All Roads Lead to Rome 6/21/21 - 6/25/21

Even though this is 2 years old, I’m hoping it’s enjoyable. It took a while for me to be able to write about it, and then it just got stuffed away for a while. I still cringe when thinking about some of the adventures we had on this one!

A much-needed healing start to the trip...

We enjoy Crystal Crane Hot Springs

Our most recent trip, a trailer camping excursion to Eastern Oregon complete with our 17-year-old cat  Shoppie, included an overnight and soaking at Crytstal Crane Hot Springs while snow fell on us in late April/early May—just a couple of months before this venture. That was so enjoyable, Chris booked us a room at the springs where we had our own private hot tub on this trip, a nice way of starting out our antelope scouting trip near Rome. It was a good idea as it turned out, because this time of year the hot springs were packed full of families. We were rather surprised as it was HOT and didn't seem like much of a draw for folks—hot springs in June in the desert—but there you have it! So we wound up escaping the throngs into our private hot springs tub, enclosed out our back door under the puffy clouds and blue sky, later giving way to the moon and stars.

And it was a nice healing way to soothe
ourselves as we mourned the loss of Shoppie. She succumbed rather quickly a little over a week prior following some kind of seizure/stroke. We struggled with the letting go part but finally realized she was not going to get better and was no longer enjoying her life. She had been a huge part of our lives for 17 years and as most any pet owner can relate, our furry loved ones sure do leave a void when they're gone. We reminisced, cried, and soaked, and began distracting ourselves with our scouting plans.

1^st Day of Scouting – What appeared to be a great start...

For those of you who don't understand how we intended to drive to Rome from Crane, Oregon, here's some clarification: we're talking Rome, Oregon—a little town of say 29 people in the middle of nowhere. It also happens to be in the middle of the country where the antelope are supposed to roam (yes, that's roam in Rome) and famous for its amazing “Pillars of Rome” rock formations which are astounding.

Beautiful desert surrounded us

After a good night's sleep following all of the soaking, we left Crystal Crane Hot Springs to look for breakfast, but the single cafe in Crane was closed due to lack of staff (Covid was to blame). We went to our handy-dandy breakfast back-up plan—jerky, pastry and coffee—and started our trek towards Rome, where our reserved cabin waited for us. We had decided to do some exploring before arriving in Rome by first venturing up Crowley Road to scout some side roads before getting to our destination.

Old dogs with new tricks...

We were very pleased with ourselves and our preparatory work before leaving Salem. Chris had identified all kinds of points on the map of Chris’ assigned unit that we wanted to hit using the satellite views on our home computer, and I had entered them into the GPS unit for guidance as we drove. Since most roads are not signed around those parts, it really helped to verify with the GPS points. For example, thanks to our GPS mark, we knew we were on the correct CR-1 point which was Crowley Road and Hwy 78. We patted our geezer backs as we congratulated our technological skills. 

One grave of a 3-year-old who we discovered died in a fire

Crowley Road proved prosperous to begin with. We took our time and enjoyed whatever we ran into. We investigated a small family pioneer cemetery, saw a cool spot for Chris to perhaps hunt in August (good water hole, higher viewing ground) and marked it on the GPS, saw 8 antelope, 8 deer, 2 cranes, and watched a badger pop his head up and down in up/down periscope action—cute.

It was when we began looking for our next GPS point, named T-4 for “Tub Springs Road” that there was a change in the force that brought us our good fortune thus far. According to our map and GPS research, this road started near the highway (T-1) and ended on Crowley Corral, the road we were currently on. We figured that travelling from T-4 to T-1 would take us back to Rome in time to check in, eat, and get settled in our cabin. It was about noon by this time and we felt confident about getting through this 25-mile stretch of road within 4 or 5 hours.

Sometimes the roads leading to Rome aren't even roads...

Due to lack of signage and intimidating “No Trespassing” signs, we missed what turned out to be “Tub Springs Road” and traveled a ways on Crowley Road until we realized our mistake and headed back. We still weren't exactly sure that the GPS was accurate when we approached T-4 but luckily ran into a rancher with his 2 boys who was all smiles until Chris asked if this road was indeed “Tub Springs Road”. His reaction was not lost on either of us, later comparing notes: he said, “Oh yeah, that's it,” then blew out some air indicating some trouble ahead, as if wondering why anyone would travel on Tub Springs Road. We were still working with some level of confidence.

One of the nicer roads this trip

So confident were we, that when it came to a left/right choice (our rancher buddy had indicated to “stay left”) at a place where the road to the right looked better, we...went right. How wrong can a right be. We passed through really bad stretches—climbing over individual boulders and banging back down even at incredibly slow speeds—followed by some good stretches, making us believe the worst was behind us. Onward we went because...who wanted to go BACK over the bad stretches we’d just driven over?

And we kept on and on because we knew this road eventually had to lead us out. The roughness only got worse in parts...but we knew we were close to the end of the road.

Sometimes the end means the END...

After some harrowing bouncing around and banging up and down in the truck (my chiropractor got more business out of me after this trip!), we did indeed reach the end of the road with a locked gate barring further travel. Seeing a house down at the end of the gated road, Chris decided to venture down on foot and see about getting some help or maybe get permissions to access a way out. I stayed around the truck and kept my eye out for him as best as I could—scenes from “Deliverance” flashed through my mind and I worried that someone might try to shoot him for trespassing on their property or some such.

This badger probably even thought we were crazy!

But as luck would or would not have it, the house was abandoned and...the road did not continue in any fashion after the house...just stopped right in the front yard.

When Chris got back to the truck, we contemplated trying other side roads on the way back that might be better but realized that we were running out of time and at least, as awful as it had been, the road we came in on had a known way out for us at the other (T-4) end. We had spent at least 3 hours getting to the locked gate and suspected 3 hours back which might put us too late to check into our cabin in Rome. Of course there was no signal to be had, so we couldn't call ahead and explain our predicament.

Back we went, on that almost impassable road. I kept having visions of blowing out a tire or two and being stranded in the desert heat, so when we finally made our way to the end and back onto Crowley Road, we congratulated the truck on managing to climb over all of those boulders and get us out of there.

Time keeps on ticking...

I kept my eye on the cell phone and as soon as I got a couple of bars, we stopped and got a hold of Rome. Since Rome is on Mountain Time, their closing was even closer than we’d thought and they were sure we wouldn't make it in time, but told us where to find the key and get in our cabin when we arrived.

We were starving for some non-snack food, and Chris put the pedal to the metal—no stopping to gawk at anything on the way back!--and we managed to get back to Rome “the long way around” just in time to still get a burger. We had driven through some pounding rain on the highway to Rome and then, while we ate our burgers, heard the locals exclaiming about the awful storm. Evidently, the wind kicked up so much dust that an emergency alert message went out to everyone to stay in their cars and stop driving on the highway—pull over and wait out the blinding periods. We were glad we missed that before getting to our burgers.

The things you overlook when you're tired...

When we put our stuff into our cabin before going back to the cafe to eat, a quick glance told us it would do just fine—had a bed, an AC unit, running water, towels. And we were tired, so...it was just fine.

Chris was joking when he came across this toilet in the
desert, but our accommodations weren't
much better!

One of the staff introduced himself to us, Keith, and explained that due to Covid and lack of staff, he was the resident handyman and mechanic as well as the maid. He was incredibly friendly, as were the owners. When he shook hands with Chris, Chris noticed Keith's evident mechanic's hands—cleanliness not being a huge priority—and wondered how his “maid-work” fared. Keith wanted us to make sure we let him know if anything wasn't right in the room, and he'd take care of it, but we didn't pursue that even after noticing some, well, below par cleanliness in the room. It had what we needed and pickings were slim in these parts so we sucked it up...and we slept well.

2^nd Day of Scouting...the “R” route...

After a good breakfast at the Rome cafe, we headed south out of Rome on our “R” route we had mapped out with GPS points.

The first hill was skeptical, climbing steeply uphill on a pretty treacherous road, but after that the road seemed to get better and we were breathing sighs of relief after our experience the previous day. We even stopped near a huge crater that looked to be about ½-mile away on the map and decided to hike into it. It was more like 2 miles, a lot further than it looked—one of the deceptions of wide open spaces we've discovered. But we managed to get to the crater and back in the heat and felt good about getting a hike in.

We did manage to find places to walk and scout,
in spite of treacherous driving conditions.

P.S. No antelope spotted.

Deja Vu all over...

Not long after we left the crater, we began climbing over rocks, threatening to drive off sides of hills, and going through that dilemma—do we keep going and get out of here or do we go back? Right when we contemplated going back, the road would get better, teasing us along until the next hell...uh, hill.

Finally, we hit one of our GPS points that indicated we were close to the way out. Once again, GPS and reality did not agree. We headed around a water hole (clear on the map, clear by GPS point indicators), lumped our way around boulders, then headed toward the end of the road. Which was indeed the END OF THE ROAD at an old pump station.

Once again, we had to go back and retrace our steps only this time accidentally went a different way out—that led to us “sight-seeing” another part of the territory and finally emerging in time to explore some another “K” route we had mapped.

Again, no antelope to be seen.

Just some of the spectacular Rome Pillars

The K route wound up including our ticket into the famous Pillars of Rome and we thoroughly enjoyed those spectacular visions, even as the wind kicked up, blowing us sideways as we tried to film.

We made our way back to the Rome café for our second evening and learned over dinner that they were planning a family reunion the next day, so we wouldn't be extending our stay there which we were considering doing.

3^rd Day of Scouting...Let's right some wrongs...maybe NOT

We bid our hosts goodbye at Rome and started out with our “K” route to hook up to the “T” route hoping to do it correctly this time. We learned nothing, saw nothing, and realized we couldn't pull the trailer on these roads or even want to go back with the truck. Again, really bad places and really bad roads. At one point I was in tears with back pain and didn't think I could go on—whew!! Rested, had a cold Mike's, some Advil, and good as “new”...onward!

Even with all the mayhem, Chris manages
to have some fun in the desert.

We again managed to get turned around, even with our handy-dandy GPS points, and wound up in what felt like some rancher's yard...but we got back to Crowley and headed on up towards Harper...lots of beauty in between, and Crowley itself was not a bad road, so...yay.

We managed to see antelope (2 or 4—we're not sure if it was the same 2 or not, but looking at our footage it seems that it may have been 2 separate pairs) and that was exciting after all of the scout-drought we had had so far. We also scoped out a possible camping spot and then enjoyed the countryside as we made our way to Harper and the highway.

The town of Harper was kind of depressing and we didn't spend much time scouring anything there, then decided to drive west and get a room in Burns for the night.

4^th Day of Scouting...Home to Ponder...

After spending a night in what felt like the last place to get a room in Burns, we wanted to go back and re-visit Crowley Road and the potentials we saw there.

Behind the cemetery was a great camping spot complete with shade. Since the good water-hole spot Chris had found previously was just a hop up the road, this might be perfect. We felt pretty chipper after the campsite find.

We then hiked the road into the watering hole and found maybe one set of antelope tracks...not really hopeful.

At this point in time, we were planning on doing Chris' antelope hunt together. We had ruled out bringing the trailer at the other end of the road towards Harper where we spotted the 2 or 4 antelope, but felt the need to re-consider.

None of the facts seemed to add up to anything more than bleak: the weather would be hot, camping would be challenging, and we'd barely seen any antelope. But he had waited 14 years for this chance and it seemed a shame to just blow it off, so we kept at the various scenarios.

An antelope buck bids us adieu and good luck!

Other than the disappointments, it was a memorable trip and one for the books for sure. It's always a mystery what we'll find when we venture out, and that makes it worth the effort.

We went back home to ponder.

Upon dealing with the repair needed for my back after this trip, I was given direct doctor’s orders to never go on those kinds of nasty roads again, or truck camp ever again for that matter. So, Chris did the hunt by himself, crawling over the hideous roads and documenting his truck-camping hunt. If interested, you can see his entire adventure in our Darchris Journals episode 42 (link: https://youtu.be/2aVwpOwA_Js ). If you do watch it, I think you’ll understand why, although I definitely raised my glass to Chris in support, I appreciated missing out on that one!

Happy (Memory) Trails - A Tale of Two Odysseys

Chris enjoying a hard-earned freshly caught fish
at his secret spot (taken from self-filmed footage)

Me with friend Kim at one of the many Cape Lookout vistas
(taken by other hikers passing by)

Chris and I usually travel together and share our adventures. But recently we decided to split up for the day and take different paths through the forest to wind up with similar outcomes. Revisiting memories buried by the passing of many years—memories as vivid as if they had occurred yesterday—we both had the common goal of hopefully seeing through “today’s” eyes the beauty of a time and place long ago enjoyed. Would we each find our place, or would we discover as Thomas Wolfe said, “You can’t go home again.”

Chris’ journey involved a secret place along Oregon's Santiam River he had been fishing for over 50 years, including with his daughter over 30 years ago. He last visited/fished it about 20 years before and wondered if he could find the same solace there now. 

Chris' daughter Rainy over 30 years ago
at her dad's Santiam spot...

Rainy proud of her trout...

For me, I had hiked an Oregon coastal cape about 30 years ago and had vivid memories of the spectacular vistas; I wanted to at least find the hike again and see if the views would still inspire me.

Different Strokes...

We like many of the same things, Chris and I, but we do have varying degrees and brands of enjoyment when it comes to hiking through the woods. Believe me, I knew that I was marrying a Jeremiah Johnson 20 years ago. In our 4 years together prior to “sealing the deal”, I learned how much he liked his independence and was witness to many examples of how he leans towards handling everything by himself. He also likes to...shall we say...“off-road” on foot. In other words, no trail needed. He just tromps through brush and other impediments without a care. His Dad calls him a “billy goat of the woods” and it certainly fits—he seems to merrily skip and hop along, whether it's crossing a log over rushing water or bulldozing his way through Devil's Club or other atrocities. Bruises and scratches are a proud result of a great hike for him.

Chris' trail today--lots harder to navigate than it was years ago...
lots more stuff to plow through!!

Today, there is no end to the obstacles on Chris' "trail".

Me? I really like a good trail. And those logs he's skipping along across? You'll find me crawling and dragging my carcass in order to make sure I don't break any (more) bones, thank you very much. And I prefer my wonders of nature to be relatively injury-free.

Kim walking ahead of me on our Cape trail...
Notice the actual trail here!

The other thing we differ on is the appropriate time to go do our outdoor things. Chris is an early bird...like EARLY...we're talking 3:00 or 4:00 am. I like to try and get a good night's sleep of oh, say 7 hours or so and ease into the exploration, but if I care to join said Jeremiah-Johnson-husband Chris on adventures, and most of the times I do, I have to alter my clock accordingly.

The most extreme example of this difference happened on our last trip to Idaho when we scouted/explored that country for a hunt tag Chris had applied for. Okay, so when Chris asked the woman running our Motel/Cafe what time they opened for breakfast the following morning, I naturally jumped to the conclusion that we were perhaps going to have some breakfast before taking off for some scouting. When she said “6:30,” I thought, “Great! It's 9:00 pm...I should be able to get in a good bit of sleep before we have breakfast and take off—cool!” My bad. Shouldn’t jump to conclusions—duh!

We got to sleep around 10:00 pm and then I had to get up at 2:00 am for a “calling” in the bathroom. I stumbled into the little room, and looked forward to stumbling my way back to bed when I opened the door. But then greeting me upon cracking said door was a very excited Chris—with all the annoying enthusiasm of, say, Richard Simmons on 5 cups of espresso—exclaiming, “Hey! Let's go scouting NOW!” like it was the most exciting idea he had come up with in a long time. I managed to get myself together by 2:30, much to Chris' exasperation at my slowness, and we did head off. 

Now here's the thing Chris keeps pointing out to me about getting such early starts: you do wind up seeing some pretty amazing things. And that morning was no exception. As we crept along the road towards our scouting areas, I saw an adorable little baby fox by the side of the road...probably not something I was likely to see after a comfortable get-up followed by a 6:30 am breakfast. I'm not crazy about him being right, but there you have it.

Chris and the Santiam...

Chris fishing one of his beloved Santiam spots...

So, it's no great surprise to anyone that Chris and I took very different approaches when given our separate days of exploration. Chris' Santiam hike to his secret fishing hole involved a way-early departure and a steep bush-whacking time of it. His oasis place had always been a bit of a challenge to get to, but it had been made way worse over time. 

To top off this challenge, he decided to film himself making the sojourn, as you can see from some of the still pictures from his video. His hard work paid off, and he wound up feeling reassured that his place was untouched. 

Chris examining his freshly-caught trout...

Chris building a fire where he cooked his trout in a
butter and garlic-laden foil wrap he had packed in...

He not only caught fish, he took supplies to make his own fire so that he could cook and eat his lunch right there on the rocks by the beautiful Santiam River. He was gratified that his secret was safe...even after 50 years' time. 

Enjoying his fish lunch...

Chris then lamented that the spot which used to be his "honey hole"
years ago had definitely changed.

Although he prefaced showing me his video of the horrible things he hiked through to get to his spot with, “Oh, you are going to be SO GLAD you weren't on this hike!” and I thought several times while watching the video, “Oh I am SO GLAD I wasn't on this hike!”, I was proud of and happy for him to have accomplished such a feat.

Darcie and the Cape...

One of the many views of the ocean
through the forested trees along the trail...

For years now, I have been wondering where the coastal cape hike I had taken 30 years ago had been exactly, and had been toying with various explorations to re-discover its magic. I invited my hiking buddy and long-time friend Kim Claggett to join me and off we went to try out the Cape Lookout trail near the coast.

The memories I had of the hike that lingered from years ago included a pretty secluded trail—had the place to myself!--but what really struck me back then were the vistas along the way. I remembered a winding trail through the forest where you could actually see the ocean below through the surrounding forested slopes. I loved that feeling of being in the woods and yet having the ocean right there as well. The other thing I remember well was the breath-taking place where I ate my lunch on top of the cliffs, looking out at the expanse if ocean and way-way-down at cliffs below with seagulls, looking so tiny, flying above them. I shared these images and memories with Kim and we were on a mission to decipher if this was indeed the trail that I had taken.

It was really quite thrilling to feel the same sensations and to be thinking, “Wow, I think this just might be the place!” as we rounded corner after corner of the forested ocean views. It seemed to get more and more clear that we were on the right “path” and then Kim, who was hiking ahead of me, suddenly asked with a smile, “Darcie, is this the place where you had lunch maybe? Look down there!” I actually gasped; it was such an amazing feeling to see those cliffs with seagulls swirling about way below us.

Sitting on the cliff to eat our lunch, we could see way below us,
the seagulls flying (barely visible white spots close to the cliffs here)

I had tears in my eyes as we relished the views and then sat down to eat OUR lunch, not far at all from where I had eaten mine back then. We couldn't directly recreate that bit because, due to safety issues, my old spot was chained off.

Unlike Chris, my odyssey did not involve a well-kept secret. Not at all. I don't even remember there being much of a parking lot 30 years ago and now there's quite a crowd of cars, especially in the summer. It's heartening to know that so many Oregonians get themselves and their families out for this kind of entertainment, but I felt a little whimsical for the quieter and more private days of yore. Kim and I still managed to thoroughly enjoy the day and the hike. In spite of the number of parked cars and people, we still had many parts of the trail to ourselves, so there was enough of it to spread us all out at least.

Back Home…

Would Chris have enjoyed my hike as much as I did? Probably not. He would have appreciated the vistas, but preferred to have found a more secluded place to enjoy them. He was very happy for me in finding my old “haunt” though, as he has been a part of my reminiscing over the years. He reveled in the fact that I had re-discovered my little Utopia almost as much as I did.

So Chris had his kind of day and I had mine. And we both discovered that although you can't always “go home again”, you can usually find ways to recreate your own magic around what exists today.

Come Fly with Me...Maybe NOT!!

My Worst Flight to Date: March 26, 2018

Who knew what I was in for when I boarded American Airlines Flight 1787 at 6:15 pm out of Charlotte, NC…

Some reputations you can be proud of; this is not one of those. I’ve become notorious for having the worst luck with flights—well, okay, not the REAL WORST where I don’t live to tell about it, but bad enough that when I begin a story of my latest flight experience, the head-shakes and eye-rolls begin with my family and friends. Some now even stop me in mid-sentence to say, “Wait a minute!” and pull out the beer and popcorn…here comes your latest entertainment, folks…MY bad luck!

A Little Background

As my sister says, “What IS it with you and flying?!!” To which, I can only agree, “I know, right?” There was the famous 2010 reunion flight (my “Houston, We Have a Problem” blog) where I managed to do battle with a red-eye flight and wound up going through security 3 times in one day, then arriving in hurricane country in time for Hurricane Earl. Another time I overheard the pilot arguing with the control tower—“Doesn’t anyone know what they’re DOING out there?!”—when getting ready to take off at O’Hare; this was back in the day when they let you plug into the cockpit goings-on…I’ve noticed a lack of that feature since then. One turbulent experience had the whole plane flopping back and forth and dropping so hard that, upon landing, the uniformed pilot in front of my row who had hitched a ride with us, turned and said, “I really did not think we were going to make that one!” Needless to say, there was a long line at the first available airport bathroom after that flight.

On and on it goes… I’ve experienced all of the usual common complaints of frequent flyers—screaming babies, sick people who don’t cover their mouths when coughing and sneezing next to you, and turbulence that has you reviewing your whole life while the flying sardine box whizzes and bounces seemingly out of control. But this time, on my March 26^th flight from Charlotte, N.C. to Portland, Oregon, it appears I have taken my own special brand of excitement to significant outer-reaches.

The Foreshadowing

First off, my flight TO the East Coast on March 16^th had a new “thing” for me—I had never before heard a pilot actually scream over the intercom but this one did—“Sit down and belt up NOW!”—because the Nor’easters were playing havoc with our beloved plane and he wanted all flight crew to abandon the snack cart idea and get back in their seats immediately. Also, a gentleman who had been in the bathroom during our extreme turbulence came busting out and literally ran to his seat to buckle in, zipping up his pants as he squirted past our row. I began my mantra and reviewing-of-life, “I’ve had a GOOD life…” and we proceeded to toss about some more before roughly landing, with me wobbling off the craft.

Little did I know that so far what I had experienced in my aviation adventures was nothing in comparison to my flight back to the West Coast on the 26^th. NOTHING.

The Happy Beginning

After an awesome visit with family—including a memorable shared time with my sister, our special visit with our mom, and an epic time with my son and his family, which of course included spending precious time with my amazing granddaughters in Charlotte—it was time once again for me to face the beast of the airways and, to my credit, I did so with a positive attitude. I was thrilled to have a non-stop flight, unheard of since it was spring break and Easter was just around the corner, and I called my husband to share my ultimate hope that this would be a quiet flight where maybe I could get some sleep. Ahhhhhh. Ignorance IS bliss, isn’t it?

Smoothly went the boarding process and I settled into my window seat—yes!

When all passengers were onboard and the safety instructions started, the guy in the aisle seat of my row and I made eye contact and gave each other a thumb’s up since it was evident that we had an empty middle seat between us—unheard of in these days of flight overbooking—sweet!!

Déjà Vu Begins to Rear its Ugly Head…

As soon as we were in the air, the flight crew began dealing with a young couple who had been seated apart, and their distressed toddler who was trying to get back and forth between them, getting crankier in his distress. The flight crew politely asked Mr. Aisle Seat and me if we would consider moving to the 2 aisle seats that the family had occupied, giving them the row where they could be together, and we quickly agreed. They moved my row buddy to the aisle seat directly across and me to the aisle seat directly in front of the row we were in.

I took a quick scan of the row I was now sitting in—a doe-eyed 20-something young lady smiled at me from her window seat, and a 40-something odd-looking guy looked up at me but didn’t respond at all when I said hello and sat down next to him. Fine. No problemo. “He will be quiet and so will I,” thought I. The toddler behind me took this opportunity to have a screaming jag, and 2 of the people across from me, began coughing and sneezing with Bubonic Plague sounds and the light caught the sputum flying in the air towards me since they weren’t covering their mouths, thank you very much. There’s comfort in the familiar, and I knew just what to do; I wiped my surroundings with disinfectant sheets and popped out the Airborne. Here we go again!

And Déjà Vu Takes a Nasty Left Turn…

I tried to settle into my book, but almost instantly, Middle Seat guy—I’ll refer to him as “M”—started rocking back and forth, and jerking forward and back; he could not keep still—his legs were dancing everywhere. It didn’t take long for me to realize that something was a bit off about “M”  and I felt kind of sorry for him—hang on, this too shall pass!—and I figured that perhaps the Window Seat young lady might be flying with him—a relative maybe—and would know the issue. I made eye contact with her and she immediately returned a rather frightened look and threw up her hands as if to say, “I have NO idea!”

I quickly forgot about getting any sleep, and tried my best to be polite and read my book, but “M” would have none of that. He took off his belt, draped that around his neck, then took a back brace he had on and wrapped that around his head, holding onto it and throwing his head back/forth and side-to-side. Within the first half-hour of flight, he needed to use the bathroom—which he needed to do at least 8 more times during the flight—so I got up, let him out. He spent some time back there and I talked to the young lady a little bit—we agreed that it would probably be a long flight.

When “M” returned, he began hitting his tray table and kicking the seat in front of him, so the people in front of us were naturally irritated and turning around. I quietly whispered to them that he was a little “off” and I’d talk to the flight crew about any solutions.

So back I went to the flight crew—the first of many trips to their area as it turned out—and asked if any of them were aware of “M”s issues, as in, were they given any kind of heads up by the people who helped him get on this flight? They said no, and began watching him. It didn’t take long for “M” to show his colors and for them to agree that “M” was indeed not quite right.

“Oh my God!” said one of the crew, “Here we move you to another seat and it turns out like this! Drinks and snacks are on us—do you want anything?” I was full from a big lunch before my flight and I hadn’t been doing a whole lot of drinking the last few years, but this seemed like an exception—“Well, I wouldn’t mind a vodka cranberry, actually.” She immediately made me a double, and I’m thinking, “Okay, maybe I can make it through this flight…”

“M” See “M” Do…

One of the crew went to speak to “M” and asked if he would like anything, as he was obviously in some distress. He requested a double whiskey and water. Seeing as how none of us knew what his problem was or whether he was on some kind of medication for whatever his condition was, they were a bit squeamish about giving him liquor, but decided to give him a single to see if that helped calm him down at all.

It did not.

The crew then asked if I would like to move; there was a middle seat on the exit row—more leg room—that was available if I wanted it. I was really tempted but I was also thinking about the young lady in the window seat who could not escape from him as easily as I could. I suggested we ask her if she wanted to move, then maybe give him the window seat with a seat between us—and maybe the extra space would help relax him a little. The young lady jumped at the move, thanking me, and then one of the crew told “M” he could have the window seat and stretch out now.

I went back to my seat with a little hope in my heart, vodka in my veins, and an extra bottle they had plied me with in my pocket. Added note: one of the staff wanted to ply me with several more bottles but before I could say, “Woah!” another pointed out that if I was going to be their “eyes” on this guy, they didn’t want me passing out. We all laughed.

“M” definitely stretched out—bobbling back and forth so that sometimes his head was almost in my lap, sometimes his legs were bumping into mine. The couple in front of me was thankful that he was moved over so he was no longer torturing them but now, unfortunately, that meant that their window seat woman was his latest victim. He kicked her seat repeatedly, belched with a distinctive odor in her direction which she commented loudly on, then pounded the tray, and shook the top of her seat vigorously.

No Longer Ignorance, No Longer Bliss

As the snack cart made its way back to us—and the flight crew nervously watching his latest actions—“M” suddenly stood up and leaned forward over the chair in front of him and the lady then quickly scooted to the front edge of her seat, turned around to look up at him and irritatingly exclaimed, “Are you WELL?!!!!” to which he replied, “Yeah, well, no, sorry,” then plunked down to continue thrashing about. When the crew got to her row, the woman pointed behind her and asked, “Is this a known issue?” to which they said, “We’re finding out all we can.”

When they then reached our row, “M” ordered another whiskey and water. The staff looked at each other quickly and the one at our row said, “Sir, we’re cutting you off. No more liquor. You’re welcome to anything else—soda, water, snacks—but not liquor.” He bought a snack box and ordered a soda. The crew member then leaned down to me and whispered, “Darcie—anything you want—any snack? Any more drinks?” I was still not hungry but ordered some more cranberry juice to go with the vodka bottle I still had from the last time she plied me. “M” proceeded to trash the 2 seats he occupied—snacks everywhere, spilled his drink in the seat, with wrappers and cardboard all over the place.

After tiring of sitting at the front edge of her set, the window seat woman finally got up and went back towards the bathrooms, and then “M” wanted out too. It was his 4^th trip in about 2 hours and he made his way back with belt draped around his neck, holding his pants up while zipping/un-zipping them. The window seat woman did not return and “M” came back after a long bit of time.

Very soon, there was the distinct smell of smoke. The couple with the toddler behind us noticed it right away and pushed the call light. I smelled it and the people in front of me smelled it; we were all looking back towards the restrooms. When the staff took the call, they immediately charged back to the bathrooms, banging on the doors to stop whatever was going on. Two poor souls emerged professing their innocence. One girl, almost in tears, was sobbing, “I swear to you I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my life!”

So, gee, where might the smoke have come from? A dreaded kind of premonition caused me to turn my head to the right and that’s when I saw “M”s left pocket with a big ol’ box of Camels sticking out.

The crew was in the back trying to figure out the problem and I headed to them, explaining that I may have an idea of who was responsible. When I poked my head back into their area, I spotted the window seat woman—who had earlier departed from our area—with a drink in her hand, sitting there calming her nerves. She raised her glass in a salute, and obviously intended to stay there as long as she could. Couldn’t blame her a bit.

On my way back to my seat this time, the guy who had been moved with me in the beginning offered to switch seats with me for the rest of the flight. “I can’t believe the raw deal you got!” Nice offer, but I declined…I was ready to ride this one out.

In Denial

One of the crew went to “M” and asked “Sir, were you smoking in the bathroom?” to which he shook his head and grumbled, “No!”

There was nothing to do but return to my seat and when “M” inevitably wanted to use the bathroom again, there was nothing the crew could do but let him lock himself in and hope he didn’t burn anything down. He came back not smelling of smoke this time (whew!) and plunked down again, banging on the now empty seat in front of him. I mentally saluted, “Here’s to you, window seat woman in the flight attendant station with your drink!”

Soon, “M” was fidgeting in his pockets—I was trying to simultaneously read my book and use peripheral vision to see what he was up to—and pulled out his wallet. He got up on his knees and turned to the couple-with-toddler behind and said, “Will you buy me a whiskey and water?” to which the father said, “No sir, I don’t drink.” He said, “You don’t have to drink it, just buy it for me with my money.” Nope. He then turned to me—focus-on-your-book-Darcie-focus-on-your-book!—and would not let me ignore him. I gave him a resounding no, and headed back to my spot with the flight crew once again. “Okay, now he’s offering money to others to buy him a drink.” Eye-rolls all around and then window seat woman—nursing the same or another drink—said, “Well, that takes care of wondering if he’s in his right mind, doesn’t it?” Nodding, and unhappy faces all around. Reluctantly, I returned to my seat.

About this time, the recent vodka cranberry took effect and I actually dozed off, in spite of everything. I awoke to the flight crew leaning over me sternly talking to “M” about his latest escapade which evidently involved a lighter he was flicking and making other passengers nervous. She also explained that they would have to have him arrested if he continued in this fashion. He denied the lighter action and I was now wide awake once again. Oh joy.

Why Can’t I Keep My Mouth Shut?

“M” began his thrashing again and I noticed out of my left side that the young lady sitting in the aisle seat across from me was looking over at him skeptically. “Boy, he really makes me nervous!” she said, to which I said, “I know, right? Do we have the row from Hell or what? I’ve got him and you’ve got those sickos next to you,” referring to the Bubonic plague duo not covering their mouths to cough and sneeze. Not long after I expressed that observation, I came to the realization that she was with those 2 and I had just stuck my foot in my mouth big time. I’m going to blame the vodka. Just sprinkling my sunshine everywhere I go, I guess!

Can There Be Any More Drama?

About 90 minutes before landing—and after the longest 4 plus hours of flight ever—I was trying once more to focus on my book when I saw out of the corner of my eye a glint of metal. I turned to “M” and saw him flicking open a pocket knife in his hands. When he caught me looking at him, he quickly snapped it shut, putting it in his left pocket.

I actually toyed for a moment with not reporting it just because I was tired of complaining about him, but then better judgment got the best of me and back I went. This was the last straw for them and the crew jumped into action.

The security person on board contacted the Portland Airport security and they arranged for police to meet the plane once we landed. Staff picked up my stuff and moved me to a middle seat that 2 businessmen had been using for an office, and I felt bad busting up their party but explained a little of what was going on. The guys were pretty muscular and tough-looking so when the one sitting to my left asked how far back “M” was—he was 9 rows back from this new row—I thought he would try to go do something but instead he said, “That’s not far enough back; I don’t like that guy behind us!” Oh, cry me a river.

The landing at Portland Airport was smooth enough, then the pilot came on the loudspeaker to explain that everyone needed to stay seated after landing. The 2 guys on either side of me knew why but everyone else began looking around nervously.

After several minutes stopped at the gate, with everyone sitting still, 2 vested up police officers tromped down the aisle towards “M”. I didn’t look back but saw “M” scuttling up the aisle, with one of the officers running to keep up with him. The other officer proceeded behind and asked, “Now who saw the knife?”

“That would be me,” I said, and we talked for a few, me showing him about how big it was, adding that he put it in his left pocket. He thanked me and continued on.

15 Minutes of Unwelcome Fame…

I felt sort of like a celebrity for a little while…all the crew knew my name and hugged me on my way out, apologizing for my awful flight. Then others were curious and had to ask me questions all the way out. Some questions were rhetorical: “How did he get past security with a lighter and a knife?—I couldn’t even get my water jug past them!”

“M” was at the gate when we got off, talking to both police officers, and my legs were rather wobbly, so as soon as I found an empty gate, I sat down facing a moving walkway.

On the way there, a woman had said, “Well, that certainly wasn’t a boring flight!” I agreed and said, “My husband’s not going to believe this,” to which she said, “Honey, you just had 200 witnesses to what happened; he’s got to believe you!”

So I called my husband and he was probably popping the popcorn as I began my tale. The officers went by on the walkway as we talked, then the flight crew…then “M” who saw me and stared at me the entire time he was on the walkway, which I reported to my husband who then stayed on the phone with me in the baggage area, until I caught the Hut Shuttle to Salem.

Lessons Learned

A flight that crashed would have been worse than this one, but I have to admit to several times thinking, “If we crash now, I have 3 fewer hours to deal with this guy…” etc. But now, of course, I’m glad it didn’t.

In trying to figure out how to turn this into a positive, I’ve decided to start a web site where I outline every flight plan I have in the future. This way, all of you innocents can plan accordingly—doing the opposite of what I do.

You’re welcome.