Small Plane Culture:

My son Anders and I are on a small propeller plane returning to the Peninsula from Anchorage where Anders just got braces. Yes, we flew to Anchorage for an orthodontist appointment.

I am seated right behind the pilot. If I leant my head forward I could nap on his shoulder. But I won’t do that, he is distracted enough at the moment by a bumble bee that is excitedly buzzing around his dashboard

The pilot keeps glancing at it as it buzzes back and forth and bounces off the control panel.

I stare at the pilot’s hands, willing both of them to stay gripped on the wheel. I’m all too aware that this is a single engine, single piloted plane. At one point the bee flies towards my face, but I don’t duck or try to swat at it. In case the pilot has eyes in the back of his head, I want to set a good example.

From the single seat behind me Anders taps my shoulder.

“Mom, how much longer? I don’t like this,” Anders says.

I know he doesn’t like this. He hates flying, and he is especially fearful of flying on any airline that asks how much you weigh at check in (It’s the only time I’m honest about it as who knows the margin for error on that.)

“Mom, did you hear me?” Anders asks.

I nod to show him I did, but I am busy watching the pilot who is busy watching the bee.

My vigilance in willing his hands not to move paid off. Not once did he take a hand off the wheel until landing the plane and pulling to a stop. He then turned around and looked at me.

“Did you see that bee?” he asks, “I don’t think it paid for a ticket.”

I laugh because every joke is funnier when you’re safely on the ground.

Truly the Last Frontier:

Whenever my friends who I grew up with in Boulder ask me what Alaska is like, I tell them it’s like Colorado in the early ’80s, and they understand what I mean. It is probably why we keep running into people here who moved from Colorado. They all want 1981 Colorado back.

(I mention the same thing in another post. https://pokingthebear.org/minding-your-own-business-in-alaska/)

One difference though that is very unique to Alaska is the small plane culture. It is the only way to get anywhere, other than bigger cities like Anchorage.

3 of my favorite things to witness on our lake is (small planes is number 3):

One: The Ducks. Since early summer a family of ducks moved in under our dock. First mama was being followed by 10 ducklings. Then it was seven. Then five. This morning I saw her and there was just two tween ducks trailing.

Did her other babies mature enough to move out on their own? Or were they all picked off by eagles who figured a small duck would be easier to haul off versus, say, a fat cat named Albert?

Two: My jet skiing neighbors. One of our neighbors is a school teacher and she is very sweet and quiet, but then everyone is very sweet and quiet compared to my family. When she and I go to happy hour it is basically her politely picking at a sliver of pie as I cackle loudly at my own jokes before chugging another margarita. But when my neighbor is on a jet ski, she makes me feel demure as she revs her engine, jumps waves, does donuts, and flies around the lake like a bat out of hell.

Three: Then there are the float planes. I love them. It’s just what I pictured when I imagined life in Alaska. Across the lake is an adventure flying charter owned by two brothers who own beaver planes that can take you to the most remote places in the state. You can recognize a beaver plane by the sound of the motor.

I have taken way too many photos of them taking off and landing in the fall, spring and summer. And, in the dead of winter this past year, when they weren’t flying, I walked across the lake to take photos of them.

I’m sure I had probably stopped to watch the beaver planes take off that tragic morning, at 7am on the nose, as usual.

Then I got a call from my jetski neighbor who was on her way to our morning bootcamp class. She said traffic into town was at a standstill.

Just like 1981 Colorado, the only time you find yourself stuck in that kind of traffic here is if there was an accident.

My neighbor went on to tell me it was a 2 plane mid-air collision involving one of the planes from across our lake. She just wasn’t sure which one.

My other neighbor calls to ask me which planes I see across the way. One by one the planes are returning, it is a matter of knowing which one won’t.

“The red, white, and blue one is back,” I tell her, relieved. It sounds strange but I just am weirdly attached to that plane. But overwhelmingly I was heartbroken knowing that the pilot inside was probably one brother just hearing the news. By the end of the day we knew, seven people were dead, including one of the brothers, a guide, and four age 20-something tourists. In the other plane an Alaskan State Representative.  His campaign signs were all over town.

It was devastating.

In the week following, no one on the lake went out on boats. There was no laughter as kids were pulled behind on tubes. There were no bad ass teachers on jet skis. The normally active lake was still, and ominously quiet.

Finally, one morning, at 7am sharp, I heard the engine of a beaver plane. It felt like a signal that gave permission for everyone on the lake to stop mourning and return to some sort of normalcy.

Risk Vs Reward:

Here is the thing, my brother and his family were visiting just days later, and I had all of us scheduled to fly with this particular outfit to go fishing. In my fantasy I had the planes picking us up at our dock, but that was to be determined. I only knew I wouldn’t change charters though, now more than ever I had a loyalty to our plane charting neighbors.The bigger question at the moment was my son. If he was resistant to fly to go fishing before, well, this didn’t help.”I’m not going, mom” he said after I confirmed there had been a crash.  “You can’t make me!”

Turns out he had a valid enough excuse to bail.  He had football practice, and my brother and nephews all agreed that football was much more important than a trip of a lifetime. We are a pretty intense football family.

Because rural Alaska is 1981 Colorado, if you want to play a sport, you play the sport that is in season, and you play for your school. Oh, and the worry over concussions has not dwindled the team’s numbers.  They have been state champions 10 years in a row.

The options for fall were track and football, and Anders chose football. Which is something of a surprise, but my brothers are thrilled.

I wasn’t going to make Anders fly on the float plane even if he didn’t have a good excuse. I had always promised myself that while we were here in Alaska our family would have to get on one of those float planes, at least once. But even before the accident I was questioning whether I could summon the courage myself.

When did I become so nervous and risk adverse? I was once a 20-something year old. One who didn’t think twice about bungee jumping, and who went skydiving simply because in the school paper there was a $20 off for two people coupon.

The Risks:

“I can’t tell you small planes are safe, because they really aren’t,” my friend says after I tell her about having second thoughts on our charter flight. She is a newly licensed pilot herself, and she and her husband seem to fly somewhere romantic every weekend.  Freak accidents happen no matter how experienced the pilot, and Alaska is the state with the most crashes due to the numbers of planes, weather, and extreme terrain.

When you hear of two planes colliding you think, how is that possible? But, my friend tells me a story of flying with her husband who grew up in Alaska flying planes, and they almost had an in-air collision themselves.

“One moment we are staring at a wide open, totally empty sky, and then suddenly a plane appeared out of nowhere,” she tells me, “that plane came so close to us I could read the lettering on the pilot’s hat.”

She can tell that she’s freaking me out.

“But the views are worth it,” she added, “And I think it’s less dangerous than driving on Sterling Highway!”

I have a flashback of driving with my daughter (who has her learner’s permit) slowly pulling out onto the highway as two semis going 90 mph head our way in each direction. My friend is right.

And so we kept our reservation for a day of flying and fishing, but I did have two conditions. Now that Anders was staying behind, I wanted my husband and I to go in separate planes. The second condition was, I had to be in the red, white, and blue, plane.

The Rewards:

But perhaps the greatest reward for me was flying straight home, literally. My husband took this photo of our plane (I’m with my daughter, niece and nephew) landing right in front of our house.

My niece made a video of our trip which captures the views better than pictures. After watching it one of my friends said it reminded her of the days when we used to make mixed tapes. Like, back in the 80s.

https://www.facebook.com/lucie.rutherford/videos/2891993164234279

End note: Will I ever fly in such a small plane again? Maybe, to sound like an addict I’ll admit to wanting to go on one more flight. Perhaps this time to see the views of Mt Denali out of Talkeetna. https://www.alaska.org/detail/talkeetna-air-taxi