EDITOR’S NOTE: The following is the 39th in a series of stories adapted from William Kelley’s unpublished book, “Wind Socks, Grass Strips, and Tail-Draggers.” Last week, Kelley continued his flight home to Michigan.

Activity began all around me at 5:00.

The light that came in the window told me it was daylight, but was somehow muted. I arose to discover ground fog so thick it was impossible to see more than five feet past the door.

Part of the activity that awoke me was the kitchen. Soon, smells of fried bacon and pancakes and those other goodies people consume to begin the day filtered into the terminal where I waited. My stomach began to twist and churn. It rumbled. When I thought of sardines and little round crackers, my stomach took control and pulled me into the restaurant.

While I waited and checked the weather, a man and his wife came in. They flew a Super Cub and had been forced to spend the night in town. We talked about what aircraft each flew, our destination, and origin of our flight.

They were headed to Alaska in the Cub from Texas for some aircraft company. He was a policeman in Fairbanks. When he informed me he used roadmaps for aeronautical charts, I worried they might have trouble.

The smoke was bad, and I figured, if he was forced to deviate from the road, as I had been, he might get lost. I lent him my Fort Nelson and Whitehorse charts. Those would take him into Alaska. I also gave him a large envelope with my name and address on it and asked him to return my charts when he reached home.

I guess the poor sap never made it, because my charts were never returned.

It was 7:50 before the fog lifted and burned off enough for me to get out of Fort Nelson. The morning was well under way, by northern standards. My intention was to get out of Canada that day. With the late start, it seemed unlikely.

I headed south toward Fort St. John. With the fog burned off, it was quite clear, save for a few clouds high in the sky.

Trutch was no problem. The air was exceptionally smooth that morning, and it refreshed me just to fly along and look at the mountains, trees, and streams. The road ran pretty nearly straight south and acted as my compass. Shortly after takeoff, I studied the charts and debated whether or not to go to Prince George and bypass Fort St. John.

The road curved to the east after it passed a bulge of the Liard River. I continued straight until the Peace River. At that point, I turned west and followed Peace.

The farther south I flew, the more overcast the sky became.

The Peace River fought and twisted its way through some fairly high mountains, but the chart showed it flowed southward once it was through the mountains. I cut over some of the mountains, took several pictures, and picked up the river on the other side.

A large electrical transmission line ran north and south at that point. I followed it and later picked up the main highway that led into Prince George.

Smoke from the Prince George lumber mills was a welcome sight. By the time I reached that area, I had been airborne over four hours. Had the wind been stronger, I might have had fuel trouble, but much of the territory over which I flew at the end of the leg would have provided an emergency landing spot.

There were Canadian charts available at the airport, so I bought some to update those I had. For the new route, across rough terrain away from the highway, I wanted to have the most current charts.

After a weather check, flight plan, fuel, and oil check, I headed for Penticton.

When I changed plans to fly to Prince George instead of Fort St. John, I had to contact Flight Service and tell them. Otherwise, 15 to 30 minutes after not landing or reporting in at the airport of intended landing on the flight plan, emergency planes would begin to search. That can be embarrassing, costly, and totally unneeded.

Thor, the god of thunder, acted up as I resumed flight. The terrain wasn’t as mountainous as the previous leg, but there were many hills and a few mountains. The original plan was to fly directly to Penticton, but the winds increased with the deteriorating weather, and my ground speed was drastically reduced.

Check The News next week for the next installment. William Kelley was a teacher for 32 years and has been a pilot since 1966. He lives in Herron on the family farm where he was born and raised.