside may well have wondered what the heck that pilot was doing, kneeling in the shallows washing a towel while discarding an old Ziploc bag? Ah, just another day in a water-flying career!

seaplane

Paul Harding
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