CloudDancer
Registered User
L. Ronstadt - J. Ingram Duet
Long after darkness falls the IO540 in the nose of the "sled" (Cessna 207) barks into life on the 3000' PSP (courrogated steel planking) airstrip of Kivalina.
It's the mid 1970's and the only way home to OTZ tonight is to follow the shoreline. The icing conditions are ripe, with two miles skies obscured at some (for now) unknown altitude in mist and fog. Fortunately the winds are light. Our intrepid part-time charter pilot/full time F.A.A. Flight Service specialist can taxi down to the other end of the steel planking, turn around and take off towards the lights of the village (pop. 300 or so). In this weather this is a MUCH preferred alternative to taking off away from town; rotating, literally on the guages, into the inky blackness from a no lights runway; and shortly then after having to reverse course 180 degrees on the gauges at some (as yet) still unknown altitude, probably below 500 feet out over the water of the Bering Seas. Makes it hard to stay VFR, ya' know??
Damn! The weather wasn't supPOSED to get this bad, but hey. It's the Arctic in the 70's. No weather satellites scanning our part of the word. By guess and by golly we live (or not sometimes).
Fortunately for our central character in this little drama, the load is light. Half tanks of go-juice and only one middle aged nice, friendly Eskimo lady. Which is a blessing; considering many, if not most middle-aged nice Eskimo ladies tip the scales at 300 (+) pounds, as does this one.
Three hundred galloping ponies whinnie their throaty defiance and tug at the harnesses gaining speed and the Sled defies gravity with the village rushing ever closer.
Sliding slightly to the right and ascending to clear the the clinics HF radio tower at 75ft. AGL suddenly the world disappears and the lights become a glow rushing at us. A quick check of the altimeter shows 220 feet!! (no, I DIDN'T leave a zero off!!) The thought flashes through the pilot's mind. "Well, now doesn't THIS SUCK!!"
(to be Cont'd...if you folks are interested)
It's the mid 1970's and the only way home to OTZ tonight is to follow the shoreline. The icing conditions are ripe, with two miles skies obscured at some (for now) unknown altitude in mist and fog. Fortunately the winds are light. Our intrepid part-time charter pilot/full time F.A.A. Flight Service specialist can taxi down to the other end of the steel planking, turn around and take off towards the lights of the village (pop. 300 or so). In this weather this is a MUCH preferred alternative to taking off away from town; rotating, literally on the guages, into the inky blackness from a no lights runway; and shortly then after having to reverse course 180 degrees on the gauges at some (as yet) still unknown altitude, probably below 500 feet out over the water of the Bering Seas. Makes it hard to stay VFR, ya' know??
Damn! The weather wasn't supPOSED to get this bad, but hey. It's the Arctic in the 70's. No weather satellites scanning our part of the word. By guess and by golly we live (or not sometimes).
Fortunately for our central character in this little drama, the load is light. Half tanks of go-juice and only one middle aged nice, friendly Eskimo lady. Which is a blessing; considering many, if not most middle-aged nice Eskimo ladies tip the scales at 300 (+) pounds, as does this one.
Three hundred galloping ponies whinnie their throaty defiance and tug at the harnesses gaining speed and the Sled defies gravity with the village rushing ever closer.
Sliding slightly to the right and ascending to clear the the clinics HF radio tower at 75ft. AGL suddenly the world disappears and the lights become a glow rushing at us. A quick check of the altimeter shows 220 feet!! (no, I DIDN'T leave a zero off!!) The thought flashes through the pilot's mind. "Well, now doesn't THIS SUCK!!"
(to be Cont'd...if you folks are interested)