Spiralling downwards towards the dark abyss,
The overthink alarm was chirping in my cockpit:

Too low, terrain,
Pull up, pull up,
Too low,
Sink rate,
Sink rate,
Pull up!!

I called in a mayday,
And do you know what they said?

There’s ah a runway available hundreds of miles away,
With an ocean and ah a storm in-between,
Outside of your uh…fuel limit,
And you’ll have to land ah…downwind, over.

But, but…there’s one closer…

Nope, I repeatβ€” RS 1987 you are not cleared to land!

Photo by Norbert Kundrak on Unsplash


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