Post by Deleted on Aug 14, 2015 7:49:03 GMT -5
I was burnt. My crew was burnt. We had done one full month without a day off on the air ambulance and it seemed
like it was just one disaster after another. The month included 3 children who were all fatalities, and we had done
all we could and were close to where we thought we'd all just go wing-walking next time we were at FL300 get it
over with. Our bosses recognized our symptoms and told us that we were not to show our faces around the Abbotsford depot for a minimum of 30
days in order to recharge our batteries.
On Day 2 of my enforced rest, I called my buddy, Andy Cross up in Homer, Alaska. He and I went way back, and during
his "working" days he too had been an air ambulance driver, almost before those things officially existed. Andy
would understand my frustrations if anybody did. He was long retired now and running his own small air charter
operation up in Homer. Not bad for a 78 year old! He was routinely flying his Super Cub into tiny little strips
more intended for helicopters than airplanes. "Damn Glenn, I know exactly how you're feeling! Get your ass up here
and spend some time with me. Hell, you can even take a flight or two for me if you really want a break, and it
would help me out as well."
I was on the next Alaska Airlines flight out of Seattle bound for Anchorage, thence Era's Dash 8 into Homer. Andy
greeted me at the terminal and handed me a RAIC card which gave us a pass walking across the ramp to his hangar on
the other side of the field. I brought minimum baggage with me. In fact, my camera bag weighed more than all the
rest of my gear combined. I had planned on staying for a week or so, so I really didn't need all my worldly
possessions with me.
The weather consisted of a scattered to broken deck of cumulus clouds hanging down around the 1500 ft mark on
approach and I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the incredible scenery in this place. I had been in here once
before in the air ambulance but it was night so I didn't get to see much. We were in long enough for a coffee, then
headed right back out for Prince Rupert, thus my stay was short with no sight seeing afforded. Now I was getting a
"full-in-your-face" introduction to Homer and the surrounding countryside.
It must be stated that I'm not your typical humanoid when it comes to weather. I actually like the foggy, drizzly,
cool, damp weather over the bright sunshiny type stuff. Except in winter. Then I absolutely love the big storms and
the clear, crisp winter air after a snowfall, and the simply gray, light snowy type days. So this place, at least
in the summer, seemed to be suiting me to a "T". Andy noticed my gawking and said quietly through his thick beard,
"I kind of thought you'd like this place." He smiled as he said it. "Liked" was an understatement. I also like the
quietness of it, the sound of the gulls and terns out over the ocean just to the south of us and the fact that
there was almost no traffic on the nearby roads, from what I saw on approach in the Dash 8.
Andy took me on a short tour of his facility at Homer Air, which was humble but very nicely kept; and perfect for
his Super Cub on tundra tires. He told me he had expanded his fleet to 2 aircraft, with the other Super Cub
outfitted with floats. That was kept at the adjacent seaplane base. "For the most part, I take people and supplies
to the nearby strips just across the sound," Andy told me, "and that keeps my little machine and I pretty busy.
However, in the past couple of years I've been taking geologists, scientists and school officials up into the lakes
near here on studies that are being carried out in the nearby parks. It's still only me, and this summer I'm run a
bit ragged trying to keep up." I could see why, looking at the whiteboard he had on the wall showing the schedule
for the upcoming week. Nena, his wife (who, coincidentally, is from Nenena, Alaska), took the bookings and kept
track of Andy's whereabouts while he was off cavorting about the peninsula in one plane or another. "There's been
some mention of sticking a machine up in Quartz Creek to be at the ready for the mining operations going up there,
but I don't have the equipment or the manpower for that. It's a pretty lucrative contract. I think though, they
also want something bigger going between here and there, which would mean a 206 or 185. I'm too old to be thinking
about that now, but maybe you'd like to talk to them while they're here? Your time running Air Caribou a few
lifetimes ago would really help me out right about now in that department." I told him I'd meet with them and see
exactly what they needed, but reminded him I was only planning on being here a week. "Yeah, yeah, I remember you
saying that," he said with a wink, and some little twinkle in his eye that, knowing Andy as I do, meant he also
believed that cows fly. I was starting to wonder what I got myself into, but somehow I was a whole lot less
stressed now thinking about this than I had been in the past week on the air ambulance.
Andy showed me around the town over the next few hours before his flight that afternoon, and I was really
impressed. The people were friendly, unassuming and just plain good folk. Andy handed me the POH for the Super Cub
just before he took off for a flight that would have him landing on the tundra east of town in the hills while a
geologist gathered up some samples. I watched him go, with his supercharged Super-Duper Cub that had a ridiculous
amount of power and lift, left the runway after seemingly only using about 150 feet of runway (seemed like he was
off before he was at the top end of the runway numbers!). He climbed away and disappeared over the bay to the
south. I sat down with a coffee and hit the books on the Super Cub. I had a fair bit of time in Super Cubs, but it
had been a while, and his birds were heftier than the 150 hp variety I was accustomed to.
Over the next week I flew with Andy to many of his usual destinations as he carted the mail down to the locals,
going into strips that were under 1000 feet long, on a hill or beach, and even a couple of tundra landings to
retrieve some gear the geologists had left behind due to space concerns. This was one fantastic airplane Andy had.
He let me fly a number of the trips, which included a couple of tundra landings, definitely a unique experience for
me. I was having a ball, and contrary to being "up tight" (as we used to say) about going into really tight or
unimproved spaces, I was enjoying the challenge. I found the previous month's anxieties were sloughing off me like
water off a duck's back.
Finally my week was up, and as I pulled my gear out of Andy's guest room readying myself for leaving on the morning
Era flight to Anchorage, then Air Alaska back to Seattle, Andy looked up at me inquisitively and asked where the hell I thought I was going.
"Home?" I said, or rather more asked. He responded, "Why?"
"Well, my week is up and I guess it's time to go." Andy said, "Really? I thought you liked it here."
"I LOVE it here! It feels like home." As I said that, the impact of what I was saying hit me like a ton of bricks. It DID feel like home, even though I had
only been here a week. "My preference by far is to stay."
"Well," said Andy, "then you won't be upset to hear your flight has been cancelled." "Oh really??" I replied, with a definite hint of elation in my voice, which
surprised even me. Or maybe I should say, only me. "The weather looks fine for flying. What happened?" "Me," said Andy.
"You?" I asked, not really being sure what was going on. "Me. I cancelled your flight the day after you arrived
after I saw how you were taking to this place. I wasn't exactly surprised, if I do say so myself. I rebooked you,
TENTATIVELY for two days before you need to go back to your current job in Abbotsford. I say 'tentatively' because
I got a cancellation clause stuck in just in case you decide you want to stay... how shall we say, 'longer?'" Andy
knew me better than I knew myself. I was elated. "Now," Andy went on, "get your gear back in your room. We need to
get over to the hangar and get to work. Lots of flying to do today!"
And so it was. I was 'stuck' in Homer. It was no problem me working here because I had dual citizenship, and
besides, Andy had pull with just about every government official from here to Fairbanks. I was on the payroll
(although I refused to accept any money from him - I was in training, after all). The next 3 weeks were going to be
a blast for me.
[ED Note: Sorry about the formatting. This is being written in Notepad and the formatting doesn't translate very well. Hope to cure that on future issues]
like it was just one disaster after another. The month included 3 children who were all fatalities, and we had done
all we could and were close to where we thought we'd all just go wing-walking next time we were at FL300 get it
over with. Our bosses recognized our symptoms and told us that we were not to show our faces around the Abbotsford depot for a minimum of 30
days in order to recharge our batteries.
On Day 2 of my enforced rest, I called my buddy, Andy Cross up in Homer, Alaska. He and I went way back, and during
his "working" days he too had been an air ambulance driver, almost before those things officially existed. Andy
would understand my frustrations if anybody did. He was long retired now and running his own small air charter
operation up in Homer. Not bad for a 78 year old! He was routinely flying his Super Cub into tiny little strips
more intended for helicopters than airplanes. "Damn Glenn, I know exactly how you're feeling! Get your ass up here
and spend some time with me. Hell, you can even take a flight or two for me if you really want a break, and it
would help me out as well."
I was on the next Alaska Airlines flight out of Seattle bound for Anchorage, thence Era's Dash 8 into Homer. Andy
greeted me at the terminal and handed me a RAIC card which gave us a pass walking across the ramp to his hangar on
the other side of the field. I brought minimum baggage with me. In fact, my camera bag weighed more than all the
rest of my gear combined. I had planned on staying for a week or so, so I really didn't need all my worldly
possessions with me.
The weather consisted of a scattered to broken deck of cumulus clouds hanging down around the 1500 ft mark on
approach and I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the incredible scenery in this place. I had been in here once
before in the air ambulance but it was night so I didn't get to see much. We were in long enough for a coffee, then
headed right back out for Prince Rupert, thus my stay was short with no sight seeing afforded. Now I was getting a
"full-in-your-face" introduction to Homer and the surrounding countryside.
It must be stated that I'm not your typical humanoid when it comes to weather. I actually like the foggy, drizzly,
cool, damp weather over the bright sunshiny type stuff. Except in winter. Then I absolutely love the big storms and
the clear, crisp winter air after a snowfall, and the simply gray, light snowy type days. So this place, at least
in the summer, seemed to be suiting me to a "T". Andy noticed my gawking and said quietly through his thick beard,
"I kind of thought you'd like this place." He smiled as he said it. "Liked" was an understatement. I also like the
quietness of it, the sound of the gulls and terns out over the ocean just to the south of us and the fact that
there was almost no traffic on the nearby roads, from what I saw on approach in the Dash 8.
Andy took me on a short tour of his facility at Homer Air, which was humble but very nicely kept; and perfect for
his Super Cub on tundra tires. He told me he had expanded his fleet to 2 aircraft, with the other Super Cub
outfitted with floats. That was kept at the adjacent seaplane base. "For the most part, I take people and supplies
to the nearby strips just across the sound," Andy told me, "and that keeps my little machine and I pretty busy.
However, in the past couple of years I've been taking geologists, scientists and school officials up into the lakes
near here on studies that are being carried out in the nearby parks. It's still only me, and this summer I'm run a
bit ragged trying to keep up." I could see why, looking at the whiteboard he had on the wall showing the schedule
for the upcoming week. Nena, his wife (who, coincidentally, is from Nenena, Alaska), took the bookings and kept
track of Andy's whereabouts while he was off cavorting about the peninsula in one plane or another. "There's been
some mention of sticking a machine up in Quartz Creek to be at the ready for the mining operations going up there,
but I don't have the equipment or the manpower for that. It's a pretty lucrative contract. I think though, they
also want something bigger going between here and there, which would mean a 206 or 185. I'm too old to be thinking
about that now, but maybe you'd like to talk to them while they're here? Your time running Air Caribou a few
lifetimes ago would really help me out right about now in that department." I told him I'd meet with them and see
exactly what they needed, but reminded him I was only planning on being here a week. "Yeah, yeah, I remember you
saying that," he said with a wink, and some little twinkle in his eye that, knowing Andy as I do, meant he also
believed that cows fly. I was starting to wonder what I got myself into, but somehow I was a whole lot less
stressed now thinking about this than I had been in the past week on the air ambulance.
Andy showed me around the town over the next few hours before his flight that afternoon, and I was really
impressed. The people were friendly, unassuming and just plain good folk. Andy handed me the POH for the Super Cub
just before he took off for a flight that would have him landing on the tundra east of town in the hills while a
geologist gathered up some samples. I watched him go, with his supercharged Super-Duper Cub that had a ridiculous
amount of power and lift, left the runway after seemingly only using about 150 feet of runway (seemed like he was
off before he was at the top end of the runway numbers!). He climbed away and disappeared over the bay to the
south. I sat down with a coffee and hit the books on the Super Cub. I had a fair bit of time in Super Cubs, but it
had been a while, and his birds were heftier than the 150 hp variety I was accustomed to.
Over the next week I flew with Andy to many of his usual destinations as he carted the mail down to the locals,
going into strips that were under 1000 feet long, on a hill or beach, and even a couple of tundra landings to
retrieve some gear the geologists had left behind due to space concerns. This was one fantastic airplane Andy had.
He let me fly a number of the trips, which included a couple of tundra landings, definitely a unique experience for
me. I was having a ball, and contrary to being "up tight" (as we used to say) about going into really tight or
unimproved spaces, I was enjoying the challenge. I found the previous month's anxieties were sloughing off me like
water off a duck's back.
Finally my week was up, and as I pulled my gear out of Andy's guest room readying myself for leaving on the morning
Era flight to Anchorage, then Air Alaska back to Seattle, Andy looked up at me inquisitively and asked where the hell I thought I was going.
"Home?" I said, or rather more asked. He responded, "Why?"
"Well, my week is up and I guess it's time to go." Andy said, "Really? I thought you liked it here."
"I LOVE it here! It feels like home." As I said that, the impact of what I was saying hit me like a ton of bricks. It DID feel like home, even though I had
only been here a week. "My preference by far is to stay."
"Well," said Andy, "then you won't be upset to hear your flight has been cancelled." "Oh really??" I replied, with a definite hint of elation in my voice, which
surprised even me. Or maybe I should say, only me. "The weather looks fine for flying. What happened?" "Me," said Andy.
"You?" I asked, not really being sure what was going on. "Me. I cancelled your flight the day after you arrived
after I saw how you were taking to this place. I wasn't exactly surprised, if I do say so myself. I rebooked you,
TENTATIVELY for two days before you need to go back to your current job in Abbotsford. I say 'tentatively' because
I got a cancellation clause stuck in just in case you decide you want to stay... how shall we say, 'longer?'" Andy
knew me better than I knew myself. I was elated. "Now," Andy went on, "get your gear back in your room. We need to
get over to the hangar and get to work. Lots of flying to do today!"
And so it was. I was 'stuck' in Homer. It was no problem me working here because I had dual citizenship, and
besides, Andy had pull with just about every government official from here to Fairbanks. I was on the payroll
(although I refused to accept any money from him - I was in training, after all). The next 3 weeks were going to be
a blast for me.
[ED Note: Sorry about the formatting. This is being written in Notepad and the formatting doesn't translate very well. Hope to cure that on future issues]
? Great group those two. 
.
