Monday, March 11, 2019

Fragments: Alaskan Airspace


The journal entries from my Fall 2015 adventure in Alaska are rife with references to flying. They deserve a Fragments of their own. In chronological order:

As comforting as it is to have your gear with you, carrying on a rod case has its downfalls. You have to listen to everyone’s fishing stories at each gate.

7:30am - Sitting on the tarmac at RDU. “We have a minor maintenance item. Shouldn’t take too long.” Yeah, we’ll see. Visions of missed connections dance through my brain. I knew the day had started too well, skating through TSA as I did. Like catching a fish on the first cast.
7:35am – Rolling again. Just the gods tugging at my ragged edges. They do that when I fly.

I’m toast, though the sun has not yet set. I’ve gained four hours as I’ve flown to the west and I feel the weight of them.

Tantalizing peaks as we fly from Anchorage to Dillingham and seat 5F is a window. Unfortunately, it looks straight into the engine cowling of our SAAB 340. Shit. I get a good, brief view as we bank hard to the north but I don’t have the camera ready. As it turns out, the mountains are just getting started. But so are the clouds. There’s no winning.

There’s talk of the president’s arrival at the small Alaskan airstrip in Dillingham. Big news. Concerns about folks who live in the bush not knowing about the visit and trying to fly their small aircraft in for supplies. No radios, no warning. What to do? Escort with F15s? Shoot them down? It’s a worry.

Flying has been a bit of a nightmare for me. My Baja debacle two years ago (mostly of my own doing) got that ball rolling. Commercial flying is no fun anymore. At the mercy of the airlines. Delays, packed planes, tight connections or long layovers. Flying the Beavers gets rid of all that. Delays are elemental, quite literally; understood and more easily tolerated, and the flying is at levels that let you appreciate the world. Closer to the real.

I've been here but two days and I’d happily put down the fly rods and just soar for the rest of the week. Black spruce, juniper, birch, scrub willow, alder, fireweed, caribou moss, salmon and crowberries. The Autumn tundra is stunning when viewed from a De Havilland.

After flying back through iffy weather in the tiny puddlejumper, we prepare to load into the ground transportation for our return to the Dillingham airstrip and our departure for home.
Now comes the dangerous part of the trip.”
Statistically speaking?
Yeah, but not just that. Look at this VAN.
I see his point.

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