Story of the Lost Drone
I said something like (but far less coherently) “Megan, we’ve got to go back to where we lifted off from.” (at least a mile away from where we currently were). Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure that was her idea.
As the drone and I intermittently lost signal from each other, I frantically tried to coerce it into “returning to home” as we booked it back to the launch point in Vanna. Please note: this is Megan’s second time ever driving Vanna and she is finely riding the line between hauling ass and driving respectfully down washboarded gravel roads.
I climbed that damned tree at least 15’ high and shook the tree until the drone *LUCKILY* fell down to a reasonable height. I climbed that additional 3 to 4 to 6 feet (who knows, I black out when I’m stressed and I was definitely blacked out at this point) and grabbed the sucker! She (the drone, not Megan) landed upside down in a limb and the gimbal was going CRAAAAZY- making all sorts of weird, unnatural noises. I said something really clever like “oohph. The gimbal is not happy.”