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'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the
ramp,
Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were
fastened to tiedowns with care,
In hopes that, come morning, they would still
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
scratching 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 to be '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
God Jul och Gott Nytt År !!
/Martin SE-FSG
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