As we glided over the boreal forests of northwest Ontario some years back, the 20-something pilot of the vintage DeHavilland Beaver in the seat to my left gave me a nudge. I looked over at the kid — the first question I asked him upon boarding was, “How many hours do you have?” — and he pointed to the sticks in front me.
His blonde hair poked out like corn silk from under a ball cap and his youthful face bore a questioning look. He glanced again at the sticks, and gave me a nod. Realizing what he was suggesting, I looked him dead in the eyes and mouthed the question, “Me?”