From the days of open cockpit biplanes in the late 1920's to the 737 combis of Wien and Alaska airlines in the early '70's; no responsibility weighed more heavily on the shoulders of the Great Land's airmen than that of flying medivac flights. Many, many times the airplane was vital in moving someone from an outlying village to a hub, and from the hub to lifesaving hospital care in Anchorage or Fairbanks. Not until the early 1980s were village health aides trained as Emergency Medical Technicians, enhancing their ability to render vital initial basic medical care, almost always under the guidance of a doctor over radio or phone from the PHS hospital in Nome, Kotzebue, Bethel or Pt. Barrow.
This also was before the days of "organized" medivac standby schedules for the pilots and designated medivac or specially equipped aircraft. So the phones would start ringing all over town as the hospital called the various on demand charter companies and one of the companies could find an available (meaning sober) pilot. So the first guy found...went. And we never complained....really. Oh, occasionally you'd get PO'd when you got out to the village and found out it was one of the extremely RARE occasions when someone was "milking the system" to get a ride into town for him and his girlfriend, having cleverly deceived an innocent and poorly trained (if at ALL) village health aide. But generally you know it is serious business, often tragically serious and time critical. And all TOO often the result of overingestion of firewater. As such, you saddle up and ride pretty much regardless of the weather. My personal rule was that if takeoff was possible, and I could land safely anywhere, ANYWHERE within the range of my fuel capacity, I'd at least go give it a shot. So many times, almost always, we were successful. I would return home to my bed in the early hours of the morning, with a sense of accomplishment, a feeling I had truly made a difference in someone's life that day.
Sometimes though, it doesn't work out quite right. The injuries are too critical and the patient dies before we get there. Worse yet, is to have the Angel of Death appear on your airplane, as it did mine twice. Once taking the last breath of life from the patient as his grandmother sat beside me in the right seat of the 207 and I kept the engine balls out trying to get to town faster. Just earlier that day, she served me lunch and coffee in her house as I waited for the magistrate. These were my friends, my neighbors and so I always tried. In the midst of all this seriousness, I remember one very rare funny trip, that should bring you a chuckle or two.
Sit back, relax, and enjoy the story of one pilot held captive by a curious polar bear; and another pilot who couldn't believe what he was hearing.....in ANY language.
CloudDancer's Law of Medivacs - The suitability or severity of the weather for flying, will AWAYS be in directly inverse proportion to the severity of the injuries and the urgency of evacuation.
Part 1 -
The shrill metallic jangle of the phone jars me instantly upright as though an electric cattle prod had poked me in the ribs, and my feet hit the deck beside the bed.
After 23 hours flying in the last three days, nine of which I had finished only a scant five hours earlier, and almost as many hours spent at the Pondu and the Whale I needed a break, as did my liver. Hence, I had spent the last few hours just re-e-e-LAXing. I enjoyed a rare homecooked meal. Oh...not cooked by me. Hell, I can't boil water. No, it was prepared lovingly by yet another of the adorable and cuddly little local native girls who had set her sights on landing my 21year old butt for the long term......good LUCK!!
But, so as not to seem ungrateful, after two or three hours of cuddling on the couch, watching our one TV channnel (KOMO -Seattle, six weeks out of date, on videotape), I DID reward her with a couple of hours of toe-curling , sheet-ripping, knee-knocking, back-clawing sex. Well, okay. Maybe it was only an hour....but, okay OKAY!! SO it was 15 minutes! But I'm sure it had to be the best 15 minutes of her life up to that point!! Either way, we had only fallen asleep no more than 45 minutes earlier so I'm none too alert as I grab the receiver from the cradle while uttering a quick silent prayer that it is not one of my OTHER girlfriends and bring the phone to my ear.
"Hell-Oh." sez me. I hear the boss's gravely vioce on the other end "Hey...kid" and know before he utters another word that it's medivac time. Either that, or his old lady has kicked him out of the house again and he wants me to "co-pilot" him to ANC in our hot cabin class twin (which he's somewhat afraid of and which I, in the ignorance of youth and inexperience, think I'm totally hot in) to go party for a few days with his old cronies. "Co-piloting" from the left seat while he, three sheets to the wind, offers fairly continuous "constructive" criticism from the right seat, and I try to keep him from touching anything too important 'til he generally passes out as we climb to higher altitudes to clear the rocks after passing McGrath. But I digress.
He informs me to call the hospital, they got a hot one. "Hate to do it to ya' kid, I know you had a long day. I'll cover your morning school district charter so you can stay in the rack 'til sunup or so." That being about 11:15 in mid-January. "Okay boss, got 'er handled" I say confidently, somewhat bouyed by the fact that this means I get to fly the "big iron" tonight. I click the plunger in the phone cradle, obtain a dial tone and call the PHS hospital. After ringing for a good minute or more the phone is answered by Sister Mary one of the Catholic nuns, who at that point in time provided the majority of the nursing manpower for the hospital.
I say "Hiya. Sister Mary" and tell her who it is. She's relieved. She HATES to fly, but has flown with me a few times already and is comforted by the fact that I too am Catholic, even though I've been somewhat of a slacker lately. Sister Mary apologizes, as they always do, for distubing us at some unholy hour. My sweet little Eskimo lover stirs in the bed behind me. Half awake and half asleep, she now rolls over and curls her body around me, naked breasts pressed against my lower torso, wrapping her arm around my waist in her slumber. I hear Sister Mary saying "I haven't had the chance to see you at Mass the last couple of weeks or CONFESSION for that matter". DAMN NUNS!! I swear they've got a sixth sense, and twelve years of Catholic schooling implanted guilt washes over me as I gently take my sweetie's arm by the wrist and place it on TOP of the covers and silently ask the Lord to forgive me my most recent 15 minutes of sinning. (Amen)
Part Two coming SOON!! Does the girl get the pilot? Does our hero repent, give up flying, drinking and sex to join a seminary?? Will we EVER get to any AIRPLANE stuff in this story? Inquiring minds WANT TO KNOW!!
