Hidden away in San Mateo County there’s a magical place… an airport in the mud banks of the Belmont Slough. It occasionally spits out aircraft in little farts, barely noticeable below the belly roars of the endless jetliner traffic touching down in San Francisco. The little man-birds fly against all odds into the soupy sky. It’s a place where men lift from the ground and practice the most beautiful of all man-machine combinations. Flying.