Every time I go to Alaska, I start having fantasies about being a pilot and buying a floatplane. I start dreaming of landing on a hidden lake in the bush and fly-fishing right from the pontoons or flying to a small cabin on the water and tying up to a dock with the tie lines that pilots leave attached to the plane and trail behind like some sort of special proclamation flag still dripping water from a recent take-off. I visualize starting the beautiful radial motor of a DeHavilland Beaver and then just listening to that wonderful purr. Then I come home and slowly stop thinking about floatplanes... until my next visit. Anchorage, Alaska.