.
I had a pilot's breakfast ... A coffee and a piss followed by a donut and a dump.
The fog hung even heavier as we made our way to the strip and we finished our work.
It was hard to tell when dawn arrived. A lighter glow maybe. All three crews left the wing covers on until it was certain we were going to do a trip.
My plan was to taxi up and down the runway to seat the brake in by using power against brake.
Air and ground crew scurried about preparing their aircraft , and waiting , coffees in hand. Loadermen sat in their warm mounts as did the graderman after he had groomed the strip.
We removed all the heaters and with the help of the Herman Nelson got both engines running and sat while warmth seeped into their innards and oil. We left the wing covers on.
Lots of people were watching as we proudly taxied out to test our rebuilt brake system prior to it being signed out by the porcine poofter.
We dissapeared into the fog as we taxied downhill , stabbing at the brakes. We couldn't go too fast as the end of the runway was not easilly discernable and we did not want to end up in the Iskut.
Uphill was a different matter. I needed more power so I moved the throttles forward .. and then some more. We were not paying attention.
Witnesses said later that the huge beast loomed out of the fog in a huge batlike fashion , engines roaring , as the wing covers filled with air puffing them up atop the wing like huge biceps .. bungies snapping ... more air under the cover as they bulged , taut and full of wind with a madman at the controls stabbing at the brakes making it lurch this way and that.
I came to a lurching stop and surveyed what looked like wounded people who I determined later were rolling in the snow laughing at this madness.
I was not amused.
But I was an idiot.
I came out of hiding and went looking for the engineer. He was to sign out the work on the wheel ... or a call was to be made to WCB or the tax department. The bluff worked. He must have had a guilty concience. I didn't have any dirt on him at all. He inspected the work including the perfect lock wire job and signed it off.
I called our hangar in Victoria and advised them of the urgency to find an M3 engineer and they were hard to find , especially one willing to work in a camp for weeks at a time. And this was radial engine territory , a fast dying breed of tough engineers.
The fog persisted.
And when the fog lifted , the weather in Wrangell turned on us.... cheating us out of our livelihood and cheating the mine out of diesel and groceries.
A week this went on. We avoided some people , mixed with others. Stories had worn thin. Groups formed .. people talked in low tones ... politics crept in like a tumour... rumours.
I heard that the mine wanted to extend the tempory Operating certificate for the American DC4. I had another C117 coming out of maintainence in Victoria .. so why would I allow this? I could bring it up to work.
We had tried to get work in Alaska and were laughed off the claim by the Americans.
More rumours.... The mine would have to bring in the Southern Air Transport Hercules as the inventory of bags reached twenty five hundred. Fuel was running short. Days were shorter. They had run out of explosives.
I got a visit from the dispatcher.
I was informed that as soon as the weather cleared , the DC4 and the Bristol would do Wrangell trips as their diesel tanks were installed and ours were removed so we got the laborious job hauling groceries.
But there were two semi trailer loads of explosives at Bob Quinn Lake and it was our job to fly it all to camp. All of it.
It was only thirty miles away but the weather to the East was somewhat better.
What an adventure that turned out to be.