The small prop plane suddenly drops out of equilibrium, careening sharply into the volcano.  It swoops down, losing altitude as it tilts at a nearly 90 degree angle.  The three other passengers and I hold on for dear life certain that we’re about to crash into a crater.  A moment ago, we were placidly snapping photos of a cool geological feature.  Now we’re more or less certain that the volcano is the last thing we’ll ever see.  Steam jets from a crevasse that can’t be more than 20 feet away from us.  I can almost feel the heat. I’m one day into my 35th year and I’m about to die.  It’ll be like a bad joke:  Two Americans, an Australian, an Israeli, and an Austrian crash into a volcano. . .Of course. Every year, I like to do something interesting for my birthday.  I’ve confronted my religious prejudices, gone on the Dr. Phil show, skydiving.  All sorts of stuff.  This year, I decided to go camping in Alaska.  Up until this whole airplane incident, it had been going well.  I’d met new friends from England, Australia, Germany, Austria, Switzerland and Israel.  We’d all slogged through the rain to a vast glacier together, cooked together, gone kayaking with porpoises, seals and sea otters.  The group had surprised me with a birthday cake on my actual birthday and we’d eaten it on a beach, snowcapped mountains visible through a faint misting rain. Not bad.  Then I went and pushed my luck by signing up for this scenic bear viewing flight. It all started so promisingly.  We arrived at the airfield on time.  The pilot outfitted us with hip wading boots that would keep us dry as we tracked bears along a river.  We took off into...