Last year, we were invited by our good friends, Mike and Sara to join them in February for up to two weeks on the Big Island of Hawaii. Realizing we hadn’t vacationed in over four years, we decided to go for it. The thought of returning to Hawaii after more than 20 years, over the Valentine’s Day holiday to boot was too good to pass up. We just needed to get there.
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Our journey to the Big Island of Hawaii began with an early Saturday morning flight from Chicago to Denver. The weather was clear in Chicago. It was apparently great in Hawaii. But Denver was experiencing snow.
As we approached the mile-high city, the captain announced that due to snow in Denver, we would be holding a few miles out to give the ground crew a chance to clear the snow from the runways. So, we circled. And circled. From our vantage point above the clouds, the sun shone brightly, changing its angle of attack on the plane with each slow revolution. Time passed. After a while, the captain came back on the line to announce that we only had enough fuel for one more circle. If Denver didn’t give us clearance to land, we’d have to divert to Colorado Springs!
With the announcement, a rumble of disappointment went through the cabin of our fully loaded triple-7. Earlier, the captain had shared that this was his final flight on this aircraft doing this run. So, his next announcement caused the passenger’s collective mood to shift dramatically. “Okay folks, I’ve been flying the triple 7 for twenty years. In my opinion, it’s the finest aircraft made. I know the plane, and I know the airport. I’m going to make the approach to Denver anyway. I think we’ll be able to land. If it doesn’t look good, we’ll divert to Colorado Springs… but I think we can do this.”
Everyone held their breath as we dropped into the clouds. The world became gray and turbulent. Our altitude continued to fall, as evidenced by the succession of ear-pops we felt. The sound of motors whirring joined the changing pitch of the engine. Suddenly, the gray clouds broke long enough to see a cluster of snow-covered low buildings, and with a thump we touched down on tarmac. Engines reversed. Brakes applied. We slowed to a stop and soon the air was filled with applause and a celebratory cheer from our fellow passengers.
The celebration was short-lived. The flight attendant’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “We’re sorry folks. We had to divert to Colorado Springs after all.”
The disappointed grumbles returned. So much for our connection! What would we do now? Our only hope now would be that the connecting flight couldn’t land at Denver either. But the airline’s website said the plane had been there for hours. Our mood darkened with that of the crowd.
Then the speaker came to life again, “…Oh. I’m sorry. My mistake. Apparently, we are in Denver!” And the cheers resumed.
We had spent so much time circling, our connecting flight showed as already boarding. We wouldn’t have much time! But we gathered our things, deplaned, and fast-walked across the airport to get to our next gate. When we got there, the door to the aircraft was closed, but as it turned out, not because we were too late. They weren’t boarding yet because they didn’t have enough crew. We were to be delayed by at least an hour, waiting for the rest of the crew to get there.
Time passed. The snow seemed to lighten a bit. Ultimately, we were allowed to get on the plane, and then we got in line and waited to be de-iced. Again, we waited. This time for an hour and a half, waiting for a snorkel truck to spray us first with an orange liquid, and ultimately a greenish goo.
Eventually we left the de-icing zone and soon after were trundling down the runway. The man seated next to me was a resident of the Big Island and an aviation person to-boot, and even he got visibly nervous as more and more of the runway passed beneath us without the plane lifting off the ground. I swear we used every last inch of that runway before the nose tipped up. The wheels left the ground, and the snow-covered field at the end of the runway instantly passed beneath. Our arrival time at Kona was projecting to be more than 3 hours late. But we were on our way to the Big Island at last.
It was a long flight. The seats were worn and uncomfortable. It would be dark before we arrived, so that would make the approach decidedly less interesting. But approach we did, and with our second touchdown of the day, we arrived at the Kona international airport. We turned on our phones to text the folks at home about our safe arrival and were greeted by a message from the airline.
“Welcome to Kona. We wanted to let you know that your 2 bags will be arriving on a later flight. To save time and skip the baggage services line, use this link to set up complimentary bag delivery online…”
There were no more flights that night, which meant the bags couldn’t get to us until the next day at the earliest.
Welcome to paradise.
Hope you’re not dressed too warmly. (We were)
And sadly, being out of practice at flying, we had not packed any spare clothes in our carry-on.
The next message from the airline was even more reassuring: “We’re working to locate your baggage. We’ll keep you updated on the status of your baggage. You can also get status updates online at…”
I checked the link. The locator on the website said our bags were still in Colorado Springs. Apparently, along with us and our plane. *sigh*
We stopped at the Queen’s Market and bought some toothbrushes, and a couple of t-shirts to sleep in. The wind outside was incredibly strong. The seasonal trade winds were whipping across the islands, reaching gusts of 40-50 mph. We had dinner, then drove through the darkness to the condo Mike and Sara had rented for our two-week stay. The wind buffeted and shook the building. Because of the four-hour time difference, we were exhausted by 10pm. With fingers crossed, we crawled into bed and fell asleep listening to the wind roaring past the windows and generating visions of random suitcases spinning on invisible waves of the gale-force winds.
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