>
> The Flight before Christmas
>
> 'Twas the flight before Christmas, and out on the
> ramp,
> Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
> The aircraft were fastened to their tiedowns with
> care,
> In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.
> The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their
> spots,
> With gusts from two-forty at 39 knots.
> I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,
> And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.
> When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,
> I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.
> A voice clearly heard over static and snow,
> Called for clearance to land at the airport below.
> He barked his transmission so lively and quick,
> I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St.
> Nick";
> I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,
> The better to welcome this magical flight.
> He called his position, no room for denial,
> "St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."
> And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
> But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer!
> With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,
> As he passed all the fixes, he called them by name:
> "Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!
> On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?
> While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their
> head,
> They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,
> The message they left was both urgent and dour:
> "When Santa pulls in, have him please call the
> tower."
> He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,
> Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to
> parking."
> He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh
> And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho- ho..."
> He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could
> talk,
> I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.
> His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost
> And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer
> exhaust.
> His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly
> stale,
> And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.
> His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,
> His boots were as black as a crop duster's belly.
> He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,
> And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low-
> lead."
> He came dashing in fast from the snow-covered pump,
> I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.
> I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
> And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a
> jerk.
> He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,
> Then he picked up the phone for a Flight Service
> brief.
> And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,
> These reindeer could land in a one- eighth mile fog.
> He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the
> rear,
> Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell,
> "Clear!"
> And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,
> He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.
> "Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,
> Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion."
> He sped down the runway, the best of the best,
> "Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."
> Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed through the
> night,
> "Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."
>
> __._,_.___
>
> Merry Christmas to all.