The Flying Entomologist

Work just got a hell of a lot more interesting

I have a complicated relationship with flying. On a commercial flight, as the plane takes off, I am completely absorbed by the houses and trees shrinking away-fascinated with the view from above. However, as anyone who has flown with me before knows, at the first quiver of turbulence, I will latch, vice-like, onto my their hand and not release my death grip until either the turbulence has completely subsided or they beg me to allow their circulation to return. (The only person who didn’t experience this was my Uncle Tomas, who had this magical ability to convince me that the plane was not actually about to tumble out of the sky, but that it was riding over tiny waves like a boat). Essentially, every plane ride is an exercise in stress management.

This brings me to a fine August day when my fellow lab members and I were leaving a forest health workshop in Southern Illinois. I was basking in the glow of hosting a successful event and delivering a presentation about trees to a roomful of foresters (may I remind you that I am an entomologist). We were driving past the tiny Marion Airport,  when my boss turned to me and said, “Hey Erin, I’d like you to contact that airport to see about renting a plane and a pilot so that you can do some flyovers.”

Uh, what?!

My happy glow was abruptly extinguished, my brain immediately pushed play on a montage of flight disaster movies, and I froze. For a moment, I thought I wouldn't even consider it.  

But then, a small part of me, the one that wears a fedora and runs around snatching precious idols to the strains of a John Williams soundtrack though, “that might be...kind of cool”. And as my thoughts tumbled around, I said “Sure, boss.”

My boss, Dr. Miller, is one of the few forest entomologists in the state, and thus is responsible for monitoring the health of the forests on state lands. And the best way to survey the health of large chunks of forest is from above. These “aerial surveys” are an important part of forest management . I was instructed to look for patches of dead trees, browning trees, or thinning trees. After sighting a suspicious area from above, we can return to the area in a vehicle to “ground-truth” and determine what might be going on.

Not long after that day, I found myself on the car on the way towards Rockford, listening to the Indiana Jones theme song on repeat to coax that small fedora-ed me out from behind my sense of certain doom.

The Poplar Grove Airport is just east of Rockford and is housed in a small building, about equivalent to the size of a double wide trailer. It had one of those gun stickers on the outside, like you see on libraries, schools, and many reasonable places, but instead of having a big red "X" through it, this gun had a bright green circle, indicated that yes, you can bring your concealed weapon into this airport. No long lines and metal detectors here! The walls were decorated with glitter painted old tee shirts commemorating the first solo flights of high school students, and the only other occupant of the lobby was a large brown dog, seated comfortably in a chair. This was the view out the window:

After waiting for about 40 minutes in the quiet waiting room, our cheerful pilot arrived. He showed my boss and I to our tiny, 4 seat plane with 70’s style upholstery and one little prop to keep us aloft. I put on my headset so that I could communicate with the others over the roar of the engine, then took a deep breath and wedged myself into the compact back seat. The pilot was a guy in his early twenties, fresh out of flight school- a fact which I tried to push from my mind. We tested the systems, latched the open windows, and took off into the afternoon sky...

And it was fantastic! As soon as I put my trust in the spinning prop, I could look down in wonder at the farms, highways, woodlots and lakes down below. We cruised over the patchwork farm fields of northern Illinois, to the steep forested hills overlooking the Mississippi and down towards the Quad Cities along the river. Here are some photos from the flight:

High Tech recording method: pencil and highway map

The exciting terrain of northern Illinois!

Strange drainage patterns in farm fields

Arrival at the Mississippi

Chestnut Mountain ski area from the air

More Mississippi from under the wing

Munitions depot on the Mississippi?

Crossing the river at the Quad Cities

It was amazing! Well, the view was. The plane was a tiny box that had cooked at 90 degrees all day, with one little air vent for relief. The cramped United Airlines plebeian section seemed luxurious by comparison. And the little plane jostled its way through the sky, buffeted by the late afternoon air pockets. However, since the bumps didn't seem to have any bearing on whether the plane remained in the air, I got used to the turbulence.

We got almost to Monmouth before we had seen all the state lands there were to see (with only one or two suspiciously brown areas) and headed back northeast as a the sun set over our tail. We were halfway back to Poplar Grove, when the pilot casually mentioned that there probably wasn't enough fuel to get back....

...but not to fear, there are lots of small airports to refuel at! My boss then suggested "are you sure we couldn't try to make it all the way back on what we've got?", and to this, I decided to be the best employee I could and go with what the boss said and agree that that was the best course of action. (Ha, are you kidding?!  I firmly made it known that I did NOT think it was a good idea and I didn't care how long it took to refuel, I wanted to do it. )

By this point it was growing dark, so as we neared a tiny airport in the middle of nowhere, the pilot hit a button on his radio and the runway blinked into existence! We landed in a nearly deserted airfield, and taxied up to a gas pump. Just like any old gas station, you swipe your credit card, and buy a quick hundred dollars worth of fuel. We took off again, and finally, hours later than anticipated ("are you alive?" read John's text), we were back on the ground, heading back to Chicago.

The first trip's wee plane

So now that I am an old pro at this, I set up the next flight, prepared to direct the pilot, and made my way back down to the delightful town of Marion with a coworker, to a hotel nestled between a Krispy Kreme and an Applebees. The next morning, we rose early, found a slightly larger airport, where we were directed through several buildings, past a class of young Chinese flight students, along a hall with more of those scrawled on tee-shirts commemorating solo flights (I guess its a thing), and finally out to our plane.

Me, Sarah, and Pilot Shawn

This plane was fancy. It had a a high tech map and GPS on a screen in front, padded seat belts, and faux sheepskin seat covers- a major upgrade! And the best part: when you fly early in the morning, before the ground heats up, there is no turbulence! The terrain in that part of the state (just over the river from Kentucky) is much more interesting with hills, large swaths of forest,  and giant white crosses on mountaintops (I had actually visited this massive religious symbol up on Bald Knob a few years ago, along with the hundreds of motorcycle riders who make a pilgrimage there).

Large swath of healthy forest

And maybe not so healthy

Big cross on a big knob

The pilot, Shawn, was great- he had a calm, solid demeanor and answered my constant questions about the functioning of the plane without complaint. He also made us aware of every noise and what it was before the plane made it, and informed us that he was always aware of flat fields on the off chance that we would have to land unexpectedly. "It would really give you a story to tell," he said, which was an awfully calming way to describe what would happen if something went wrong. But somehow, I was reassured. In fact, the whole flight was really good exposure therapy, and the perfect opportunity to learn about what turbulence actually is, how normal it is, and what the basic functioning of a plane are. And get paid for it!

So family and friends, you can rest assured that next time I fly with you, your hand will escape (mostly) uncrushed.