The last airplane on skis

As the red and white Cessna 180 hit the first bit of turbulence from the updraft along the last mountain massif, its pilot looked past the snow-covered mountains, past the white and a panic began to grow in his stomach. The world stretched out in front of him brown, the brown before the green of the spring burst he’d hoped he would outrun, but he saw no welcoming patches of white anywhere in front of him. He leaned to glance out the side window and look down, skis, they were still there, that hadn’t changed. He sensed more than heard movement in the tiny cargo bay but when he looked all he saw was a bundle of fur where the wolf slept under its medicine. The biologist had told him he had at least three hours before the sedative wore off and the animal came out of it. He looked at his watch and then turned again to the country passing below him, searching franticly for that patch of white or a still-frozen lake that would offer him a place to put the airplane down. None of it provided him with even a sliver of confidence, not like the confidence he’d felt when he told the supplier he wouldn’t need the skis with wheels and saved himself a little money ...

A bit of background: Every year as warmer spring-like weather releases the snow, I will notice a small airplane or two with skis, flying over and apparently looking for a place to land. The same happens in the fall when everything freezes overnight and there is that last airplane on floats. Airborne with no place to land. Thought it might be fun to explore that adventure.