Chapter Excerpt  Lines ...

Chapter 1.  PIPER CUB SOLO ...                  Page 22

Now, merely unlatch the door, push the top window out a little, and secure the bottom half again. Lift the top section up and clip it to its retainer on the underside of the wing.

    My first Piper Cub solo flight remained tranquil and almost wind-still. The portrayal was unobstructed and ethe-real. I was immersed in my dream of rising up with the birds. The vista spread out before me.

    Fields were laid out in curious patterns. Mountains were painted in hues of blue and dark green. Big rivers gathered up smaller streams and creeks and joined ranks. Lakes glistened. Highways sought cities and assimilated many scant country roads. Occasional vehicles, tiny ones, were following some of those smooth, narrow bands. Yes, I was soaring high above that planetary plain. 

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3.  MOONEY OWNER ...                                      33

Now consider this!  This new retractable gear airplane flew at 260 km/hr (160mph) with a fuel burn of only 9.5 gallons an hour. That’s almost 18 mpg with four people on board. It had flush riveted wings, pilot adjustable cowl flaps, wing flaps, a footstep that automatically retracted, and a constant speed prop.

    Mooney’s control surfaces were not moved with pulleys and cables ... They were effortlessly and accurately driven by a responsive, no-slack push-rod and bell crank control linkage. The retractable wheels were fully faired. And, for me, when the gear was up, and the plane was in flight, it appeared beautiful and sleek, a wonder to observe and admire.

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4.  VENTURING OUT ...                                         45

Another unforgettable flying experience that remains carved in my memory was a journey from Southern California with my two young boys in the Mooney. ... Suddenly, I had a great idea. I asked Tony if he would fly the airplane for me while I relaxed in the back seat.

    So, I carefully climbed into the back and adjusted the pilot’s seat for him. I pointed out to him the VOR flight needle and the altimeter reading over which he should keep a close watch upon.  ... Then, with everyone settled, I again adjusted the trim on that smooth and tranquil night flight.

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5.  CALL OF THE NORTH ...                                  51

During the first year of living in that never surveyed remote British Columbia area, we had no radio contact with the outside world. To communicate, it required crossing two rivers and three days of wooded pathway trekking to the small Native Village of Ingenika. From there, it was a 210 km (130mi) boat trip to Finley Forks, a low-frequency radio call to Mackenzie, BC for a phone connection or a charter flight into the village airstrip.

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5.  HOMING PIGEONS ...                                      55

Then, out spiraled the box streaming a parachute behind it. It opened nicely and slowly floated down toward us. ... Happily, both birds were alive. And then, with a tip of a wing, our mechanical motored messengers set off toward Fort Saint John.

    Del, an ornithologist, had been racing pigeons since his youth. He instructed us to feed and care for the birds for three days. Then, they were to be set free to hopefully return to their caged home-pen on the Halfway River where he lived. That would be a 450 km (300mi) flight on a journey that they had never traveled before.  ...

    As the sun was rising over the mountains, we released the two living pigeon pioneers into the unknown. They circled and circled, climbing ever higher and higher, ... Eventually, with the two birds almost out of sight, some could yet see that the pair had turned to the east, vanishing out of view, probing for their passage through the heights of the Canadian Rocky Mountains.

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7.  HANGING DOWN ...                                      68

Then, without fully thinking it through, I pulled half flaps, throttled down a bit, and carefully trimmed the plane. I loosened my seatbelt and opened my door. I pushed it open and leaned down as far as I could.  ... I could not see the tail wheel. So then, I loosened my belt a lot more and again pushed hard and lowered my head and shoulders down below the door sill. I still could not see that elusive rear wheel. This was frustrating. Was it okay? 

    Finally, with determination, I drew the folded end of the strap all the way out to the buckle release, as far as it would lengthen.  ... I stretched my neck and turned my head to the back, and look: I could see that wretched tail wheel. It was dangling free, doing circles and loops.     

                                                         Yes, it had Broken Right Off.

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8.  NEW ENGINE AND PROP ...                           78

My first flight to our new location at the Eagle Rock gravel-bar airstrip was on September 24th, 1978. With me were John and 245 pounds of cargo. That fall I made a total of twelve trips into EGR with 3,500 pounds of cargo and eleven people. Taking off from that sparse 400-foot runway, I departed the same number of times, hauling 800 lb of cargo and five passengers.

 

9.  PERIL OVER WATER ...                                     83

Suddenly, there was what seemed to be a massive explosion right before our eyes. On the pilot’s side, the hinged engine cowling door-latches had failed and let the hood fly open. It was flopping all the way over to the far other side and then fully back to its closed position ...  back and forth in rapid succession.

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10.  BUSH WEDDING ...                                      91

Now, I was a new husband with a beautiful young bride by my side. And, by that time, we were an hour into the flight, and I was silently contemplating things. I realized that I needed to exercise caution and minimize our hazards of flying in such frigid Arctic weather. Might I be risking our safety? I had a charming wife and a marvellous plane. Should I persist by holding such a firm grasp onto my lofty and personally planned ambitions of flying XTV South?   No.
    So, with this awareness, I did a one-eighty and took a bearing back to Fort Saint John. There, I parked XTV and put her to bed in her winter covers. Then, I bought return commercial airline tickets to Oregon for us. I would not have an airplane to display; nevertheless, I did have a bride at my side to showcase. Perhaps I was learning some prudence and discretion.

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12.  DOWNHILL SKI STRIP ...                                99

They had cleared a 330ft sloping runway for ski use at the edge a large meadow near their cabins.  ... One contrary day, with people on board, I made that hopefully, never used, “Go/No-Go decision,” and pulled the power. I knew that it was not going to fly.  ... We slid deep into the undisturbed snow and XTV came to rest, and all was quiet and still.

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​13.  BURIED IN OVERFLOW ...                          105

The winter-weight of the white snow overburden on the lake ice would crack the 3 ft of its frozen thickness. Then, the water would push up and over the surface of the sagging ice. It was the consistency of an "ice-slush drink" and produced extreme drag if a ski penetrated into it.  ...

    My landing was going well, and I slid onto my previously packed tracks. Then, just as I came to a full stop, the snow collapsed, and I fell through my tracks. Down I sunk into the snow. The left wing tip was down and cutting into the white surface. The other airfoil pointed high into the air.  ...

    The aircraft could become frozen into the surface of the lake and constitute an integral part of a giant ice cube. It would prove to be one of the most exhausting days of my life; Utter Exhaustion fueled adrenaline. In my experience, skis were the most dangerous and challenging configuration that a pilot may choose to fly.

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14.  REMOTE LIVING SECTION INTRODUCTION ...  114

You may, peradventure, discover with us the joys and emergencies of secluded living; dealing with hypothermia; performing a surgical procedure on the shoreline a wilderness lake; even dealing with a midnight cabin fire.
    Ride a sled with a mother and her new infant when it whimpers, and the lead dog is sure that the baby is a creature in distress. Encounter your pack dogs disappearing into the bush aggressively following a fresh animal scent.
    Go back in time and experience a philosophical approach and skill of an outhouse builder’s innovation and perfection. Attend a bush work-shop detailing every step of making real moose leather from start to finish. Do come back to the Last Quarter of the Twentieth Century and relive it with me.

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15.  WINTER PREFLIGHT DEMANDS ...              123

I readjusted the stove draft and patiently waited for the oil to get hot.     ...    I dressed warmly, for the outside thermometer said that it was well below minus forty. ... Carrying my oilcan and lantern, I went out alone, walking the 2.5 mi down to the lake. Approaching, in my lantern’s lamplight, XTV’s silhouette’s danced and glimmered.

    I placed the gas lantern in its wire holder in the engine cover’s skirt, which I had custom-made for its use. The lamp's modulation of the burning gasoline now resonated outward across that bit of brightness under XTV and drifted out over the icy cold darkness of the lake.  ...

    Jumping into the seat, I turned the mags to both on and injected a half stroke of primer fuel into all four piston chambers.  ... It was probably the night’s lowest temperature at that moment, just now at daybreak. The silent stillness and tranquility of the moment was heightened and intensified within me.  ... Then, with a twist of the ignition switch, the mechanical cranking of the starter pierced the wilderness silence.  ... I did a one-eighty and circled once over our camp. Very dim lamplight glowed from within a cluster of cabin window openings.

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​16.  FAILED CRANKSHAFT SEAL ...                   132

My Coleman lantern was again placed under the power plant, warming up XTV.  ... On my preflight, I did a lazy turnaround and setup for my landing. The two families had arrived and were at the shoreline.  ... Now, with my hand on the door-latch, ready for departure, I happened to look down and saw something contrasted on the white snow, just under the lower rear cowl opening - only one tiny black spot. 

    I opened up the front engine cowling - And there, all around the front of the power plant, radiating inward from the outside aluminum surfaces, were dozens of long grey stalactites. They were formed of solid conical spears of frozen XTV oil.

 

16.  A MERCY FLIGHT ...                                   140

In Fort Saint John, my friend John was contacted by Transport Canada the day before my Note expiration and asked if he was available and could be on standby. Well, he did receive the implementation authorization just after midnight. It was now an official Emergency Overdue Fulfillment. This Transport Canada, Search and Rescue phone call was likely one of those several times when John reportedly sat up in bed when the nighttime phone rang and said:        Buerge,        ... I wonder where he is now?

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18.  ROCKY PEACE ...                                        150

Now, running low on fuel I took my last option. I flew south to the Peace River  ... I did a bumpy ski landing on the river ice and found a sheltered rocky cove that was somewhat out of the wind.  There, I hunkered down for the night. We were under an overcast, all of my surroundings were soon canceled out by eight-teen hours of desolate wintertime darkness.

    In the shelter of XTV, crunched up in the back seat ... the 170 rocked in the wind; the blowing snow drifted into the cabin through the aileron slots. Daylight reluctantly refused to reveal her face.

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19.  LIVING IN THE BUSH ...                                      156

During the construction of a cabin-cache, Tom was jointing the half-slab floor logs with his trail axe to fit nicely together. Upon one of his swings, he missed a cut, and the blade glanced off of the edge of the deck piece and embedded in his leg along his shinbone and parallel to it. I cut his pant's leg off and fashioned a tourniquet. The profuse bleeding now had slowed down and stopped. The axe was then removed. My brother said that he had a medical kit somewhere among his things that were out on the lake ice.

    And, following Tom's instructions, with him lying on his new cabin floor, I became his Medical Assistant. I propped the wound open with small sticks and deadened the deep muscle opening with multiple shots of Novocain.  I then opened some dissolving catgut suturing kits from their sealed envelopes. Using a long medical clamping pliers, I manipulated these small curved needles, along with their trailing strings, deep down into the shin muscle. Knotting many ties with the help of other pliers, I pulled the longitudinal centerline of the sliced muscle tissue together, as well as the top of it. Blood flow was released back into the leg, and everything held securely.

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19.  GOOSE DOWN PARKA ...                            157

One time, I was given a delightful coat-length down-filled parka with wolf-trim and all of the amenities. My winter gear had always been drab.  Everything was wool.

    Here, in a new style, I set off alone, trekking northwest through the bush. It was probably minus thirty or colder, yet I was comfortable and full of energy, hiking over the hills, through the gullies, and over frozen creeks. 

    Presently, my body began vacillating between hot and cold. I had worked up a sweat, and I was starting to shiver uncontrollably.    ...   "Oh No," I gasped: "My body is hypothermic!" And I'm alone and miles from nowhere.

    I built a grand roaring fire. And there, in that small clearing, I laid my highly valued parka down on the snow and sat on it, taking off my moccasins. Then, I hurriedly took everything else off and stripped down to being bare stark naked. I faintly, but distinctly, heard the fauna and flora frantically laughing at me.  

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19.  FIRE IN THE CABIN ...                                158

One early morning, while yet dark, Kate got up to put wood in our cabin stove (I was away flying). When she opened the door, it went Poof. The carbonized logs fell, collapsing inside the heater and burst into a loud roaring echo. Orange brightness erupted and danced across the room. Although this wasn't too unusual, it woke Tony up, shouting:

                                                    "Fire,   FIRE!   The cabin is on Fire!"

  With this, Kate screamed and jumped back from the stove. The cabin lingered aglow in the firelight of the wide open door while the fire continued to roar. Pam scampered out and, hugging Kate; they together uttered another scream. Tim was trying to climb out through our chimney vent.

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20.  TRAPPING CABIN RELIC ...                          165

The old cabin had been in disuse for many years. These relics of unrecorded history were usually nameless, leaving only one’s imagination to paint a picture of long past pursuits. Moss covered this roof, and small seedlings were growing up there. As well, the encroaching bush was slowly swallowing this fading cabin.
  Outside, one could often find a shallow hole nearby containing rusty tin cans and a few glass bottles, all molder-ing back into the earth. Always, the roof ridges were low, and the walls about five feet high, testifying to the builder’s minimalism (not stature) due to their shortness of the summer season. Likewise, the door that resided on a gable end was seldom tall enough and required stooping low. Typically, there was only one window, and occasionally, not even one.
  Inside, there were few pieces of habitational history. Commonly, there would be a rusty stove and pipe. Then there would be a single shelf on a wall with open cans filled with nails and other indefinable trinkets. Maybe there would be an old tin cooking pan or two. Rarely, a broken trap would grace a wall. A tiny built-in bed frame along a cabin wall would usually be snuggled into one corner.

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20.  REMEMBERING ARTHUR ...                        168

Arthur was a single man, only knowing a life of living in the heart of Chicago. He was a tall, handsome actor and singer, being quite black. He decided that he wanted to fly back with me and visit us in the bush.  ...

    Stephen pleaded: “Arthur, its dark and I’m lost. Take me back home. I can’t find my way back to my dad and mom’s tent.” Arthur ardently whispered: No. I’m not going out there. Go back alone … By yourself. Sobbing now, Stephen said: “Then, if I can't find my tent, I’ll cry really loud. And you will have to come out into the dark and find me.” Again, quite insistently now, Arthur said:

    No … No!   You get in here! “Get into this funny bed-thing with me  …  And go to Sleep.”

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23. A NEW VENTURE ...                                    195

So, I traveled to Watson Lake, Yukon in early July and finalized a plan for me to administer Rick’s B.C. outfitting business. He was to supply one of his Super Cubs on floats for me to use in my operation. Watson Lake Flying Service was to do all of the transportation of clientele for our three hunting camps.  ...

    I did my approach and descent over the pond onward toward the  Narrows. My track over the water was in a turning arc, matching the gentle curve of the entry into the fjord. ... The calm and quiet feeling of an idled down glide was captivating. ... The prolonged descent developed and captivated the serenity of the moment. Time seemed to be suspended in quietness, even as if a vacuum had encapsulated both plane and pilot. The downward glide was sustained in adjourned animation. The water’s complexion was slowly drawing my advance ever closer to her. The treetops were now dominating my Vista ahead as I held steady the continuing curvature of my approach. Then, eventually, the inside float tenderly kissed the glassy surface of the water's face. There was neither, nary a bump, nor even a sound. But liquid began its slight displacement to the sides of the single pontoon. This picturesque attitude was maintained through-out the curved portion of the inlet. Now, look, way out ahead of us lay the cabin and dock at Miss Water's Terminus.

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​24. BASE CAMP ...                                            203

Warm fires in little oval Airtight tin heaters comforted our cozy evenings. Lanterns burned with a yellow glow, pushing back the darkness. Conversations and tales trailed off, and, one by one, each found their nighttime tryst. Heavy blankets covered curled bodies, snuggling under soft, soothing securities.

  Now, periodically necessary nocturnal calls prompted treks out into the northern darkness. This presented a canopy of myriads of stars pressing down upon mere man, all twinkling in splendor and awe. Regularly, a brilliant moon would also embrace the heavenly expanse. And, occasionally the dancing glow of Northern Lights might draw head and heart upward in wonder. But shortly, a shiver would sharply shudder the viewer. Nature’s raw chill soon gripped he who might be clothed in only bare-naked skivvies.

  Then, that one would quickly run for their warm blankets and sleeping bags, gather back the latent heat of their nest and promptly drift back into the tranquility of a comfy cozy wilderness slumber.

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25. STRANDED HUNTERS ...                             208

It was perhaps the first time in their lives that money could not purchase their demand for possessions and trans-portation. The Canadian Bush had not only captivated their imaginations. They were also securely apprehended in that physical location by unflyable weather. The Yukon Bush was now retaining them captive under multiple various futile venues of attempted escape.

    Kate was making meatloaf for the next meal. The hunters were watching her season it, adding eggs, mustard, and chopped onions, along with other things. Before she could get it into the oven, they were all hovering around her. They were sure that she was making “Steak Tartar” just for them. Needless to say, they were delighted. The oven-baked meatloaf had just become much smaller.

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26. NIGHT LANDING ON FLOATS ...                 212

By the time that I was set up on my elongated approach, night had definitely fallen. This was one of my unintended predicaments: “Pilot, never allow this to happen.” This landing had to be executed and precisely performed with every injunctive prohibition plied against me, loudly declaring: “Pilot. You have no second chance. Either, you do this one right or crash and die.”

    It seemed that I was penetrating the blackness of the Pit of Hades. Oh, where was the water that I dearly believed actually to be defined somewhere down there? I eagerly desired and anticipated its loving support for this, my flimsy craft. Yet, at the same time, I knew that the water’s black rock-hardness also mocked me.

  The only cadence that I heard was the whisper of the wind and the throb of the throttled down engine. The welcome and reassuring glow of the gauges showed a constant airspeed and loss of altitude. I had to resign myself to just waiting. The tent marker-light at the end of the lake still seemed to be so very far away.

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27. BELLOWING BISON ...                                217

Now, every valley has a watershed, and this one likewise had a small stream running through it. Perhaps we could find a section long, straight, and deep enough to land in.  ...

    As the sun broke over the valley fields, at the outfitter's camp, we could see that it was filled with bison that had bedded down there for the night. It was an exhibit that I would never forget. It remains a picture of beauty that was firmly implanted in my memory.  ... They commonly would push through the corrals, breaking the poles instead of stopping or going around them. They were not easily intimidated and seemed undeterrable.

   Please?  They appealed: We need our horse pasture tonight for a camp change. Please run Those Beasts up the valley when you leave. ... Then, with full power applied, we came right up on the step, and with a slight turn to the right on a corner, up came the floats out of the water.
    As I circled that valley, the bison all stood to their feet and indolently stretched. I pulled up; climbing and doing a wide circle back over the camp, toward the direction of my pass through the Rockies. And looking back on the scene, the bison were disappearing into the timber, and the Wranglers were waving their hats from the corral rails.

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POSTULATION 3 ...                                    Page 136

  

Danger lies in our Pathway.
Awareness holds a Keen Edge.
Relaxation must be Cultivated.
Resolute Resolve begs Firmness.
Peace is graciously granted as A Gift.
Vision embraces perseverance and Goals. 

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Chapter 28. UPSIDE DOWN ...                Page 225

Grant that my machine’s whine and reverberation be pardoned as we momentarily transgress these hallowed trails through sacred mountains and valleys. Creatures grand and great; please forgive our uproar, for we make no claim upon your habitat. These few stolen, flashes of fleeting glances are enough. See? We promptly go our way and cause you no harm. ...

    Departing McConnell Lake, just at the halfway point of the turn, the left outside ski broke through into the slush. It was a drop of about five inches. The turn’s centrifugal force load was upon that outside ski. As it fell beneath, it significantly increased the drag and resisted the left ski. The laws of physics held true and acted upon the mass of XTV. Thus, the resultant reaction of these inputs dictated a counter-clockwise turn to the left and rapid deceleration.

    Assets and things of personal value were broken. Lives were placed in jeopardy. Peoples' plan had been side-tracked and put on hold. Considerations and changes had to be negotiated. However, trauma recollections are eventually healed, and the retention of life values do ever remain and endure as our treasures.

 

30. ENGINE OVERHAUL ...                               239

​So, I took the back seat out of my friend's Piper Comanche 250 and built a wooden frame from floor anchors to motor mounts and craned my Lycoming engine into place, securing it into its cradle. ...

    Traveling to South Georgia and still at altitude, suddenly, the plane’s engine started faltering and losing power and then, abruptly quit. Instinctively, as with any pilot, I reached for the fuel selector and switched the main tanks. That didn't seem to help. By now, I had contacted air radio and was descending to an airport beacon. My speed was at the aircraft best glide ratio, and the gear was down. I knew that I had sufficient altitude to make the airport and safely do a dead-stick landing. ...

    And finally, the engine overhaul was completed. Now, with all of the paperwork in place, and seven weeks later, back into the Comanche, the new Lycoming power plant was again secured into its cradle. Then, on a sunny Thursday, we were once again off to Canada.

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31. NEW WINGS AND TANKS ...                       245

​I found a set of 172 wings. An advantage of making this change from the Cessna 170 wings would be that the fuel tanks would be larger ... 1.3 hours more flying time, which I believed that I needed. The Type Certificate approval required extensive research and documentation. But after two submissions, I received the approval certificate for my one-time modification. I also added Flint Aero fuel tanks in the outboard bays of the wings. These twenty-four additional gallons gave me 9.5 hours of flight endurance.

    Eventually, I had an occasion to put this fuel capacity to appropriate use. I had overnighted at Eagle Plains Lodge, Yukon on the Dempster Highway, very near to the Arctic Circle. Then the Biologist and I set off for the Yukon’s Arctic Ocean northern landline. We were rested and planned for a long day of flying involved with Game Survey work.

    Late afternoon drew near, and we turned toward home. As we traveled south, our decision became to land at Mayo. We had been in the air for 7.5 hours and needed a break. Arriving in Whitehorse, our flying time on this one fill-up had been nearly nine hours.

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33. A TEST FLIGHT ...                                       255

​Needless to say, the action of this Federal Agency was challenging my airplane’s Certificate of Airworthiness. This was just shy of a heart-stopping event for me. It was undoubtedly being initiated because of the multiple modifications to C-GXTV.  ...

    The Transport Canada test pilot arrived, and we worked at 6,000 feet above ground level.  The official’s checklist was determined to establish the characteristics of GXTV’s stalls. The test called for entering diverse stalls in configurations that I had never even done before. The test pilot seemed impressed that recovery could be resumed with very little loss of altitude. If there was any problem, he said, it might be not recognizing the onset of a stall.

    Finally, at the Red Line: “Velocity Never to be Exceed,” the test pilot was looking for flutter and other adverse signs of control surfaces. Minor operations were made at the aircraft VNE threshold, granting another acceptable report.

    I was heartened by the willingness and determination of the Canadian Department of Transportation to ensure the continuing airworthiness of their registered aircraft roster.

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33. A STALL SCENARIO ...                                260

​As a Commercial Pilot, I was conducting a Game Survey in which I was performing a tight circling turn around an observation point for a biologist. It was windy, and the flight configuration necessitated a very steep bank transitioning out of the downwind portion of the circle. The pattern over the ground, even with the wind blowing, had to remain an accurate and consistent circle.

    Therefore, I was super busy alternating between steep high-powered turns and lower energy shallow turns during each forty-second circumference. Here could be an unconscious allurement into a stall-trap to “Assist” these steep-banked and high-powered turns. If, by adding inside rudder, one's intention was to "help steer" the aircraft path over the ground, then prepare to crash!

    Instead, talk to yourself: "Pilot, either Add Power and Steepen your bank or Widen your Circle." Otherwise, in that situation, it would irreversibly drop you into a rollover and direct the plane into a steep nose-down, high-powered ground strike. Again, that would Not be a Healthy Situation.

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34. EMERGENCY MEDICAL EVACUATION ...          265

​Tim grew very sick. Then, in the middle of the night, the consensus was reached that he had appendicitis. Neighbors rallied, and things began to happen. It was 2:00 in the darkness of morning. While I was removing the rear seat from XTV, others lit small wood fires and placed lanterns along the grass edges of the community airstrip.  ...

    Cessna GXTV ... You had better pour the coal on. The Peace River Fog is coming in and is presently Up to the threshold of Runway twenty-nine. Radioing back, I responded: Fort Saint John ... XTV is proceeding direct YXJ. XTV ... Roger. Emergency Medical has been notified. … Contact Tower three miles west.  Roger, ... XTV.

    There, I saw the fog bank directly ahead of me. I faced a vertical wall of thick obscuration that dropped down to the asphalt landing surface. Only the very first threshold portion of Runway Eleven’s pavement was visible and free of fog. I touched down within the first few feet of the grass and then promptly disappeared into the thick and muddled gloom of foggy obscurity. Breaking, but yet still rolling, I eased to the right until I could find the dim glow of blue runway edge-marker lights. Following that line, I crept back along the lights looking for the ramp. There, we saw a real genuine ambulance with flashing lights and people standing by, waiting for us.

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35. CHICKENS AND THINGS ...                        269

​Near Pink Mountain, at a grass farm-strip, I was scheduled to take a cargo load to Fort Ware in the Rocky Mountain Trench. There, mingled among the groceries, I found a wooden box. It wasn’t labeled Pilot Bread or True Milk. And squinting through a hole, there, as real as life, I distinguished two Live Broilers. The cluck-cluck of these birds now elevated my attention to a full alert. I told the shippers that I couldn’t take dogs and chickens on the same trip.

    “Oh No,” they posed to me. This dog was a Gentle Pet that never chased anything. They had a solution to my every concern. Reluctantly, I tied the dog's collar close to the seat’s underside crossbar so that he couldn’t move even an inch. The chickens were under the cargo. Wolves were his ancestry, and I knew this. “You may take the wolf away from the chicken, but you can not take the bird out of the hunter’s head.”

    Then, after my run-up, I made a final assessment into the cargo bay behind me. And there, that hound had managed to wiggle his bum under the seat and do a complete one-eighty. His nose was pointing straight to the chicken corner, straining at his collar and sniffing in wide-eyed anticipation.  I shut down, and gave them an updated Advisory Alert:      “Either the dog or the hens had to be off-loaded.”

    I could envision being level at nine thousand feet over the Rockies. And, getting lose, Wolfkin digging for the Bird Box, would ferociously rip it apart. Now, dog chasing chickens, round and round my head they would fly. I was visualizing one bird in my face flapping on the windscreen's dashboard and the other bird? … I was repulsed. For, I was whiffing warm Chicken Flesh and thinking about Fowl Feathers and Foul Innards, a `la Carte … strewn all over Me and XTV. Rover would then likely be behind me with his paws on my shoulders, affectionately licking my neck and face.

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36. CROSSWIND LANDING ...                          275

​One Time, Kate and I were returning from Prince George.  The windsock was snapping flat-out horizontal when we arrived, pointing at a right angle across our narrow grass runway. At the south end, there rose an elevated bench above the lower fields. However, there was a  cleared area up there that contained a farmer’s long and narrow grain field. It had just been harvested, and that became my immediate cross-wind runway of choice.

    My wind dilemma had just become diffused. So, with no hesitation, I made a steep turning descent down to that opening, clearing the trees and landing on that delightfully smooth new runway. People had heard our plane approaching and had come outside in the evening air to see Jim and Kate arrive at the community airstrip. Some were in their night-coats and shoeless. Most of them only observed my abrupt and steep downturn into the timbered area above their farm fields below. Then, they heard nothing, just a dead silence that filled the evening air.

    This was the perfect storm that painted a dire picture of doom and death under uncorroborated, however apparently credible and illusionary materialization. Running through fields and timbered brush, a full dose of Adrenalin had been unintentionally administered to our community that evening, and its people responded.

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37. CALL OF THE ARCTIC ...                             284

​One time I flew a water testing person out to an obscure and unnamed lake and landed. While the technician was doing the tests, I tied up the Cessna 185 and took a short stroll along the primeval timbered shoreline. As I was walking, it occurred to me that I was stepping on soil that man had never set his foot upon. It was God’s pure creation, and mankind had never touched most of it. 

    How was I certain of this? Well, we were hundreds of miles from roads and occasional airstrips. There may have been a few chance aboriginal wayfarers who happened to traverse by this lake over many foregone millennia. But they scarcely touched minimal moss. Ninety-nine percent or more of this earth yet awaits man’s faint footprint intrusion. What an honor to experience this. 

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38. PLATA PICKUP ...                                       291

​Walt Was Trapping and asked me to pick up him and his wife and daughter at the Plata Mine Airstrip. The runway was up in the mountains and wasn’t marked on my Sectional Map. Not knowing its elevation, I began to wonder if I had enough altitude clearance to make an approach under these solid overcast skies. As I approached my near vicinity Valley landmark of Swan Lake, I became aware that there was no way of knowing that I would be able to complete the pickup.

    However, if the airfield were obscured by a low cloud cover, then the ceiling bottom would lay somewhere up the canyon. Therein, that condition would present an impending impossibility to turn around and retreat. Reluctantly, I resigned myself to return to Whitehorse, regardless of the long, arduous hours that it took me to navigate those many miles to get there. But soon, I saw a sharp contrast to the Vista up ahead. As I looked out, I saw the gorge that defined that entrance that led up to the canyon. It was becoming brighter over there.

     Two small openings in the otherwise, totally solid overcast illuminated two bright columns of light. They were both identical and angled down according to the sun’s mid-day position above the earth. Additionally, they precisely skirted each side of that Valley of Indecision that had been captivating my emotional being. But now, with this phenomenon being beyond Coincidental Circumstances, I said out loud: Thank you, God. Here I go.

 

39. RUSSELL POST ...                                       297

​It was on the north shore of the Macmillan River, just below the confluence of its North and South Branches. Across from their development, there was a large esker with a gravel bar on the south edge of the river. I used that small area seasonally for both skis and wheels.

    In the early 1980’s, a Mr. Huntington had developed a simple device to measure light aircraft angle of attack in a precise and accurate way. The concept was displayed on an analog heads-up gauge that depicted the relative amount of reserve kinetic energy that remained above a stall. I was an early advocate of this device and calibrated it for its use on XTV. I came to consider it to be indispensable for precise bush flying. Its minimum Lift Reserve indication is accurate under all normal A/C parameters of weight, density altitude and center of gravity.

    I believe that it should be a heads-up instrument that is factory installed in every general aviation aircraft.

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40. DUCK SOUP LAKE ...                                  303

​Jerry and his family were the proprietors of Midway Lodge that was located near Minto along the Klondike Highway. The first time that he arranged for me to fly him into the lake, I agreed to pick him and his cargo up at a little pull-off on the Robert Campbell Highway. I remember the uphill landing spot on the highway. There, a wide shoulder along the side of the road had just enough room for me to push XTV back into the brush and get the prop off of the pavement. 

    It turned out that it made much more sense to use his Midway Lodge parking lot for staging pick-ups and drop-offs. For, just north of it, there were five miles of straight and level Klondike Highway. That became my choice of access to his trapline. The only tricky part of landing there were two road signs that stood precisely opposite of each other along the Klondike Highway with only two feet more width than my wingspan.

    Today, I can occasionally hear the faded buzz of activity that once graced that roadside. Now, at the edge of that parcel, there remains only the rippling reverberation of McCabe Creek, breaking the silence, and reminding us of the glory of its by-gone days.

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41. KOMAKUK BEACH ...                                  307

​In the early eighties, Aerokon Aviation secured a contract to use our two telemetric-equipped Super Cubs to carry out wildlife surveys for the Yukon Game Department. They arranged for us to board and room at the US/Canadian DEW Line Radar Base on the Arctic Coast.

    During this summer season of the year, the sun traveled around the horizon twenty-four hours a day. At noon it was in the south at about 50° above the horizon and at midnight, it was a little lower in the north. Over those two summer weeks, as we flew, slept, and ate, the time of the day became irrelevant.

    I saw countless varieties of miniature wildflowers blooming, just hidden below the surface of the tundra. See? The flora of the Arctic seeks out ways to survive and prosper in some of the starkest and shortest growing seasons on earth. They faithfully bloom with seldom, over many centuries, even a single person ever pausing to admire their genealogy, perhaps looking down, kneeling there, and finally speaking a word of admiration and pleasure over such a small mound of plant coloration.

    High on a bluff on the north side of the Firth River was Sheep Creek. There was an airstrip that I landed on during this survey. At that time, there was the wreck of a PA-18 Super Cub, C-FGOD that crashed there in the summer of 1977.

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42. HERSCHEL ISLAND ...                                313

​This small orb is three miles off of the northern coast of Yukon, Canada. In the late 1800’s, whalers discovered that this Beaufort Sea was one of the last habitats of the Bowhead Whale, which was valued for its baleen, blubber, and oil.   ...

    During one of the Arctic Surveys that Aerokon Aviation was doing, I was flying the coastline, abeam to this island. Presently, the biologist that was traveling with me said: “I want to land on Herschel Island.”  ... Landing, we were instantly jerked to a sudden but upright stop. With mags off, we crawled out and embraced the treeless Island tundra. We stepped back to observe our captive plight.

    Eventually, we repositioned to the beach’s wet sand. Although it was firm and smooth, no area was big enough to do a takeoff. We had no hope of getting the plane into the air. We took time out to think again. Still, nothing was materializing.

    Perking up, Bob appeared to come to life. And then, picking up a long heavy piece of driftwood, he headed out pounding that log-end down into that captivating ice ledge. Going, further and further out, Bob just kept battering that post down onto the underwater ice. After going a long distance, he stopped and leaned against a truck-size iceberg to get his breath. Suddenly, he was yelling and jumping up and down waving both arms. 

    Presently, Bob came back with eyes round and wide open and had a little grin on his face, saying that we should have guessed. The underwater ice is still many meters thick, and this water is just melting overflow. We can do a takeoff from out here on the ocean, he exclaimed. 

    Starting the engine, and braking toward the open water, I turned seaward. Then, into the Ocean, we rolled. The skis were now submerged entirely with only the top two-thirds of the tires showing above the Arctic Ocean’s surface water. The calm surface of the sea was adorned with hundreds of iceberg tips protruding above its surface. Some of the pinnacles were as small as a Goose Chunk, and others, as gigantic as a Gothic Cathedral.

    I was on snow skis with saltwater spraying out from all sides of the airplane, completely obscuring my entire side views. Soon, we were Water Skiing, and then things grew quieter. We were hydroplaning on snow skis, out across the open ocean of the Beaufort Sea with icebergs whizzing by us in rapid succession. And, with liquid streaming off the Super Cub into our slipstream, we rapidly climbed up into the airborne element of our destined domain of distinction.

    Then, with a wave and nod to the North Pole to our left, we did a gentle right turn to the south. And with farewells to the Green Sanctuary on our right, we were free of the grip of that Whale of an Outpost - - -  Herschel Island.

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43. UPSIDE DOWN AGAIN ...                           323

​First, there was a hard bump, and then the horizon began moving aloft. My neck craned upward with the rising skyline. Suddenly, everything stopped in stillness, even the aircraft engine. It seemed that I was raised there in frozen silence for many seconds. The Super Cub was standing perfectly balanced vertically on its nose … undecided whether to go on over or settle back into its upright position. ...

    Later, we discovered the reason for the upset. The lake ice had been used by snow machines to access a cabin. The trail had been packed hard over the winter months of use. However, now, it was entirely hidden under the windswept snow. Chris flew in with replacement parts and a plan for getting us back home. ...

    The takeoff and climb seemed to be going well. We were communicating on the radio. Suddenly, the biggest in-flight explosion that I had ever heard went off. The icy cold air swirled around my head and body. It seemed that I was somewhere outside of the aircraft. I realized that the entire top of the plane above me was gone and it was wide open to the sky. The top roof section had just blown away.

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44. FROZEN ELEVATOR TRIM ...                       331

​Once, I picked up some supplies belonging to a trapper in Aerokon’s C-185 on wheel-skis. His main camp was way up on the frozen Stewart River. After loading his cargo, he proceeded to add three big sled dogs and himself. Well, dogs get excited when they were off on a trip, and unfortunately, one of the hounds cracked a back window before they settled down. My Duct Tape was an easy and quick temporary fix. His outposts were serviced.

    But, while departing, I noticed a few small sections of dark snow whizzing by me. This indicated some overflow at that end of the runway. But I was light and quickly became airborne. Then, reducing power and trimming back my elevator trim wheel, I found that it was totally frozen. Yoke back-pressure required about fifteen pounds of pull.  So, at Mayo, my Bush Solution was as follows: I took a three-eighths inch rope from my emergency kit and secured it around the column behind the yoke and protracted it back to a tie-down D-Ring in the empty luggage compartment. Passing the rope through that, I returned the line forward again to the panel and cut it off.

    Airborne to Whitehorse, I adjusted the yoke tie-back rope for a slight descent at cruise speed. Then, with a little line-pressure under my arm, altitude could be easily main-tained. That night, in our shop, everything was thawed out and serviced. 

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45. CLAIM POST WHISKY ...                    Page 337

​I was scheduled to fly Joe and Fred out to a make-shift hillside airstrip on the Stewart River one winter day. Except for the steepness and the stumps on the bottom half, I dropped them off with no problem and departed.

    It remained severely cold when I returned as scheduled.  I decided to keep warm by walking down the trail that the prospectors had earlier used. After a few hundred meters, I found Fred stumbling and faltering on the pathway.

    Where’s Joe? I asked ... Listening carefully, I heard Fred, in faltering, gasping lyrics, began faintly speaking some tottering words: My partner ... Joe ... He’s dying. Swig’d, … he just? He might be dead already. Help me get him up ... Please? I couldn’t wake him I Can’t get him up out of the snow. He only wants to sleep. I think maybe. … Probably: He‘s Dead. Whiskey. I don’t know … He might be stiff ...

    And there was Joe, just ahead of me, laying on the pathway, appearing less than listless and languid. His parka was unzipped. He had nothing on his head. Lifting his arm, Joe seemed to be lifeless and inert. He looked so very dead … Deathly Dead. I opened his lips and pushed my finger into the back of his mouth and under his tongue. It felt warm back there. Good, there was some hope for him.

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