.
It was customary , if there was a chance of flying , to arise before dawn , chow down and get the snow and wing covers off..... wishful thinking . The dark night slipped away , but , alas , we were imprisoned now by a heavy , wet fog. We then struggled to put the massive wing covers back on to prevent that killer ice from sneaking back on.
We wandered aimlessly about.... peering upward.... as did the Bristol crew.
Crew change was late .. the three Beech 1900s couldn't make it... we were WOXOF. Tense .. miners who want to go home .. "Whadya think?" was the question we were bombarded with. as they too wandered about.
Finally the cry went up " Through to the blue!" as huge blue holes appeared above the camp. We knew the Beechcraft were on the way , to auger down through the hole. The arriving crews were not as elated as those embarking for the trip home.
One Beech 1900 stood alone , and carried few people.
It had a load though .. strongboxes...
PURE GOLD!
Wrangel was still crapped out so we watched the Beechcraft depart.
Then we got the word. She's a GO. Covers off , Herman Nelson heaters roaring , chords being rolled up , the 966 loader bringing the con bags for loading. Walkarounds , fuel samples , Herc straps , the winch grinding away slowly hauling the heavy load up hill for tie down ... and ... CRACK! .. a fitting lets go and the tray with its 3000 lb bag slides downhill on its icy palet skids and slams into the bag only recently placed in the lobby. Otherwise it would have smashed into the rear bulkhead.....and I'd have been kicking horseturds down the road. We untangle the mess with palet jacks and come-alongs and eventually tie down all three bags. The Bristol was long gone leaving us to eat the dust of their departure.
The Wrights rumble into life and reach temps quickly thanks to the heaters and Hermans.
I align the airplane with the runway , pointing down to the Iskut where soon I would slam into the wind at 90 degrees ..I hoped to have 110 knots by then ... and I should be climbing.
The tailwheel is locked so I push the throttles up , really not needing to correct for torque ... I was in no hurry as the airplane accelerated downhill very comfortably. Past the wrecks , and I tug her up into a climb right over the hovercraft shack ... already banking right. .And carving a path around the inside of the bowl edged by steep mountains.. runway always in sight to my left .. just in case ......
.
The battering wind down at the Iskut had let us off lightly.
Past the strip and Westbound through the gap. We flew at last.
The synchronic buzz warmed the soul .
Then the heater quit.
If one generator fails , the heater automatically shuts down. It gets cold fast.
It is not my well being that is foremost on my mind. Wrangell is cold and raining and blowing. I need a defroster. Its warming to fifteen below zero now.
These are the longest sixty mile flights in history.
Past the pummelling winds from the Hoodoo to the low visibility , ragged mist hanging in the trees as the air warms , and gets wetter as the Stikine River joins us from the North.
Lower we fly.
The valley has widened somewhat as we turn left around the old power station and right again toward the sea. The wind has spread out ... smoother now.
The cargo straps have loosened and Rob clambers back to snug them prior to the confusing wind at the mouth of the now conjoined rivers.
I am relieved at the rapidly warming cockpit ... but it chills me. In an instant freezing rain appearing on the prop spinners , windshield and wings.
The engines throb beautifully.
"Can you see the ridge on your side?" I question Rob , as I stare left to see the ridge protruding across our path on my side.
"Not yet." was his terse reply. The visibility got worse . .. right at the wrong time.
Menzies had warned me about this place ... squeezed by two low ridges appearing out of nowhere .. rarely do you get to fly over them.
The frozen windshield didn't help either.
The bar had been our simulator.
And beer was the golden viscous lubricator that was the common denominator between two crews from opposing commercial operators.
In detail , Menzies walked us through the sixty mile trip and left no confusion in our minds.
But confused we usually became , when Menzies related one of his tales as a submariner .. he was a brilliant storyteller.
But now in the darkening cockpit , darkened by rain .. sleet ..fog...
So far it is exactly as the experienced aviator had us believe. We report our position at the required checkpoints but it is Wrangell Airport that we seek on the radio.
We hardly see the ridges as we rumble by to the delta. Usually we can climb up from our 200 feet altitude here only to be greeted by a raging cauldron of lumpy air.
The airplane bucks , the wind driving her spurs into the flanks .. the bags loosen ...I wrestle with the controls.
Wrangell reports a fifty degree crosswind ... twenty knots. And it's coming from Summer Strait so over the mountains it will tumble.
The big airplane is askew on final .. lurching ... bucking.
The into wind wheel chirps on loudly ... quick as I can .. the other .. and pin it. Pin it hard and saw at the rudder pedals to keep straight in the gusts. And lots of downwind brakes too.
In fact , the brakes were cherry red.
Not good.
Next ... paperwork.