Nothing like being a DC-3 cargo pilot in the Alaskan bush. Seems every Tom, Dick, and Harry, calls at the last minute for supplies, but then again, nothin' wrong with that 'cause they pay my company double if its a hot rush, though sometimes I give a discount if they include some aged scotch, and a box Cuban stogies. I knew Max would have at least two cases of booze, and one box of cigars to barter with. Like always he would be waiting for me to arrive.
At any rate, weather up here in northern Alaska wasn't forecasted to be pretty. A winter advisory was in effect for tonight, and this trip would take a little over three and a half hours. The first storm of the Autumn season, if you want to call it that. Hell, it seems we go from Spring to Winter and skip Summer and Fall.
I told Joe, "lets load'er up bud, and strap'em down. This is gonna be a bumpy ride."
"My kind of flight Captain! You gonna get us some scotch this time? Its football season, and I need a belly warmer to go with those touchdowns!"
I laughed, but nervously. Winds were going to be coming up from the south with gusts upwards of fifty plus knots. THe first Alaskan "hurricane"
Wonder what is so important about animal feed, Canada Dry ginger ale, bags of wheat, a pallet of toilet paper...OK I know why thats important, a couple cases of ground coffee; well I know why thats important too, and two generators, that could not wait until this storm passes?
Ahh well, we loaded Betsy up and took off.
I could tell by the colors in the sky, this was going to be....fun.
Once the sun was below the horizon, and any remnants of light began fading faster than my interests in my wife's soap operas, we hit it. The front. Joe tuned in a local weather station, and blizzard-like conditions were called out.
It would only be a matter of time before we would be in the Alaskan soup.
"Joe, go in the cargo hold and check on the load. Make sure its tied down tight, then get your ass back up here and strap in."
"Aye boss," he said with that grin only his mother could love. Gotta give it to him, he's a damn good copilot and friend.
Once he was in the back, I grabbed my camera, turned off the cockpit lights, and snapped a shot from my pilot's seat. Shaking my head, mumbling, "Betsy, I know I give ya hell, but babe, get us through this one like you always do," and I kissed my hand and patted the wheel. "Good girl."
There it was, our destination coming through the blizzard. Crosswinds like you would not believe pushed us, and pulled us, side to side, up and down...it would be a miracle to land on the runway. Last time I flew in crap like this, we almost went into the ditches.
Safe and sound. What? Did you think we wouldn't make it? Please. Of course we did and we have, a box of Cubans, and two cases of eighteen year old scotch, along with a nice check to prove it
.
Life is good when you are a bush pilot, though at the rate I'm going...short lived.
Until we meet again,
Captain Stephen at your service.
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