Pilotage

Aviation writer and corporate pilot Mark R. Twombly is based in south Florida.

It's Thursday midmorning aboard a yacht somewhere in the Bahamas, and a crisis looms.

"Darling, Anderson and his new young wife, Sasha, are coming to brunch tomorrow. They are interrupting their honeymoon cruise to stop by, and Muffy has just informed me that we are fresh out of those scrumptious wild mountain blackberries from the Salmon River Valley. I've already dispatched the Gulfstream to fetch a box from that lovely little grocery on Lexington and 74th near the Whitney, but how the deuce am I going to get them from the airport out here to the Bored of Directors? After all, we're anchored off an uninhabited cay in the Exumas — not exactly an easy limousine delivery. The LongRanger has some sort of problem and can't be flown, and it's just not practical to weigh anchor and sail a 140-foot Millenium to Nassau to pick up a box of berries, for goodness' sake. What shall I do, what shall I do...."

Ah, an emergency gourmet-food delivery to a megayacht in social distress. That's a mission tailor-made for Paul Harding. A driver will meet the Gulfstream crew at Nassau International Airport, take possession of the precious cargo, and deliver it to a dock on an inland lake east of the airport. Harding will be waiting in his Maule MX-7 on straight floats.

Berries at his side, Harding will make the 30-minute flight southeast, navigating via GPS to the lat-long waypoint that marks the yacht's position. That afternoon, a few short hours after they were purchased in New York City, the blackberries will be in the Bored of Directors galley, safely chilling in the big stainless-steel cooler.

This is everyday stuff for Harding. His is a straightforward business, driven by necessity born of geography. The Bahamas are close to the United States and, therefore, easily accessible to visitors. At the same time, they are a million miles away. The Bahamian archipelago is comprised of about 700 islands, but only about 40 are inhabited and have runways. The only way to reach the hundreds of cays and countless spectacular anchorages is in boats or by floats.

Along with megayachters, Harding's customers include rock stars seeking sunburned solace, supermodels going to deserted-beach photo shoots, owners hurrying to exclusive island hideaways, and urban anglers outfitted for noble catch-and-release combat with Andros bonefish. Normal people use him, too. On the day Harding invited me to ride with him, a young doctoral student in marine biology from the University of Miami was bound for Highbourne Cay in the Exumas, where she was conducting long-term research on coral reefs.

The son of an British flight engineer who moved to the Bahamas in 1960, Harding ran a successful adventure scuba-diving company called Diving Safaris Ltd. until one day in 1989 a floatplane flew overhead. He was immediately and deeply smitten. In quick succession he bought a new Maule without having yet learned how to fly, went to Florida to earn a commercial certificate with instrument and multiengine land and sea ratings, and launched Safari Seaplanes. Since then he has logged some 8,000 hours flying around the Bahamas.

Harding looks the part of a charter floatplane pilot working some of the world's most beautiful waters. Tall and fit, his uniform consists of a ball cap, sunglasses, comfortable shirt, and shorts. I made the mistake of showing up wearing sensible shoes. "We'll have to toss those overboard," he joked, his bare, tanned feet padding along the tops of the metal floats.

Harding keeps his airplane neat, tidy, and as corrosion-free as is possible for a working saltwater floatplane. He has help. The mostly freshwater lake where he docks provides the Maule with a cleansing bath each time he takes off and lands there. Almost all maintenance is expertly handled by local mechanics, Harding says, and as for serious IFR flying, it's best handled with "soon come." If there's weather the flight can wait.

Even though he's been at it for years, Harding still seems to genuinely have fun in his paradise. He passes time between flights exploring new coves that he and his business-partner wife, Suzanne, can visit in their boat. Or he may head out over the Tongue of the Ocean between the Exumas and Andros to scan for the submarines that train in the deep water, and marvel at whales that bask and blow on the surface. He also takes lots of pictures of drop-dead-gorgeous Bahamian vistas (many of which can be seen on his Web site).

As we flew, I wondered if Harding's life really is what it appears to be — a pilot's absolute dream job. That evening, while dining at their home on succulent lobster Harding had snared after dropping off a customer, I was pretty sure I had my answer.