||Baker Sipapu 50 turned and looked toward Canyonlands, and the distant purpled canyon rims of the Colorado River, where a sudden shower was skeining from a cloud. Jim started to speak, and Joanna put her finger to her lips. He nodded, and when Bob turned back, Jim was leaning forward, listening. "Shoot," he said, the old bonds between them again cemented. "When I left you that morning at La Sal Junction, I planned to fly directly to Kanab, and I skirted along the foot of the mountain to save time. I undid my seat belt to feel freer, and flew along, singing at the top of my voice. As I watched Canyonlands unroll beneath my wheels, I flew over a valley that I had never seen before. I would have bet that you and I had explored every inch of Canyonlands by plane, horseback and on foot, but here was one we had sure missed. It was about a mile and a half or two miles long, flowed toward the northeast, and about a third of the way down, a fin of rock ran out from the surrounding valley rim, ending in a high butte. The fin had eroded some, leaving a saddle between the butte and the ledge, and I aimed for it. I suddenly realized I was flying far too low and close to stalling speed. I shot the throttle forward, and lifted the plane to fly through that saddle. I was aware that a current of air was flowing down from the mountain, and I thought, good! that will help me over the hump.