Alaska! Up North and to the Left

by Steven Swaks

  “Damned!”

  “Jim’s here,” Jeb muttered jokingly.

  What now? I thought.

  “Dean wrecked Five One Hotel! He wrecked the Skyvan,” Jim ranted.

  “He what? He wrecked? He crashed?” I asked startled. “Is he ok?”

  “Oh, he’s fine, that was not even his fault, he hit a soft spot on a dirt runway in some lodge in the middle of nowhere. The nose wheel is busted. Now Fairbanks has to fly in mechanics to fix it. They’ll need a ferry permit to fly the damn plane to Anchorage for the final repair. I was hoping to get it back, but that’s not gonna happen for a while, and that insurance company vulture is gonna go on a rampage! Damned!” Jim hit the dispatch counter with his right palm before walking back upstairs.

  “You better not scratch the paint on your flight to Tunt or Jim is going to chop your head off!” Jeb said laughing.

  “You got that right,” I muttered.

  I looked outside; Seven Eight Mike was waiting for me. The last flight had not counted for anything, not the fatigue from two flights in the morning, the thunderstorm, the electrical failure. It was what I had signed up for. The large black cloud passed over Bethel and was on its way to torment the tundra villages further west. I was flying south; there was no reason to cancel the flight. I walked out, preflighted, taxied again for takeoff, lined up with the rain soaked runway and wondered what I was doing there. A strong gust of wind shook the plane and low clouds were following the heart of the storm like hyenas harassing a predator to devour a chunk of the prey. There was a point where aviation was taking a toll and was becoming too demanding. She could be an elegant and beautiful lady, but today she showed her attitude.

  The cushy job at the office looked really good, every day, at five, the clock stopped and announced an expected safe outcome. We had no five o’clock and no safe outcome either; it was more of a passion than a job. It was a challenge, a quest for more; it was an ever expanding need for inner discovery, the search for a deeper self and the desire to live. With a spot high up on the work related death charts, well above cops, firefighters, and even 7-Eleven clerks, bush pilots soared in their own little world hoping to be alive the next season. Dean only highlighted the risks associated with bush flying. If I was thankful that he walked away unharmed, I became more aware of my own safety, if not mortality. What used to be a grand vision with a career path to the airlines was turning into a day to day process with a reward at the end of a long and tortuous road. Tomorrow was uncertain, it was a walk in a long and straight corridor with closed doors, some opened into a beautiful day with a flight in the mountains, others lead into a dark pit.

  The Freight

  Whenever

  Flying throughout the Y-K Delta was like taking the pulse of a patient, each takeoff was an open window to the current trends and seasonal migrations across the region. They showed who and what was going where.

  It only took a few days after baby Kyle opened his wrinkly eyes on his parents for the first time in the Bethel Hospital, before he went on his first flight to the village. Everybody was there overjoyed to finally greet the little one as the plane taxied on the apron in Kongiganak. When the engine shut down, the crowd gathered around the window to get a first glimpse of the little baby. The breaths steamed on the cold plane’s windows, the children jumped up and complained they could not see anything. The grandparents waited a few feet away, proud to welcome their first grandson.

  If it was not a baby’s first trip, it was Christina moving to Toksook Bay to start her life with her groom two days after the wedding. Her mother wept as the plane taxied away, her father stayed strong, hardly able to hide his heavy heart.

  Sometimes the entire family moved out. When the old pickup truck parked by the plane, the Pauls stepped out one at a time, the middle aged mother, the large husband, and the five and eight year old boys. Nobody was talking. Their few possessions lay in the back of the truck, nothing much really, a few suit cases, boxes, and a lot of hope for the new life to come. It was not my place to be inquisitive and ask questions, I could only wonder and speculate on what drove them out. I was only a tiny link in a long chain of events. That day, I did my job and stayed quiet.

  Other than people, I flew an eclectic collection of goods. For the sake of learning a little more about the Y-K Delta, here is a non-exclusive list of items I have had the chance to transport, from the anodyne UPS box to the more exotic seal.

  Seal (dead):

  Since we are on the topic, I really do not know if seals could be considered exotic, at least they could through the eyes of a lower 48 pilot. From time to time, we brought back the dead mammals from the villages after hunters killed and shipped them to a family member in Bethel. The entire experience was rather unpleasant, because even wrapped in a plastic trash bag, I could still feel the thick rubbery matter sloshing in my hands. The slipping trash bag around the seal did not help the disgusting feeling either. To make matters worse, the seals I usually flew weighed around 50 pounds and their weight prevented them from being carried by the weak plastic bag handles. I was usually forced to carry them in my arms. The bag hid the corpse and prevented direct contact, but it unleashed my wild imagination. It was just wrong.

  I did eat dried seal once for the scientific purposes of the experience. The meat looked like black beef jerky. It was hard and tasteless, I did not enjoy it, sorry.

  Eggs (plane load):

  The chicken might not have enjoyed the arctic winter at the village! So the bush plane was once again there to cater to the used-to-be-fresh produce. In a general consensus, it was tacitly agreed that fresh vegetables and fruits would never make it to the villages without reaching an unappealing rotten green… hence the almost complete lack of fresh produce in the villages. Eggs were one of the exceptions to the rule.

  I had never really been concerned about the exact nature of my freight; after all, boxes usually did not complain and quietly stayed where they were told. As long as it was not hazardous material, the flight by itself and paperwork were not affected by the content of the cargo bay. However, the few thousand eggs sitting behind me did dictate their condition and required an overly smooth landing.

  Dogs (live!):

  The typical K9 companion was usually easy to handle, however, the home grown Alaskan dog was a very far cry from the Southern California, Orange County obnoxious poodle resting on its fake blond haired owner’s lap. The Alaskan four legged companion was more… rugged.

  Staying outside in 20 below was usually not an issue, and the depth of their eyes told a lot about their very strong will, from protecting their territory to winning a race. With that fact in mind, it was very easy to understand that one shall not test their acute sense of territory and their great capability to defend it. In other words, stay away from their bone or they will be pleased to turn your hand into their next meal! Norton Aviation used to fly entire dog teams back to Bethel during the famous K300 dog sled race.

  Sodas:

  Even today, numerous Yupik villages still do not have running water, so they did what their ancestors did. They walked to the river to get water or obtained it from rainfall during the summer. During the winter months, they cut ice blocks from nearby lakes. Once the ice thawed in a container, the sediments sank at the bottom and the top layer of the water was drinkable. Sadly, the drinking water available at the village store was sold at prohibitive prices hovering within a dollar around the price of gasoline, which by itself was incredibly expensive at about two dollars more per gallon as compared to the lower 48.

  Then came a cheap solution. The king sodas, or “pops” for the locals, used to be an appreciated treat only consumed for special occasions such as a birthday or some kind of celebration. With sodas cheaper than water, it soon became the primary source of refreshment, especially with children and teens. It was not uncommon to find a teen drinking four, five, or six pops per day. I am not a medical expert, but one can only wonder about the long-term effects of such a poor diet. Every si
ngle day, Norton Aviation flew plane loads of sodas, and it was, by far, our number one type of freight in the wild vicinity of a third of our total freight flown out.

  Insulin:

  If sugar was the sweet ingredient pleasing the taste buds, the legal drug giving a quick high, insulin was the reality, the remedy for years of abuse. I fear loads of insulin will be the only answer to failed diet campaigns and an ever increasing diabetes. I have had the grim duty to deliver an entire palette of insulin to a single diabetic patient. I truly hope those flights were the exceptions and that they will not become the norm.

  Moose meat:

  By now, I hoped you have read the chapter “It was all about the moose” and you know everything there is to know about moose packing! If not, you really missed out!

  Fencing:

  Everything went by air or snow machine during the winter, including large rolls of fencing!

  Groceries:

  Who can say they fly to the grocery store? Well, in Alaska, and particularly in the Y-K Delta, it was fairly common. From the Yupik family going back to the village after a weekend in Bethel, to the recluse miners and radar personnel, groceries were a common item flown out. Bethel’s grocery stores even proposed large boxes to ease the transportation.

  PFD:

  The Permanent Fund Dividend was on the very top of the questions asked about Alaska, perhaps a step or two beneath the simplistic (not to say otherwise), isn’t it cold? And one of my personal favorites, don’t they live in igloos up there? While there might be a vain attempt at a condescending mockery, I strongly suspect that few people actually wondered about that. If you are reading this, you should know better by now, so don’t feel bad.

  Without drifting much more, the PFD was an annual fund given in early October by the State of Alaska to most permanent residents. The amount varied each year but stays in the rough vicinity of $1500 per person. While not an actual freight item, the PFD had a direct impact on our cargo volume for a pre-Christmas shopping spree which came under two forms. Either the buyers ordered the fruits of their desire on line and the local airlines were in charge of the last leg to the village, or the shopping action was directly in Bethel and the pilots still flew the increased cargo. Either way, bush planes saw their freight greatly increasing for a few weeks.

  Oil, fuel, empty drums…

  Everybody needed drums! Drums were very popular to carry oil to lubricate heavy machineries in mines or for multiple other usages in the villages. The fuel supply for the entire year was usually transported by barges during the summer. Planes only transported fuel drums to remote locations and as a backup for the villages during the winter. With experience, the 55 gallon drum became easy to unload (the ground crew often did most of the loading), and with a meticulous tie down they did not present any real threat to the safety of the flight.

  Professional photographic equipment:

  I flew around a photographer in charge of taking pictures of school children and occasionally the entire village population. But this section is really about freight… so, yes, I transported a lot of photographic equipment, including the funky looking umbrellas used for their lighting.

  Camping equipment (for bold hunters and fishermen):

  Who in their right mind would go camp in Western Alaska? No, really, why did they do this to themselves? I know, I understand, the gorgeous sceneries, the great hunting, fishing and so on, but the weather was horrible, and the wolves, brown bears, and other grizzlies were all over the mountains looking for a quick snack. How many times did I find my campers or hunters miserable, huddling under the pouring summer rains waiting to be picked up at the village airport?

  Since, once again, this chapter is supposed to be about freight, let’s focus on their gear and ignore the bold travelers. Of course Joe tourist was not ready to handle the wild Alaska with his bare hands, so, Joe came along with all the camping gear you can think of, including large back packs, tents, and rafts to cruise down the river. Now, those rafts included the oars, the endless collection of aluminum tubing to give some kind of shape to the craft, and the incredibly heavy/ wet/ full of sand/ rubbery raft. I had spent countless moments juggling their equipment trying not only to fit it in the plane, but also to maintain the delicate balance required for a safe flight. In other words, I hated it!

  Fish (halibut):

  We occasionally flew freshly fished halibut from Toksook Bay back to Bethel. The loading of halibut boxes was easy, but the thought of an unreachable feast was heart breaking. Lydia and I loooooved halibut, but these particular loads were destined to be shipped out and we were unable to order any for ourselves.

  Propane tank:

  Who would not like to fly large propane tanks? They won’t blow with altitude, right?

  Oxygen tank:

  Hum, another tank, would have made the fire a little more joyful in a crash…

  Empty tanks:

  Surprise! Still hazmat! You know, all those funny substances that can catch fire, blow up, radiate, or simply poison the crew in the plane. Empty tanks were among those issued with backhaul to Bethel. People showed up at village airports expecting us to fly back empty tanks of anything (besides water and other harmless substances), without any hazardous material paperwork. An empty tank of gasoline was still full of fumes willing to blow up! As far as the administration was concerned, an empty tank was as dangerous as a full one.

  Tools:

  We flew entire collections of tools of all shapes and sizes from the common pliers to the strangest tools for electricians or plumbers and other telecommunication technicians.

  Drilling equipment:

  There was a good example of mean looking tools. I once flew an entire set of incredibly long and heavy drill bits for the construction of board walks. We were talking about well over a hundred fifty pounds each!

  Frozen meat:

  No comment. The plane was not mechanically refrigerated but the ambient temperature often promoted the preservation of the meat. You do not have enough room in the freezer? Put it outside!

  Lumber:

  The long pieces sometimes proved to be difficult to load in the plane, but with some patience and a lot of cursing we always figured it out!

  Outboard motors:

  Another hazmat! Some lucky boat owner was really looking forward to seeing us coming!

  Mail:

  We were unofficial mailmen, we flew all types of mail, from bypass (sodas and goods for the village stores) to small plastic crates containing the bulk of conventional envelopes. So, yes, even in the middle of the tundra, bills did find their recipients!

  Optical equipment:

  Occasionally optometrists visited Eskimo villages and came along with their pricey and fragile optical gear. When it was not used, their equipment was stored in large metal crates in our hangar.

  Furniture and other mattresses:

  The 207 restricted the size of furniture that could be flown. The Skyvan and Caravan were the obvious answer to transport larger pieces, but past the technicalities of air freight, even furniture had to be flown out. Occasionally, furniture was transported by snow machine or boat. I had even heard about somebody who seriously considered transporting a 55-inch analog projector television well over 100 miles on a sled pulled by a snow machine. Definitely not a good idea!

  Snow machines/ four wheelers:

  The smaller ones could fit in the Caravan, the larger flew on the Skyvan.

  Pizza:

  Among other businesses, Bethel airport housed a restaurant overlooking the main ramp, a network of taxiways, and the main runway. The eatery was a good break from the cold and entertained the patrons with airplanes going by or with the television endlessly playing sports events, the news, or talk shows. The few booths could use new upholstery, but they somehow stayed comfortable, at least they were more appealing than the center row tables with their conventional restaurant chairs.

  The food was simple with the typical burgers and pizzas, but the establishment fu
lfilled its primary objective, to provide the airport workers and stranded passengers a convivial place to meet.

  Just like most of the other restaurants in Bethel, a delivery service catered the community. A customer called the business and ordered his food. Within a reasonable amount of time (reasonable had such a broad meaning…), a driver pulled in front of the address and delivered the food.

  But we were in Bethel, and this chapter is most certainly not about food delivery options. Nearby villagers did not want to feel left out and did the same thing. They also called to order their pizza, but this time, the driver went to one of the local airlines and dropped off the food to be flown as freight on the next flight. The customers knew the airline schedule and strategized to have their pizza delivered just before the departure time, and they were simply waiting for their order on the other end of the flight… what was wrong with that?

  Birthday cakes:

  There was no bakery in the village. There was no jumping in a car and driving to the local store to find a beautiful cake for the boy’s sixth birthday. The nearest bakery within 150 miles was in Bethel. Once again, the small bush plane was there to play delivery van. In a moving environment (a flying plane!), the often large cakes presented a challenge. Pilots could not tie the cake down because the strap would have crushed it. The creamy thing could not be left loose either. In an incomprehensible string of luck and most likely ground crew skills, we always found the right combination of restraint while maintaining the original pleasing look. But the anxiety was always there. Once I reached my destination, I always opened the cargo latch in front of the family with a minor fear of finding a crushed cake. It never happened.

  The New Guy

  September

  Things were different this morning. There was something in the air, a perfume of pending changes.

  I stumbled into our terminal, groggy from the previous night, wishing I was still in my bed cuddling with Lydia, but I did not worry, there was nothing that a good cup of bowel wrenching coffee could not fix. I walked across our terminal, mumbled a “hi” to Jeb and caught a glimpse of a standing silhouette out to my left. I stopped and took a better look at the intruder. Who was that? Surely, not a customer, I did not even know why, but the young man standing before me did not look like a passenger. There was a look of an amateur flyer, an anticipation to fly somewhere which did not match this personage. His pimple covered fair skin should have placed him in senior year in high school in the lower 48, but his demeanor added a few years to the true teenager. The young stranger had a puzzled stare, the expression of the clueless and anxious character wanting to do well without really knowing where to start.