Another day in the life of a bush pilot.
December 9, 2023
By Jerry J. Jacques & CS Norwood
© 2023 Jerry J. Jacques & CS Norwood
Sunday the 12th of May. Subj: (no subject)
Date: 6/13/02 12:40:52 AM !11First Boot!!!
From: Talkeetnaairtaxi
To: Adventurous
Late this afternoon I received a message that one of my camp’s propane cookstoves had stopped working. The storm outside was raging, and to be without a cookstove living in a tiny pup tent is not a fun thing. I spent too many years on the ground as a guide, so I know what it is like to have the fifth most important piece of equipment fail. (Tent, sleeping bag, rain gear, and rifle are the first four on the list.) I waited for a break in the storm, then took off from Cold Bay in my C-185 on amphibian floats. My mission was to deliver a new stove to Lee’s camp at Hot Springs Bay. Just at the entrance to the bay, the weather turned very bad. A snow squall with strong winds made visibility drop to less than a half mile with a three-hundred-foot ceiling. I was forced to turn around and flee back to Cold Bay.
Before I got to Morzhovoi Bay, a squall was also in front of me. I turned around and tried to see if I could get back into Hot Springs Bay, but the entrance of the bay was still socked in. So, I tried to get to the village of False Pass. The turbulence was so severe that I was forced to turn around again. The visibility was very low, one-third of a mile at the most, the wind and turbulence were strong, and now I was starting to pick up ice. I had to find a place to land soon. The turbulence was now so strong, I was having a hard time keeping the plane in the air. The water below me was way too rough to land, so I had to find a sheltered place where the waves were not so big.
Hook Bay was close, and it may be a good a place to set down and wait out this fierce Aleutian storm. My windshield was iced up, and I could barely see the sand spit that creates Hook Bay. The spit lies between the Bering Sea and the channel that leads to False Pass. Picking a spot to land is my only option! Things seem to be working out now as I touched down in the waves six hundred yards from shore. I would be on the beach and the plane on shore soon.
Thuuddd!
The very instant I thought I was out of trouble, I hit a sand bar, and I was stuck four hundred yards from shore. I got out and tried to get unstuck. No way! and the tide was going out. I was now going to survive (at least until the tide came back in), but I might still lose the plane. If I lost the plane, I would be forced to swim for my life in the channel when the tide did come back in. I knew I would have to get to land before being swept out into the Bering Sea.
I was somewhat prepared to be in the frigid waters for short periods of time. I was wearing a three-millimeter set of neoprene chest waders. If I am in the water, this gives me at least thirty minutes of time that I can function. Without the neoprene, I have only seven to ten minutes of time that I can function. I put the anchor out and put tie-downs into the sand. The wind was at least forty knots, and the cold cut into my face and hands. My fingers, nose, and ears grow numb very fast. The only choice I had now is to wait for the tide to come in and re-float the plane. I slept for a while in the plane.
The wind is now blowing from twenty to forty knots with gusts over fifty-two knots or sixty miles per hour. When a big gust hits, I wake up and hold my breath, hoping the tie-downs hold and keep the plane from flipping over onto its back. My laptop is with me, so I am writing down what has been happening. It is very dark now and the tide is coming in. Soon the water will be at the floats. The wind is steady at forty knots with gusting of at least fifty knots. Rain mixed with snow and blowing fog. The nose of the plane is, of course, facing into the wind. I hope as the water rises, the anchor and tie-downs will hold. Only after the water is deep enough in front of me to get all the way to shore, can I cut the ropes and try to get to dry land. This is going to be a one-shot attempt. If I cut the ropes too soon and get stuck again before the shore, I may have a gust strong enough to flip the plane since it will not have any tie-downs. Time to just wait and pray.
Money is tight for me after two different pilots each wrecked one of my airplanes, then with the $43K embezzled last year by my former secretary, I must save as much money as I can. I will not cut costs on the hunt as that would be unfair to my clients and guides. So, I only know of a few ways to cut costs: work harder and longer hours so I do not have to hire as many people. One of the ways that I am saving money is camping out on Russell Creek instead of staying at the Cold Bay Lodge or the Weathered Inn Hotel; that is saving me a hundred and twenty-five dollars a day.
Last night, some of the locals tried to rescue me; they drove out in the storm to Russell Creek and offered to take me back to their home and let me sleep on the couch. I did not accept the nice offer, though. I just want to be alone and enjoy the sound of the creek and watch the sun come up over the Bering Sea. I do not mind being alone when surrounded by spectacular beauty. Although, at times like this, I realize how lonely it is being single and wonder if I will ever meet someone. It is funny how clear things become when you do not know if you are going to live through the night. Many things are going through my mind. I have been blessed with a wonderful son, plus my mom, two brothers, and a sister who all love me. I have lived a life of extreme adventures and have seen and faced death plenty of times. It is time for me to try and spend the winters near my family. I want Jason to be able to spend more time with his cousins and aunts and uncles as well as his grandmother.
The plane is starting to rock. The water is rising fast now, and the floats will be floating soon. I can see the current is very strong. Soon it will be time to start the engine, cut the ropes, and motor to shore. The wind is down to twenty-five knots, and this is going to work out.
Risking my life as a bush pilot may seem stupid to some folks. True, I have chosen a dangerous profession, but my job allows me the freedom to live my dreams. It’s also true that, along with fighter pilots, crop dusters, firefighter pilots, and test pilots, on the spectrum of professional-pilot occupations, bush pilot resides on the extreme risk, far-wild-wilderness end. Couple bush pilot with wilderness guide, and the risk factor jumps exponentially.
Accepting the risk while being extremely knowledgeable and expertly proficient at what I do, I make a good living enjoying the lifestyle I love.
Life is more than work, though. It’s made complete surrounded by those I love. From the beginning, all I ever wanted was to be in love with one good woman for the rest of my life and raise a family. I still believe it is possible to live a life filled with adventure and raise a family at the same time. I wanted to teach and show my family the wonders of the wilderness and the beauty of this planet that God created for us. Here, as a family-man and an Alaskan bush pilot, I believe I’ve succeeded. I have it all, including a wealth of friends. I’m rich beyond my wildest expectations.
I cannot get the engine to start. It tries, then dies as soon as I add power. The battery is now almost dead. I am totally afloat. The three-eighths-inch rope that is attached to the anchor is stretched tight. That is the only thing keeping me from being swept out to sea. If the anchor pulls out or the rope breaks, I will be at the mercy of the Bering Sea.
The waves are huge only a half mile from where I am anchored, and they will pound my little plane to pieces. As it is, I am taking on water over the bow of the floats and must keep them pumped out. Thankfully, all but two of the compartments are sealed. It is only the fish-hatch compartments that take on water.
It is time for me to swallow my pride, set off the ELT, and hope the Coast Guard picks up the signal. I left the sat phone in the Cub, or I would also call for help.
At first light I am trying to hand prop the plane because the battery is dead. I saw that the air filter was covered with a sandy silt. It must have blown off the sand bar while I was waiting for the tide to come back in. The filter is completely clogged and will not let any air in, and that is why she will not start. Three-quarters of an hour and I am still hand propping the stupid plane. I am about to invent new four-letter words for her and her stubborn Continental engine.
At last she fires and is running! We are inching forward into the wind. I cut the wing tie-down ropes with my knife as there is no way to remove the wing tie-downs. The anchor rope is slack, so I start pulling in the rope being careful to stay clear of the prop. One big tug as we are past the anchor, and it is free. I jump into the pilot’s seat, throw the anchor and rope in the back, then add half power. The shore is not far, and, to my surprise, she lifts off the water. Airborne, she seems to tell me let’s get the heck out of here and go to Cold Bay! I am not prepared to be flying. The GPS is not on, my helmet is in the back, and my seat belt is hanging out the door, banging against the step. But we are in the air above the waves, so I tum her toward Cold Bay and hope the weather lets me make it there this time. In route, I open the door and get my seat belt on and set the GPS. It is 5:00 a.m. and no one is around when I land. I shut off the ELT, tie the plane down and crawl into the back and crawl back into my sleeping bag for some very-much-needed sleep. I wake up at 12:30 p.m., and what I just went through seems like a nightmare that did not really happen, but the dirty air filter on the copilot seat and my raw and bruised fingers from hand propping confirms it was all too real.
I have two clients arriving today at 2:30 p.m. I hope the wind dies down enough for me to get them out into the field. The wind is too strong, and I remain grounded all day.
The wind at Nelson Lagoon was nineteen knots, a direct cross wind. Not good enough conditions for the heavily loaded amphib 185 to land on. I flew to Cape Seniavin near the Muddy River and saw over a hundred and fifty walrus. We saw beluga whales, gray whales, seals, sea otters, bear, moose, and caribou. Landed at King salmon for gas stop. Flew directly to Talkeetna, and I landed at 11:50 p.m. on the lake next to my house.
