The Lighthouse Keeper
Getting There Is Half the Fun
BY DANIEL W. DRAKE PUBLISHER
As one who has amassed a pile of frequent flier miles over the years, I can relate good tales and bad about the ups and downs of air travel. It seems we love to share our tales of woe, especially when it relates to getting on and off Nantucket. I confess to having used a tale of getting to this island one foggy summer weekend on the unlamented Provincetown Boston Airlines enough times that it is actually boring to even tell it. I get more scared each time I tell another story of being on a PBA DC3 that had a run in with a large flock of seagulls just after taking off from the New Bedford airport.

Now those sagas can be put to rest. I have a new one. I will share it here once and that should be the end of it because everyone will have heard it.

Bound for North Carolina on Tuesday, a week ago, I scheduled myself on the earliest flight from Nantucket to have plenty of time to make a 9:15 a.m. plane from Boston to Raleigh-Durham.

The first minor roadblock was that halfway down the Madaket Road towards town, I realized I had left my Blackberry at home. In today's instant gratification world, that would never do, so we went back to get it. We still got to the airport in plenty of time, but it was an omen of things to come.

The fog was fairly thick that morning, but at check-in I was told that our plane was present and accounted for even while the airport was closed. Taking comfort from that erroneous information, which meant we should get out as soon as the airport opened, I happily settled into breakfast.

At some point the airport did open and the plane did arrive, but by now we were almost exactly an hour late. Still, I wasn't too nervous, because I figured I had enough time. However, when the plane was just about to turn on to the runway for take-off, the pilot received word that Logan had instituted a "ground hold" on incoming traffic. Back we went to the terminal and unpretzeled ourselves from the plane. Again, not to worry. The time was getting a bit tight but I should be fine, especially when we were called unexpectedly soon to reboard.

When exactly the same thing happened a second time and we had returned again to the terminal, I was a different person. I had lost all hope of making the connection in Boston. So, I called my friends at American Airlines and advised them of my predicament. The response was predictable. All the flights for the rest of the day from Boston to RDU were booked. I could go standby.

"Well," I asked, "were there any nondirect flights?" The reply came back that there was a 3 p.m. flight to Washington and I would get to Raleigh at 6:30 p.m. Not bad. It didn't do much for getting to my meeting which started at noon, but I should be able to make the dinner that evening.

But then American Airlines said that there was a seat on a direct flight leaving Boston at about 5 p.m. and getting into RDU at 7 p.m. Thinking that was the best of all worlds, I asked to book a seat. At that point, I was told that "Revenue Management" would have to be consulted to obtain a fare. Shortly, I was told - presumably with a straight face - that the additional fare would be $900, plus a $100 change fee.

After mentally telling the good woman what to do with the $1,000 additional tab, I volunteered for standby on the next flight. That standby failed. The flight was over-sold.

I then booked myself on the 3 p.m. flight to Washington. After hovering hopefully around the counter while still another RDU flight boarded, I settled in for a couple hours more of waiting. Shortly before the scheduled departure time, the announcement was made that the flight would not take off until 4 p.m. and by the way, the airplane for the flight was still at RDU. Those in the know realize that RDU is almost two hours from Boston so the announcement didn't compute. What ever!

Then it was announced that the direct flight, the one with the $1,000, platinum-plated seat had been canceled. If I hadn't been wallowing in the misery of already having spent six hours at Logan, I might have taken some comfort in that knowledge. (Even those rocking chairs get hard!) After all, I was going to get to North Carolina that night.

Wrong. We finally boarded our flight and fifty feet away from the gate, we were caught in the mother of all thunderstorms. We sat there while the rain came down so hard you couldn't see out of the window. The lightning sizzled around us and the thunder crashed. I began to wonder if I should have made my fourth call of the day to Hertz to insure they didn't give my car to someone else.

Twenty minutes later we were on our way. I realized that if nothing else went awry, I would now have about three minutes to make my connection in Washington to the Raleigh flight. The flight attendant kindly advised us that the Raleigh flight would be leaving from the gate next to our arrival point. What a relief!

Wrong. Looking out the window, as our plane pulled into Gate 33, it was obvious there was no plane in Gate 34. Off the plane, I saw the message board over Gate 34: "Raleigh Durham - 6:35 p.m."

Hmmm, I thought, this one must be late too.

Two minutes later the message board said "Boston - 7:00 p.m."

Having gotten that far, I was not about to board anything that had any chance of going anywhere but Raleigh-Durham and certainly not a plane that might get the notion it was supposed to go to Boston. So I approached the service counter and asked about the RDU flight. The good man looked up from his computer and when he realized what flight I was actually asking about, his mouth fell open in surprise. That was a first at an airline ticket counter.

Before I fully registered the significance of his expression, he said "Sir, that flight was cancelled hours ago."

Of course, there were no more flights to RDU that evening. After seriously considering - and rejecting - the idea of driving the rest of the way, I opted for a 6 a.m.flight Wednesday morning. For the short night ahead of me, Mr. Hyatt took me in after Mr. Marriott said all of his rooms were taken. I never got my salad or the catsup, but the hotel redeemed itself by sending a live human to knock on the door of my room when I was unable to get my act together soon enough to answer the 4 a.m. wake up call.

The trip the following morning was without incident, as was the return on Thursday - except that my 22 hours of wandering across the playing fields of American Airlines caused them to cancel my return reservation. Fortunately, I did not know this until after my place had been reinstated. Since two grandchildren were accompanying me back, I would have committed mayhem if I had not been able to board that flight.

So that's my story. Before you tell me yours, let's pour ourselves another

drink.

The "Lighthouse Keeper" reflects the views of the author and does not necessarily represent the editorial position of The Nantucket Independent. Please send any ideas or comments to drake@nantucketindependent. com. I