By the Skin of My Teeth
Uber not required. My wife, woken as I bustle around, offers to drive me to the airport. We live ten minutes from the airport so it's a final chance to be together. And save a few dollars.
I head over to the International connections desk, heave my duffel onto the scales, and take a shot of the weight. I'm allowed 40 kilos over two bags, and at 23 kilos, this is really more than I want to lug around but a lot of this stuff I won't be bringing back home. Books, for example. That's the whole idea of BookCrossing. Give away the books, right?
I watch my bag slide away. It's checked through to Manila where I have an overnight stay (and a terminal change) and I'll be able to draw upon my clothing reserves there as well as my regular toilet bag with actual soap and shampoo and a toothbrush that isn't flimsy.
Every security check has different rules and priorities. At least I don't have to take my shoes off and present my liquids for this one. Nevertheless, it's pretty much a cert that one of my bags will be shunted aside, given the amount of electronics inside. I have all my batteries in one bag, including two powerbanks. I can't use them on a Qantas flight – a bit of a b*ugger, that, given the indifferent nature of in-seat power, but fair enough; these things ignite on a regular basis and I'd rather land safely at the other end instead of being cremated mid-air – and I will have heaps of time in the lounge to charge everything up.
No fog today. So often winter morning flights out of Canberra are delayed or cancelled and it can be a stressful experience watching the transfer time at the far end dwindle.
I've done well out of the Japan trip with a DSC promotion. From nothing to 640 SC. That's within easy reach of SG and with this trip also booked in a DSC window I should, all going well, hit WP sometime toward the end.
For the moment, I'm LTS flying Y for the first leg. In theory I should get into the nicer lounge here but I've also burnt my lounge invite, just in case. It's now half six and there's two hours before takeoff. Coffee is a priority.
The guy gatekeeping the business lounge smiles as he checks my BPs. That's a good sign. There's often a difference between theoretical lounge access and what actually happens.
"Sydney's completely fogged in, Sir. Nothing's getting in or out," he reassures me as he beckons me inside.
Well, that's great. Still, Canberra's clear, takeoff is two hours away, landing an hour later, and there's another nearly three hours before my Manila fligh departs after noon. I'm sanguine.
Coffee – a flat white in a miniscule mug – is produced, the barista smiles as I tell them that they have just saved a life, and I settle down to ignoring the breakfast offerings apart from a slice of marmalade toast, catching up on socials, and generally just lounging about.
I pull out my travelling companion – Routebear – for the usual "hanging around in the comfort zone" snap. He's been around the world nine times and more halves than I can remember. He also sat on my dashboard every shift of my years as a night cabbie. He's gradually being laden down with paraphenalia denoting his many interests. You'll see more of him as the trip drags on.
I also check Flightradar. The sky is full of circles. Some planes are getting in but I have to say it's looking chockers. And chaotic.
Nevertheless, we're called for boarding, we line up, and at the gate my 4A seat assignment is swapped for one in the very last row. A "weight imbalance" in the near empty flight, and as a chunkier chap, I'm easy meat.
Oh well, at least I won't have to elbow my way past too many grannies when I surge off the plane in Sydney. I keep an anxious eye on FR24. The longhauls are getting in and there are a few planes leaving. Looks like things are clearing up.
Just as that thought rollicks through my consciousness, the captain clears his throat and announces a delay. All off, please.
Back to the lounge, more coffee, more checking the watch. Qantas is now eating into my transfer time. They will get me to Heathrow, no worries, but will it be in the comfy seats, and will those DSC credits roll in like they should? My journey to WP is a bit of a Jenga stack and it could all come crashing down if I miss a flight.
Eventually, we're called out for boarding again. I'm first at the gate and I smile at the gatekeeper who doesn't seem to be emitting too many
gute Laune cheerfulness vibrations. They don't even have the correct flight number displayed. We all look uncertainly at each other. There's not much I can do, so I turn off the worry switch and let Qantas do what they are best at.
Others are not so sanguine. One gent -and his family - are heading to DFW and he makes a last-minute stab at changing his itinerary to travel via a different flight – the Dash-8 we can see boarding – via LAX. This causes the gate gal more stress and I wonder if his micromanagement is going to pay off. Hauling bags off one aircraft and onto another can only cause more delay and uncertainty, and well, anything could happen right now.
There's a whoosh and a thump outside as the Qantas flight from Bengaluru touches down. An A333 nearing the bottom of its fuel tanks. Not good.
In fact, I'm wondering if my own lightly-loaded Dash-8 will make it off the ground. Qantas might see the whole plane-load as easy meat, cancel the flight, and parcel us out to later aircraft that will be jammed solid.
Eventually, after much standing around and swapping over of gatestaff while the first one heads off for some personal time, we board.
"Routebear," I tell my buddy, "Cross those furry fingers."
We pushback, and roar into the air two hours late. All going well, I'll have about an hour in Sydney to transfer. Tight, but doable.
Somewhere over the Southern Highlands, the captain puts one wing down and gives us a circling view of the countryside. And another. My heart sinks as he announces that it's ATC causing the delay. Well, derr.
I'm strapped into a metal tube high in the sky and my options are limited. Again, I turn off the worry switch. I can't do anything about it until I'm on the ground and my long legs are aimed at the transfer bus.
30 June 2026
QF 1430 CBR-SYD VH-QOD Q400 "Emerald"
Scheduled: 0850, resched 1015
Boarding: 0830 and 1020 Gate 14, seat 4A moved to 19A
Pushback: 1026
Takeoff: 1032 to North
Landing: 1123 from South
Gate: 1134
Once out of the plane, I turn into Strider, hoisting my backpack on and putting as much effort into my flight slip-ons as I think the traction will bear – not much, given that I'm also wearing thin flight socks and there's a fair bit of play inside my shoes – and I join the line for the transfer bus.
The transfer lounge is heaving with anxious people. In theory, I've still got an hour until the Manila flight takes off, but with every minute that passes the bus, the walk, the security, the passport, the sprint to the gate is becoming more and more a razor-thin proposition.
Passengers for Santiago and DFW are being ushered past me. The guy who – eventually – checks my boarding pass looks over at a comrade. "Are we accepting Manila passengers?" he asks, and faffs about for a couple of minutes until he receives a positive grunt.
I'm through, down the stairs, racing the bus as the Santiago and DFW pax are still being hunted down and prioritised ahead of me. I'm five back from the front and looking at the rapidly filling bus.
"We can take four more," the driver calls out, and my hopes sink lower than my slippery shoes as the doorman and I regard each other at a distance of about two centimetres and a thousand kilometres, depending on whose point of view is being taken.
Well, drat.
A long heartbeat.
"Another four."
Oh joy and jubilation! I might make this.
I make it onto the bus, anyway. The driver ignores the collective wishes of the passengers to just haul the wheel hard over, put the foot down, and lay rubber across the runway, and trundles along at about 5 kilometres an hour, taking the scenic route, and stopping to admire the scenery at one point as somewhere ahead of us a plane is pushed back from a gate, blocking our path and sinking our hearts.
But we make it. I whip through security, praise the E-Gate gods, and aim for gate 30. Still open!
I show my boarding pass, limp with worry, and I sink into my comfy seat. Made it! Champagne all round!
