Danika gazed out the cockpit window at the clouds that were stacked in cotton-ball mounds around the little island to her left. The powerful beat of the engines permeated the cabin. She sub-consciously reached her right hand up to the throttle levers mounted on the ceiling and minutely adjusted the settings. The vibrations caused by the two big radial engines being slightly out of synch subsided and the engine noise became a harmonious thrum. Her hand dropped back to the control yoke.

From nine thousand feet the Caribbean Sea looked inviting. Around the little island the color of the ocean varied from indigo in the deeper water to multiple hues of aquamarine where it washed over the reef and bathed the coral formations that inhabited the shallows.

Waves swept ashore, leaving crescents of surf on the fringes of the white beaches that wreathed the island. It appeared to be uninhabited.

The little island tugged at her. It was so perfect as to be almost surreal.
Danika hadn’t been to the Caribbean for almost a year. She yearned to put her feet in the warm sand and feel the tropical sun on her skin.

She studied the lay of the waters that surrounded the island and mused. She could pull back on the throttles, dip Buccaneer’s Bliss into a shallow descent, circle the island once, seek out a calm place to land on the water and put down. Such were the benefits of flying an amphibian. Her airplane could land and take-off on the water.

Once down, she could taxi close in to the beach, throw out the anchor, open the door in the rear of the aircraft then wade ashore and do some exploring. Or maybe she would just kick back on the beach and soak up some rays . . .

But today she didn’t have time for such indulgences.

Danika was en route from Key West to Montego Bay. As the crow flies (or the Goose, she thought), it was about four hundred twenty-five nautical miles. Throw in another fifteen miles or so for the dogleg that she’d made to hit the trans-Cuba air corridor, and this would be a four hundred fifty nautical mile jump. About two hours and forty-five minutes of flight time, well within the maximum range of the Goose.

She still found it hard to accept that the vintage airplane actually belonged to her. It was even harder to come to terms with the fact that her father had passed away, leaving the aircraft to her in his will.

The airplane was a Grumman Goose, type designator; G-21. Her father, who had completely rebuilt the airframe from nose to tail, had christened the airplane just prior to its maiden flight six months prior. Until he’d proudly pulled away the bunting that concealed the name stylistically painted on the nose, none of the dozen or so people gathered on the tarmac for the impromptu ceremony outside the hanger knew what he’d named it:

Buccaneer’s Bliss

Even Danika, who’d toiled several hundred hours working with her father on the airplane, had no idea what name he’d chosen. At first she was ambivalent, but the name had grown on her. It was true that since the airplane now belonged to her, she could do whatever she wanted with it, including a change of name. But it was generally accepted that changing the name of an airplane (or a boat – and Buccaneer’s Bliss was a flying boat) was bad luck.

Buccaneer’s Bliss had been her father’s labour-of-love (and money pit) for four and a half years. He’d built the airplane up from two wrecked G-21s that he’d recovered from the coast of British Columbia. He’d commissioned space on cargo barges that ply those waters to transport both airframes back down to the hanger that he and his business partner owned and operated at Vancouver’s seaplane base.

From the first wreck, which he located up in Buccaneer’s Bay, he’d salvaged the rear section of the fuselage, the tail section and both engines. The second wreck, located a year later in Bliss Landing, had yielded the nose section, a good set of wings and the landing gear. The rest of the airplane had been cobbled together from parts harvested from both wrecks and the many new parts that he’d acquired. Notably, a new set of retractable floats had been installed, replacing the old fixed floats that had originally come with the airplane. This modification not only improved the aerodynamics of the Goose but also gave the airplane a sleeker looking profile when the floats were retracted into their stowed wing-tip positions.

At the completion of the project, Danika’s father was the proud owner of what appeared to be a vintage aircraft. But, in many aspects, Buccaneer’s Bliss was a shiny, spanking new airplane. Her father called it a ‘38-45-11 G-21’; the airplane recovered from Buccaneer’s Bay had been manufactured in 1938, and the one from Bliss Landing in 1945. The ‘11’ part of the sobriquet represented the myriad new and refurbished parts that had been incorporated into the build.

After the overhaul, there remained various Goose airframe components and a rack of spare parts that was the envy of other G-21 operators. Even though the Goose was an old airplane, many were still in daily commercial use up the coast of British Columbia and in Alaska. The venerable aircraft was built like a tank and could take a ton of abuse, which it was often subjected to when flying in and out of remote and otherwise inaccessible locations.