Windows of Opportunity

We had done the pre-flight inspections and loaded the baggage in the rain. Dark green, yellow and killer looking red splotches moved across the RADAR in the Pilot's Center. Out in the lounge a plane load of company VIPs asked repeatedly about the upcoming flight to Denver. It was going to be an interesting departure.

Passengers reassured, on board and settled in, the cabin door secured and start checks run and done; we called ground control for taxi. Heavier rain blurred the windshield as we swung west onto taxiway "Alpha" and splashed our way to the end of the departure runway. The airplane's RADAR doesn't work on the ground, (to keep us from pulling up on the ramp while blasting the ground crew with 4 GHz of energy) but the lightning detector was giving us a good read on the incoming weather. We could also see a serious rain curtain and dark clouds moving in from the west. Behind us, east and south, was a lighter sky and a way out. Once airborne we could find a path westward. But to do so we seriously needed to get while the getting was good.

I tried to get the tower controller on board by letting her know we were ready for departure while only half way down the taxiway. But it was not to be. The weather was dictating which way all the airplanes leaving the St. Louis area could go, forcing the Air Traffic Control system to reissue full route clearances. By the time we had copied ours the weather had moved over the airport. Lighting flashed on the nearby hills and we could hear the thunder over the engines and through our headsets. Shifting, gusty winds tugged at the flight controls causing the yoke and rudder peddles to thump against my hands and feet. Sheets of water pounded our aluminum hull and the runway faded from view as rain dancing off its surface turned into a storm driven mist. The runway lights came on.

We had missed our window of opportunity.

Windows of opportunity are constructs of circumstance. Sometimes they are so wide we can't see the framework. Sometimes they are narrow; moving targets in time that are easily missed. Sometimes they come in sets. (We missed one departure window yesterday morning but caught the next that came by.) Sometimes there is just one. (Do I take this job or that one, or maybe I blew the interview for the one job I really wanted.) Sometimes hitting one is a matter of convenience. Sometimes it is a bit more serious. (Like launching for Denver between potentially lethal thunderstorms.) Sometimes windows of opportunity are clear, open patches in the dark skies. But sometimes they are not so clear; just lighter gray patches in darker gray clouds.

Moving onto a boat will be such a thing. Right now Deb and I both make pretty good incomes doing jobs we don't mind getting up in the morning to do. (Which puts us in the category of "people who are pretty lucky!") We could force our way onto a boat, pry the window open if you will, by putting everything up for sale, moving Nomad to the river, moving on board and heading south. But some inner sense says that will not work out the way we want.

Yet I am sure the real window is out there, moving in our direction. The trick will be timing the jump so we land on the boat and not in the water.