A few years ago, Mr. B flew his ultra-light airplane all over the place…until he sank it in the Bayou Macon (pronounced By-Mason).
On a Saturday afternoon Mr. B headed toward the By-Mason looking a wildlife in his ultra-light. He had his coat on, his laced up timberland boots, his phone, his camera, and his seatbelt fastened. He was ready to film some wildlife. He said he was flying a few feet off the water taking in the view of animals. At the end of the Bayou he started to come up when a crop duster flew out of a field….
Mr. B dropped the plane down and one wing caught the water. Mr. B said that he realized he was in trouble when the plane flipped, but did not panic because he had his seat belt fastened. THEN HE PANICKED…because he had his seatbelt fastened. On the way to the bottom of the By-Mason, he frantically tried to unfasten the seatbelt.
Finally, Mr. B got free of the seatbelt. Then he had to struggle free of the wreckage. But…the Timberland boots would not budge. Mr. B swam to the shore with the boots that felt like cement shoes. He reached the shore and struggled through a briar patch to reach the road that follows the Bayou. As he collapsed on the side of the road a farmer stopped. “Wow…Did you see that plane go down in the By?” asked the farmer.
“Up close and personal” Mr. B replied. “Really up close.”
The farmer called the police for Mr. B. The police called me. I thought it was a joke…like an Ashton Kutcher, not funny, punked joke. I’m still not laughing. But then neither were the cops nor Mr. B.
Was that the end? No. The next day Mr. B and a few friends went back to By-Mason and raised the plane and brought it home. They were so excited that it came up in one piece and the most of his stuff was still intact.
Me? I would have left it…