pilot, Johnny Matthews, assures us that an emergency landing field is never more than 20 minutes away. "Of course, on some small fields," he adds, "it might be impossible to fly the ship out again."

In less than an hour, we circle low over the tiny village of La Libertad. There is no radio here and the pilot has to wait until someone comes out to chase the cattle from the landing strip. After an easy landing on the natural grassy savannah, the big plane rolls to a stop in front of the thatched hut which serves as administration building. Supplies destined for the town are piled on the edge of the runway and 2000 pounds of corn, the area's chief source of income, are loaded aboard.

The next stop is Flores, with a population of about 2100. This leg of the flight takes only eight minutes, so we fly just over the tree tops. Suddenly the brackish water of Lake Petén comes into view and

we see the town huddled on a tiny island. A short stretch of sandy beach on the mainland serves as a landing strip; all cargo and passengers have to be paddled across to the town in canoes. Flores citizens spend most of their time gathering and preparing chicle for their gum-chewing cousins to the north, and so important has this industry become that even the limestone for a new hospital was brought in by air. Of course, the chicle goes out by air since it would take two weeks and cost twice as much to ship it overland. Our load of corn is left here and we take off empty for Cobán, 100 miles to the south.

Large billowy clouds are snagged among the Santa Cruz mountain peaks, so Matthews pulls the ship up to 12,000 feet. At this altitude it's easy to forget that you're flying in the tropics. About the time you are wishing loudly for an overcoat, the descent is started and everyone

swallows lustily to relieve the change in pressure on his ears.

The field at Cobán is approached through a valley with hills towering on both sides. Some of the little farms appear to be standing on end as they slide by the window. Suddenly the pilot makes a 90degree turn to the left and we drop into a postage stamp field. Brakes are jammed on as soon as the wheels touch. Most of the townspeople are lined up along the fence in their colorful costumes. Twentythree of them are going north to gather chicle during the summer; each is provided with an assortment of bedding, clothing, food, chickens, pigs, and dogs. The men, of course, carry machetes as their only tool for jungle work. On takeoff, the wheels are lifted quickly and we barely scrape over the trees at the end of the runway.

In a half-hour we are back at Flores for refueling. Passengers and their bevy of livestock get out for a breather, because the cabin soon becomes unbearable in the

hot sun. Some of the corn is taken aboard again for points further north.

Soon after takeoff, we are thrilled by the sight of an enormous stone temple jutting from the expanse of jungle. This mysterious structure marks the deserted ruins of Tikal, an ancient metropolis of the Mayan empire. In his book The Ancient Maya, S. G. Morley estimates that Tikal once had a population of 200,000 or more. As we circle overhead, it appears that the ruins cover at least several hundred acres. While it is difficult to understand how an advanced civilization could exist in such a wilderness, the outlines of a once vast lake system visible from the air suggest that this may have been a rich agricultural district centuries ago.

We are still discussing this possibility when Matthews has to devote his entire attention to finding the tiny strip at Dos Lagunas. The field here is so narrow and the trees are so high along its edge that it is practically invisible from the air. To eliminate the possibility of missing the

field entirely, a radio marker had to be installed. To add to the fun, the landing strip is strictly one-way. When it was constructed, the ground crew spent several days chopping down trees before it was discovered that a large hill was directly in line with the runway. It was too late to start over again, so the field is still used from one end only, regardless of wind direction!

State-side pilots who are used to landing a DC-3 at 70 to 80 miles per hour would also be amazed at the way AVIATECA'S pilots set one down at 50-60 without pancaking. This technique is essential on such short runways.

As usual, most of Dos Lagunas' citizens come running out to the field when the plane lands. It is their only contact with the outside world and the occasion for the community's chief social function. Our passengers disembark here and, surpris

ingly enough, none have gotten ill in spite of a very bumpy ride. In a few minutes we are airborne again, headed for the Caribbean city of Puerto Barrios.

Aside from Guatemala City, Puerto Barrios has the only considerable airport in the country. Its long concrete runway was constructed during the war as part of the inter-American defense plan. The town is the terminus of Guatemala's only railroad and AVIATECA maintains a warehouse here. While heavy tractor parts and drums of Diesel fuel are being tied down in the airplane, we enjoy a good hearty lunch prepared by the company cook.

In the afternoon we take a long northward jump to the agricultural colony of Poptún, located in a remote section near the Mexican border. This project was begun recently on an experimental basis by the Guatemalan government, and if it is