X3 Skier
En-Route
Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp, *Not an airplane was
stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tie downs 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
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 cropduster'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 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 a phone for a Flight Service brief.
And I thought as he silently scribed in his log, *These reindeer could land
in an 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 thru the night, "Merry Christmas to all! I have
traffic in sight."
Cheers
stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tie downs 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
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 cropduster'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 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 a phone for a Flight Service brief.
And I thought as he silently scribed in his log, *These reindeer could land
in an 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 thru the night, "Merry Christmas to all! I have
traffic in sight."
Cheers