Breath steams from Dave Weaver's nostrils as he stands contemplatively in the freezing air, 50 yards from his Aspen-bound aircraft. Jet exhaust fumes infiltrate his salt-and-pepper hair, overcoat, and eyes, as Stapleton Airport buzzes with ant-like people spraying glycol and shoveling against the onrush of snow. His mind is lost in the flurry of activity around him, thinking about his grandfather who died while flying his own fabric-covered airplane from Denver to Alamosa in 1945. It was winter, a biting cold evening not unlike this one. The old man was slightly east of the Great Sand Dunes when the airplane was caught in the 'mountain wave'―as scientists later named this phenomenon of oscillating jetstream winds that creep lower in winter months. The wave is unknown in most other relatively flat parts of the world, but lurks ominously in the mountains where land meets sky. And on that fateful day, on some lonely ridge, that is where the old man died―battling the wave.
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