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stayed in character.  Max paid the check with cash, in crisp new bills, and included a twenty dollar tip.  They thanked the manager and, as they turned to leave, Max gave a quick salute.  The manager just gave the couple a blank stare. While Maggie made arrangements to leave her car there until Monday, Max dealt with the Dock Manager and the Flight Coordinator. His question about Canadian Customs procedures was waved-off with “Arrangements are all set” as an answer by the Flight Manager. He was cradling his cell phone on one shoulder as he poured himself what appeared to be an iced lemonade. Without the patience to pursue the matter, Max helped Maggie stow her luggage and get seated in the co-pilot seat.  He started the engine and with a wave to the Dock Manager to untie the securing ropes, proceeded to taxi out onto the river. After referencing his airport layout atlas, Max shouted to Maggie over the din of the engine and water flow;
“Watch the heading compass and let me know when we are on heading 19,” he asked.
    After a series of horn blasts to warn boaters of a floatplane take-off, the Beaver DHC2 lifted into the air. Max and Maggie were airborne within twelve minutes after finishing lunch, and on their way to Nova Scotia.

Chapter 8
    The Lyme, CT to Shear Water, Nova Scotia flight was a pleasant experience.  Crossing New England they passed over Boston and continued eastward in the clear and docile, early-fall weather pattern. Maggie had a question.
    Earphones were necessary for the ‘Captain’ and ‘Co-pilot’ due to the wind noise of the De Havilland floatplane which was created by the float pontoons and cable rigging below the cabin, as it cruised through the air averaging 140 mph.
    “What did the heading ‘19’ mean as we took off?” she asked over the intercom.  Max explained that the 19 was short for 190 degrees on the compass, almost due south.
    “Oh, while I waited at the airport on your first trip home, I asked which direction you would be coming from. They said you’d be coming in on runway 19, and pointed south. Where do the numbers come from?” Maggie asked. Max explained that the runway numbers are abbreviated compass numbers representing which compass heading that an aircraft had to be on, to follow the track of the runway on which he was landing. When the last digit is dropped the runway numbers are from 1 to 36, which is painted on the either end. The system is universal, he explained.
    “Oh, that’s simple enough, who knew!” she exclaimed, almost wishing she hadn’t asked.
    “Well, every pilot, every boy scout, every sailor….,” he teased.  Maggie gave him a look of exasperation. “Okay, smart ass” she said, but Max went on, “Every girl scout..,”
    “I get it, I get it!” Maggie said, getting a bit steamed.
    Max knew that he had over-teased this time. “Sorry Mag,” he said apologetically. Maggie was a good sport and didn’t mind kidding around but she had her limits. Max had become aware of that.
    They flew over the North Atlantic Ocean, comforted by the south coast of Maine, off to the left and below their wing. The flight was uneventful except for three separate radio reports, 20 minutes apart, from the point-to-point radar flight monitor controllers, regarding a Beechcraft Bonanza aircraft flying within one mile west of their position at 500 feet above their altitude.  In each case Max acknowledged, but after he and Maggie strained to spot the aircraft, he reported that they did not have the aircraft in sight. The other flight was in a blind spot relative to their position. The neophyte self-flyers could hear the radio notifications to the Beechcraft aircraft as to the position of their DHC2 floatplane and heard the acknowledgement from the proximate flight, “The De Havilland Beaver is in sight.” Because of that, Max explained to Maggie, there was no reason to be concerned.  There was one factor, however, that Max found strange.  He mentioned it to