Ever been half to death by something you have to do, then do just exactly that? That’s what I did in August. We pulled up to the ferry docks at Charlevoix. It’s the only ferry route to the isolated island: Beaver Island. We left at around 10:30-ish and got there around noon.

The sun was high in the sky, gleaming down on the small lake. The light shone in a bright, magnificent sight. It smelled of fresh water and fish. Not rotting, they were being sold at different corner-vendors. People were running for their midday jog, walking their dogs, or just walking to see the sight. Staff members were announcing the ferry route times and helping the elderly with putting their luggage in large steel crates.

That’s when my uncle got a call that we could ride a plane to Beaver Island. It cut the travel time by and nearly two hours.
“Hey, guys, feel like riding in a plane?” my uncle Mike asked me and my cousin.
My cousin was excited, and said right away “That sounds fun!”
I, on the other hand, was very unsure. I have a very bad case of acrophobia, so even the thought of going into a plane made me scared.

Though, after some thought, I finally came up with what I was going to do. “Y- Yeah, sounds cool. I’ll go,” was what I said, very hesitantly. We drove to the tiny airport, and waited. . . and waited. It seemed like forever, but really took maybe 45 minutes. The waiting was killing me, just knowing that I’d board an eight-seater plane. These planes were notorious for crashing or disappearing without a trace.

Finally, the plane showed up, coming back from the flight to Beaver Island.  It was small with red and green stripes, thinning and stretching to the wing, and really did only seat eight people. This was a time I didn’t like that my Uncle was right. It smelled of old leather and gasoline. Not straight from the can, but more like that smell from underneath the hood of a car. It soothed me in a way, for some reason. The leather seats felt soft and smooth as well. Someone who was flying with us had a parrot in a cage with her. It squawked out of fear. I don’t blame it, the plane’s engines were not natural to it.

About 10 minutes later, we were finally in the air. We were soaring over Lake Michigan, and I was staring at the horizon, watching as the small line that was Michigan’s shore grow smaller and smaller. The engines were roaring in my ears, like a constant sound of a crowd at a football game. Then that’s when we hit it. Not something physical, but something else.

We hit turbulence.

For the very first time riding in a plane, - which, not to mention, was the size of a small mini-van - it was terrifying. Everyone else on the plane seemed fine with it, but I had the actual thought, “Oh no, it’s going down,” while almost having a panic attack just sitting there. The turbulence actually felt as though we kept dropping. Every two seconds was the feeling that we were falling belly first into the vast lake. My stomach always took a second to catch up with my body, making me feel sick inside.

As we finally were nearing the island, I could see the green canopy of the island. Inland lakes spotted the land. It was a beautiful site. We land on the dirt runway quite hard, jolting us in our seats. We finally came to a stop, and unboarded the plane. It was silent, except for the birds in the nearby forest, tweeting and singing their songs. I could smell the woods and the freshwater, even from as far inland as you can. Our ride pulled up, we got in, and we left.

We drove into town, and I had a single thought that came to mind. It completely changed how I felt about heights.
“I wanna do that again.”