This old airport's got me down,
It's no earthy use to me.
Gordon Lightfoot
As a young Alaska lawyer, I traveled almost a million miles in airplanes. I flew more than three quarter of a million miles in airline jets, mostly Delta, Alaska Airlines, and Markair. I flew another quarter of a million miles over bush Alaska in a variety of small planes: Lockheed Electras, DeHavilland Beavers, and Cessna 185 Skywagons--the pickup trucks of the sky.
There was nothing glamorous about flying in small airplanes over the Alaska bush. I threw up once flying over Chickaloon Pass in a Cessna 152.
And a young pilot scared me out of my wits flying out of Ketchikan in a DeHavilland Otter on a foggy afternoon--the plane loaded with ice cream and chainsaws for a logging camp. He had forgotten to secure a cargo door as we lifted off, which swung open and banged against the fusilage. Unperturbed, he landed in the water and walked out on a float to give the door a good slam.
In those days, flying commercial was altogether different from flying in the bush. The airlines served hot meals on some flights, and most passengers were fully clothed. I always wore a coat and tie when I flew. And there was a graciousness about commercial air travel then that's missing now.
I recall flying down the Yukon Valley in a chartered DeHavilland Beaver on a snowy winter night hoping to catch a commercial flight from the Inuit village of Bethel into Anchorage. I was wearing a grey pinstriped suit and tie under a cashmere overcoat. The pilot was bundled up in a khaki-covered Carhartt survival suit and wearing a holstered Ruger .44 magnum revolver.
My pilot looked me over before boarding and laughed out loud at my attire, "One of us isn't dressed appropriately," he joked.
For some reason not explained, we took off late from the Yupik village of St. Mary, where I had attended a school board meeting.
It was clear I wouldn't arrive in Bethel in time to board my commercial flight home to Anchorage. This was a serious problem for me because there were no overnight accommodations for Koss'aq (white) travelers.
About 50 miles out from the Bethel airport, my pistol-toting pilot radiod the control tower and asked for the Alaska Airlines jet, a Boeing 737, to wait for me. I recall a radio response but it wasn't clear to me whether my pilot's request was granted.
We landed in a snow flurry, and two Anchorage Airlines employees sprinted out of the terminal building to grab my luggage and hurry me through the metal detector. Both were young women--one Yupik and one white--and both were coatless on this frigid Alaska night.
I looked down the runway and saw an Alaska Airlines jet parked on the tarmac, the tail painted with the iconic image of an Eskimo. The rear passenger door was open. They waited for me!
As I scrambled up the steps, I saw a young flight attendent standing in the doorway, her profile backlit by the inteior lights, reminding me of Our Lady of Guadalupe. She was hugging herself against the cold.
I will be forever grateful to the Bethel Airport aircraft controller and the Alaska Airlines pilot who delayed a scheduled flight for me on that long ago winter night. I often think of that night when I fly commercial these days, squeezed into an economy seat, issued a bag of peanuts, and placed next to an obese fellow traveler wearing pajamas and eating a carry-on pizza.
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| A memory of gracious air travel |
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