Every Friday, a patrol plane comes past my house, following a right of way just across the highway. Two weeks ago, my wife was getting in her car to go visit her aunt in deep South Texas, and as we were saying goodbye, the patrol plane flew past. I said: "I wouldn't mind doing that again." She said, "you never know, maybe you will." Sunday morning, my dog and I walked out the highway to pick up my dad's paper. He was making waffles for us (dog included of course), so I sat down and looked through the paper. There, in the "Professional" ads was an outfit looking for a patrol pilot to fly a couple of hours a day, three days a week. I called them at 8:00 on a Sunday morning and the ball started rolling. When I talked to my wife later that morning, she thought I was pulling her leg. Today, two weeks since my wife and I watched that patrol plane fly past...
I'm not flying the line past my house, I'm patrolling a large gathering system on one of the large ranches south of me along with lines on the Aransas NWR. The latter are lines that I flew as a young fellow in 1976 through 1978. Not only have I flown it, but I've hunted on those right of ways. There are a lot of memories out that window!
