One weekend my father in law flew us out in his floatplane to fish for lake trout at the confluence of Upper and Lower Twin Lakes in Lake Clark National Preserve, one of the most stunningly beautiful parks in Alaska. The lakes themselves were crystal blue-green and so placid he had to drop rocks out the window on approach (rocks that he kept stashed just for this kind of occasion) to create ripples and enough depth perception to land safely on the mirrored, glassy surface. Once we were down and unloaded he left us there with our camping gear (but no food or water) and took off again to fly back to Kenai to pick up the rest of family, who were waiting with the other supplies we'd need to camp for several days. Unfortunately, the weather soon turned bad and we ended up cold and miserable in a steady driving rain, roasting freshly caught lake trout on alder sticks over a fizzling fire. After several hours of misery, we kept desperately hoping to hear the low drone of a plane coming in from the distance, but no luck. That's when we went exploring for shelter in the surrounding woods (minus any firearms for bears) and found Dick's cabin. We figured if worse came to worse, at least there'd be that. Finally, late in the day, the little PA-14 came humming over the horizon and we were saved from a cold and hungry night (and having to break into Dick's cabin).
But there's more...
It seemed like we were saved, but what we didn't know was how little fuel the PA-14 had left after trying to fly to Kenai and back (and getting socked in, trying over and over to get through dense, low lying clouds). After taking off from Twin Lakes and buzzing along for half an hour we were lulled into sleep by the steady drone of the engine... when suddenly everything went silent. We were in the middle of Lake Clark Pass (one of the most trecherous Passes in Alaska) and out of fuel. I watched my father in law switch tanks and try to restart the engine. It coughed back to life. We flew on a little longer, weaving down a narrow canyon, searching out possible landing sites along the rocky Chilikadrotna River below (there were none). Then the engine went dead again. This time he switched the radio to an emergency frequency and waggled the wings back and forth (where the fuel tanks are located) so any remaining gas would run down into the engine. Miraculously, after several tries, the engine caught again (on fumes), and, with a few minutes left, we were able to get through the Pass and out over Cook Inlet where Kalgin Island (several miles away) lay in the distance. The engine gave one last gasp and finally died for good, but by now we were high enough over the ocean that we could glide the remaining distance and land on the island's only lake. Once we touched down, my father in law opened the pilot's door, got out on the floats and paddled us the rest of the way to shore. He disappeared into the woods without a word and we didn't dare ask where he was going - he wasn't saying much by then - but twenty minutes later he emerging with two five-gallon containers of Av-gas that he'd stashed some years earlier for just such an occasion. We poured them into the fuel tanks and were off again, finally making it home. We even beat the rest of the family who, still driving back from Kenai, arrived a couple hours later. What a trip. Long story short, I never did get to see the inside of Dick Proenneke's cabin (although, I wish I had). But the fishing was great!]
by markk
