sonora2sonoma

(continued from yesterday)

Between Anchorage and McGrath lay the perpendicular Alaska Range, a jumble of sharp, inverted triangular peaks  interspersed with equally sharp triangular canyons, tooth-like and threatening in appearance. There were no flat areas to be seen anywhere. One massif in  particular appeared to display several thousands of feet of sheer, vertical wall.

The Cessna’s lone engine revved  higher and louder as we ascended to the altitude necessary to clear the peaks, at times sputtering as if it were about to quit. Each time the engine began to sputter, I looked about in hopes of spying a flat area where we could land if the engine didn’t recover its equilibrium, finding nothing but sharp points sticking up menacingly at every turn. Dave, meanwhile, pulled on what looked like a manual choke knob each time it misfired to smooth the engine to a more assuring hum.  Unlike a choke, Dave explained, the engine was “icing up” and pulling on the knob was a “de-icing” procedure.  

After what seemed like an eternity of verticality, the mountains gave way to more hospitable terrain. 

We were still some ways from McGrath and the sun was growing nearer the horizon, casting long shadows over the landscape sprawled below. Dave reached down into a compartment and pulled out a large flight map, spreading it open across his lap and perusing it thoughtfully.

I had assumed that Dave’s flight to Anchorage to pick me up was something if not routine then certainly not novel. I now learned my assumption had been dead wrong. His pilot friends had urged him beforehand not to undertake a journey of that length until he’d logged more flight time. I recalled my unease upon learning earlier that day that his plane had required maintenance prior to our return flight to Nome.

“I think we’re about here,” he’d said, pointing his finger to a spot on the map. It wasn’t reassuring to now learn that we were somewhat off course and he was attempting to locate us on his map in order to get us back on the right path to McGrath.

This wasn’t the last time I would recall the words he’d spoken in enticing me to come to Alaska “We’ll have some fun, do some flying and, if we’re lucky, we won’t crash and die.”

My ability to recount this tale these many years later attests to the fact that Dave did succeed in getting us back on course. We made it to McGrath and landed without incident.

While at the airfield, I received my first lesson in the importance of meteorology in a region where the accuracy of weather forecasting is a matter of life and death. I was amazed by the sophistication of the weather apparatus servicing such a small community literally in the middle of nowhere. From the conning tower to the weather radar to the video monitors reporting live footage from various airstrips across the region, the array of equipment present was more like one might expect to see in a busy metropolitan airport.

I recall standing in the conning tower that evening looking out on the airfield and seeing the assortment of tundra-camouflaged bush planes parked beside the tarmac. I asked the official in charge of the operation the purpose of the camouflage. His reply: “That’s what Fish & Game would like to know too.” I was surprised to learn the area was a magnet for international trophy hunters and supported a thriving business for wilderness guides, not all of it legal.

I was all in favor of dropping in for a beer at the only tavern in town before going on to our hosts’ home, but Dave had other thoughts. Arriving at our destination, our hosts were very gracious and happy to put us up for the night.

Tim Konrad

(To be continued . . . )