"Two F***ing Seconds!"

I thought my adventure was behind me. Resigned to a trip home from El Calafate I thought that the exhilarating part of my trip took place on catamarans and Andean glaciers. Boy was I wrong...

I showed up to the airport in El Calafate at 11 to catch my 11:54 plane to Ushuaia in Tierra del Fuego only to find out that the flight had been pushed back two and a half hours to a 2:30 take off. By my calculations this would have put me in Buenos Aires at 8:00 pm, giving me more than enough time to catch my 9:30 flight back to JFK. I willed away the hours by exploring some of the lesser played sections of my iPod and spent an inordinate amount of time in the gift shop perusing mass produced indigenous crafts that were supposed to look unique. I was bored, frustrated and couldn't wait to get on the plane and get back home.

The boarding finally came and with my iPod plugged in, head nodding to Lil' Wayne, I made my way on to the Boeing 737 bound for Ushuaia and then continuing to Buenos Aires International Airpot. The flight took off normally and headed south to the "Southernmost City in The World." Things were going along fine until we hit a little turbulence during our descent. The rule of thumb when flying into TdF is that the flight path has to follow the contours of the low lying valleys. If the pilot tries to fly over the mountains the plane may get violently tossed around by the intense winds that are commonplace in that part of the world. I held on and waited for the bumpiness to pass but the turbulence then turned into a full fledged drop as the plane fell a few hundred feet in a matter of seconds. Passengers began to scream and gasp as the plane was thrown around like a rag doll in the ocean. Then things took a turn...literally. The turbulence became so angry that the right jet engine let out an awful and cranky mechanical groan. The engine then stalled and the plane began a sharp nosedive to the left. Sitting on the right side of the plane, I could see the mountains become nearly parallel with the window-sill. The screams of the passengers were quite audible and some even began crying. I gripped the seat as hard as I could and began breathing infrequently. We were losing altitude very quickly and thoughts of my demise became a serious reality in my own mind.

The pilot managed to regain control of the craft and pull up a few hundred feet but just as things began to get better the left side engine gave out and the plane entered the same death roll it had done just seconds ago, except this time at a much lower altitude. The cabin was now in mass hysteria and people began screaming en masse. I began to think what it would be like to die in a plane crash in this part of the world: Could I possibly survive and if not how long would it take to find my body? How long would this last? Would the pictures that I took of my glacier hikes be preserved? Would it hurt? I began to take on an eerie calmness, almost resignation. I didn't barter with God or pray for help. I merely told myself that this was beyond my control and whatever the outcome was, I'd have to accept it. Much to my surprise, the pilot managed again to take control of the plane as the left engine fired back up and the plane shot skyward at a very sharp angle.

After circling around the airport to get our coordinates, the pilot came on the air and apologized for "the little bumpiness back there" and promised we'd be on the ground soon. The second approach, while still choppy, wasn't nearly as intense as the initial attempt and we managed to get all wheels on the tarmac as the passengers cheered with glee and relief.

Because it was a stopover we weren't allowed to get off the plane so I made way to the restroom. As I was waiting and watching the faces of the panicked passengers, the man behind me started making smalltalk. This was the essence of our conversation:

"What'd you think of that landing back there?"
"That was about the hairiest moment of my life but at least we made it," I replied.
"Well I'm a flight engineer for Boeing down here on vacation and can tell you a few things. First, I fly a few hundred thousand miles a year and that was as close a call as I can remember. You see, when the plane loses power like that, the direction the nose is heading in changes and as a result the plane becomes increasingly harder and unstable for the pilot control. I reckon that if we were in that roll for two more seconds we would have crashed."

Seriously...

That is what the guy said to me. Point blank. No bullshit. I was two seconds from having my body being fished out of the Beagle Channel by the Argentine Coast Guard. Two fucking seconds. I just started laughing.

I could tell you what happened to me afterwards. That my plane got rerouted to the domestic airport because of the fires the farmers have been setting outside Buenos Aires closed the international airport. That the kid sitting next to me on the flight to Buenos Aires stole my iPod. That the police at the domestic airport got my iPod back from the kid after I pleaded with them to listen to me and just check him after a woman said she saw him pocket it. That I got a private taxi, along with another kid (Sam), that got us to the International Airport. That the taxi dropped us off at the wrong terminal. That it was too late for me to check in and had to go through a makeshift border patrol, customs and security clearance. That Sam, my newfound brother in arms, had a hard time getting through security with an ice axe in the bag that he was originally planning on checking. That I sprinted to the gate and made the plane at 9:58 knowing full well that the doors were going to close at 10. I could tell you all of that but the reality is that I can always get another iPod or another flight to New York. But even through all of that, I couldn't get the thought of "two seconds" out of my head.

Think about that...

1...

2...

(fill in the blank)

I'm happy to say that I'm here and that I'm safe but whatever luck or karma I may have had 24 hours ago certainly is a little more depleted today.