An Alaska National Park as Big as Connecticut. Annual Visitors? 23,000. (NY Times)
[ed. Lake Clark National Park and Preserve is special. In the 35 years that I've lived, worked, and traveled throughout Alaska it's still one of the most impressively wild and beautiful places I've ever visited.]
Here's a story. Over the course of my career and out recreating in Alaska, I've come close to serious injury (or worse) a number of times. So many that I kind of mentally segregate close calls into four categories now: Aviation. Animals. Recreation. General stupidity. This is an Aviation story:
After successfully weathering my first winter in Alaska, the next summer my folks came up for a visit, and my in-laws thought it would be fun to fly out to Lake Clark Preserve - Twin Lakes specifically - for a weekend of camping and lake trout fishing. My father in law at the time, Bill, had a PA-14 (basically a four-seater Super Cub) and the plan was to ferry two groups separately, with him flying back and forth most of the day and refueling in Nondalton (a small Native village along the way). I was in the first group with my father and sister in law and most of the gear. My wife, mom and mother in law were in the second group.
We had some problems right from the start. First of all, the floatplane was so loaded with four people, fuel and gear we couldn't get up on step to take off at Lake Hood in Anchorage (Bill was a big guy, a doctor, and former lineman for Northwestern). Instead of a direct shot out, we had to circle the lake several times, building up enough speed to finally inch our way up into the air (of course, once you're flying and burning fuel that's ceases to be a problem). Anyway, after several attempts, we did finally get airborne, barely, and a couple hours later were descending over the crystal turquoise waters of Lower Twin Lake (so crystal in fact that Bill had to drop a couple rocks he kept in a bag in the plane just for these situations, creating ripples on the water to gauge where the lake surface was).
We beached the plane and began unloading. Unfortunately, while stowing the gear and surveilling the surrounding area for bears, a stiff breeze came up and our floatplane slowly began drifting away. By the time we realized what was happening it was nearly 30 yards offshore. Bill, cussing, quickly stripped to his underwear and jumped into the bone chilling water, swimming determinedly toward the plane as it continued drifting further and further away. The water couldn't have been much above freezing but he finally made it and was able to pull himself up onto one of the floats, get the plane started, and motor back to shore. An ominous sign.
Shortly after, once we'd started a fire and he'd warmed up a bit, he took off again to get the rest of the party, leaving me, my dad and my sister in law on this beautiful deserted lake. For the next few hours we had a great time catching lake trout and grayling, one after the other, and hiking and exploring around in the woods. After a while though, we began nervously checking the sky. The clouds were getting darker, and we listened intently for the distant buzz of a little plane. We had a lot of camping gear but almost no food (that was in the next shuttle). No shotgun or any other type of bear protection (in the plane). So we caught a couple trout, put them on sticks and roasted them over the fire, picking off what we could eat with our fingers.
Then the rain started. A cold and steady drizzle. By that time (a couple hours past Bill's projected return time) we started getting really worried. Another hour went by, and with hypothermia becoming a real possiblity we finally heard that sweet little buzz. Bill came gliding in through low dark squalls and when he finally beached the plane told us we had to load everything up and get out as soon as possible. The weather was getting worse. In fact, that's why he'd taken so long. After repeated attempts to get back to Anchorage which was fogged in, he'd finally turned around and decided the trip was a no-go. Even worse, he'd been unable to refuel in Nondalton because that was socked in too. So rather than returning to Anchorage we'd have to head for Kenai instead, across Cook Inlet.
We quickly broke camp, loaded up our gear and took off. Bill checked Nondalton again and it was still socked in. The only way out was through Lake Clark Pass, a famously narrow and convoluted route back to the other side of the mountains. The ceiling kept dropping as we headed into the pass, flying low over the occasional plane wreck here and there that litter its steep, incised slopes, with the churning Chilikodrotna River below. I remember thinking, there sure aren't many places to land a plane down there (none).
Then, the engine died.
You know how the steady drone of a plane's engine can lull you into sleep? (another Aviation story). I was almost dozing off when suddenly there was just complete silence. Instant attention! I thought we'd drop like a rock, but we were gliding, floating through the steep river canyon with just the rugged, rocky river below. Bill immediately switched tanks, hit the ignition button and the engine coughed back to life. Whew (forgot there were two independent tanks, main and alternate). Unfortunately, because he'd been flying all day and hadn't been able to refuel, the plane was already running on its alternate tank (which had now run dry!) and he was trying to coax whatever was left in the main tank (that he'd run down before switching to the alternate) to carry us through the pass and out across the inlet.
We flew on a bit longer and were nearly out of the pass, with Cook Inlet ahead of us, when the engine died again. This time, Bill hard banked the plane one way then the other. I thought he was looking for a place to land (but there weren't any!), then realized (since the fuel tanks in a PA-14 and most other small aircraft are located in the wings) that he was actually trying to get whatever drops were left near the tips to run back down toward the engine. He turned the radio to an emergency frequency, hit the ignition switch again and miraculously the little plane coughed back to life, one more time.
A few very tense minutes later we were out of the pass, but unfortunately now over Cook Inlet (with its murderous tidal rip currents), without enough gas to make it to Kenai. The only hope was to aim for a small island in the middle of the Inlet, Kalgin Island, with a little lake on its southern end. We were all dead silent. Then the engine died one last time. My father in law didn't even try to restart it this time, just held the plane steady as we glided lower and lower, hoping we'd make it to the island, or at least go down close enough to swim. Could we make it over the trees that loomed large along the beach and adjoining lake? It was going to be close. At the last moment we just barely cleared them and set down quietly on Kalgin Island lake. Bill didn't say a word, and the rest of us just sat there stunned. As the plane slowly drifted to a stop he opened the door, climbed out on one of the floats, dislodged a paddle and started paddling toward shore. When the little plane finally came to rest in the weeds he jumped off, still never saying a word, and stomped off into the woods. We just looked at each other, like... what's he doing? Is he totally pissed or something and has to walk it off? But, after about 15 minutes of waiting, there he was again emerging from the trees carrying two 5 gallon cans of aviation gas. Apparently he'd cached them years before for just such an emergency. Amazing.
Anyway, somewhat anticlimactically, we re-filled the tanks and took off again. By now it was nearly nine o'clock at night but still early evening in Alaska. The bad weather had cleared by then and we were able to make it all the way back to Anchorage (with gas to spare), where we landed on Lake Hood roughly 12 hours after our adventure began.
Sadly, Bill, my sister in law Mary Lynn, and my dad are all gone now, so I'm the only one left to tell this story. It's one of the first close calls I put in my Aviation category, but by no means the worst or last. Just one of the more interesting ones.
I did enjoy being in Lake Clark Preserve that day though, it was truly beautiful.
