Dear Linda Markham, Chairman of the Board, CapeAir Airlines: The 9 a.m., Dec. 16 flight from Guanajuato, Mexico, was canceled, preventing me from making your 6:25 BOS/RKD. I called CapeAir and kindly, without charge, a lady booked me on the Dec. 17, 9:10 a.m. flight to Rockland.

Flight Assistant Julia Bury turned in her seat, introduced herself and Pilot Dan Rossi, reviewed safety measures, and welcomed the five passengers. I was in seat 2A behind Mr. Rossi. The on-time takeoff was smooth into a low cloud layer that we broke at 2,500 feet. The Cessna leveled at 9,000 feet and several minutes later we flew directly into a layer of of what appeared to be nimbostratus clouds.

The cockpit appeared to be at ease with these conditions with Ms Bury fiddling with the heat controls and often resetting buttons on what looked like a 1950s car radio. Her face was my window to Mr. Rossi and as they spoke on their headsets she often turned to him with a friendly grin and look of confidence. 

Air speed was a constant 200 miles per hour, the ride was small-plane smooth, and I finally got a profile of Mr. Rossi when he began to glance in one-minute intervals at the left wing whose tip was often invisible.

I looked constantly at a dial that seemed to give the plane’s orientation. It showed we were right-side up. There was an ETA number but it changed a couple of times. I guessed were about 25 minutes from landing when we descended to 4,000 feet and Mr. Rossi’s eyes left went to 10-second checks.

Ms Bury’ face still had no furrows but the small smile was gone. I

t was then when the precipitation began and Mr. Rossi’s left looks made sense.

The mix of hail, freezing rain, and sleet was so loud it drowned out the engine noise. The auto pilot or Mr. Rossi descended to 2,500 feet where heavy snow now covered the useless windshield, and started  to accumulate on the wings.

Mr. Rossi’s two-handed hold on the yoke did not change when, at 1,500 feet, the snow was a white-out with two inches on both wings  and growing.

The  ground, as it had been for the past 45 minutes, was undiscovered.  At 900 feet my guess was we were ditching into the ocean or looking for a cornfield even through the tracking screen said we were on course. I tried to remember if I had up-dated my will.

At 600 feet a roof top appeared, the snow slid off, and the runway beckoned. Mr. Rossi made a perfect landing.

I heard a voice behind me saying ‘Let’s go’.

It was the ground attendant.

All other passengers had deplaned and he had roused from 2A where my body and catatonic state-of-mind were frozen.

I walked through the rain to the terminal. There I approached Mr. Rossi and thanked him him for saving our lives. I also muttered something like that must have been the worst flight he had ever flown.

He remarked, ‘Let’s just say, the conditions were not very favorable.’

What a modest hero!

Matthew Carroll lives in Marroquin de Abajo, San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. He recently published a memoir, Who Quinn Became. Read more about it at whoquinnbecame.com