Fwd: EPISODE 99 LAST FLIGHT OUT ON A CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE

Begin forwarded message:

From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: EPISODE 99 LAST FLIGHT OUT ON A CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE

Date: August 25, 2020 at 10:04:17 AM EDT

To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>, Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>, John Wardle <john.t.wardle@gmail.com>

EPISODE 99”  LAST FLIGHT OUT … ON A CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE

alan skeoch

August 2020

EPISODE 99   LAST FLIGHT OUT ON A  CRIPPLED BUSH PLANE

alan skeoch

august 2020

PILOT  “Listen boys, I do not like this little lake

so do your work fast.  The water is going down

and  landing will get difficult.”

“Take less per load.”

“Possible but soon there’ll not be enough water to land.”

“These  are the last off our anomalies…we will work fast.

Come back for us in three days.:  (I do not remember this time line exactly)

The summer of 1964 was hot.  To many that means heightened fire  danger which was

true.  We had a no fire rule for much of the summer. But the real danger was the slow but

steady evaporation of water from the lakes.  A lot of water

was gone between June and September.  That fact is apparent in the photograph of

our fly camp (Episode 97).  Looks like the water has gone down five  feet or more.

Flight pontoon landings that were easy and safe in June became difficult and dangerous

in September.

This picture was  taken  in mid August.  Take a  look at the high  water mark on the shore.  Seems water had  gone  down about

four or five feet by then.  On  our last job the water level had dropped more.  Very dangerous for water landings and takeoffs as

we discovered.

It was our last job. 

we Were  finished. The crew had returned to Paradise Lodge to pack up.

Marjorie had caught the ACR to Sault Ste Marie.  “Meet you at

the airport, Marjorie…maybe around noon.”   My part of the job  was finished.  I had to be

back in school by the end of the Labour Day Week  End.    

The plan was neat.  We had finished work on an anomaly close to a small lake

south of our Wart Lake camp.  All that was left was a pile of gear….tents, cooking

goods, some wire frame cots, axes,shovels.,Coleman  stoves, fuel, etc.  I don’t really remember what was

in the pile of goods.   Maybe 200  to 300 pounds  of

euipment.  

“I don’t like this lake…too shallow,” said the pilot when he dropped us a few days earlier.

“And it will get worse.”

We did the job as fast as we could and had arranged a pick up.  Don’t remember much about the first flight

  but I do  know I was  feeling quite nostalgic.  This would be the last bush job of m life.  I knew that

and wanted to savour my exit alone. Crew out first.  The flight went

well although the distance from touchdown to the end of the lake was short.  

That was not the problem.  I did  not expect a  problem for I was  wrapped in

my memories of so  many bush  planes on so many lakes.  Mostly Beavers but a  few

Cessnas and one Seabee which was just a visitor being dropped off.  “Those 

Seabees are really dangerous.  Motor at the rear.  Pushing.  If the motor quits the

goddamn thing drops like a rock.  No ability to glide.   Cessnas  glide best.”

The Cessna 170 came in  at tree top level.  Had  to.  Landing strip of water was short 

as evaporation created shallows where  once  there was two or three feet of water.

The pilot cut power early and  the plane settled  down  harder than usual.  Bigger chevron 

of water.  And something different.  Slightly lopsided.  The plane turned  and  idled

its way to our landing site.  Slight slant.  Odd.

“Hit a fucking deadhead.  Ripped the pontoon…goddamnit.”

Submerged  objects terrified bush pilots.  Often they took a run at landing

then circled.  Looking for objects.  Like dead heads…old submerged logs or

trees  sometimes angled upwards.

“I’m going to pump out the water while you load.  Could be tricky.  Put 

load  as far forward  as you can…need the weight for extra  lift.”

Took no time at all.  Ignition. And we worked our way to best takeoff  position

and he gave it full power.  We flumed our way down the lake with an increasing

slant as the pontoon filled with water.   Fast but not fast enough.  The far shore 

and  tree line got closer and  closer.  “Can’t make it!” and the pilot cut power and  the plane settled.  Slightly off centre.  And close

to shore.  Too close.

“Dump the load on the beach.  We’ll try  once more but empty.  Got to get off

this fucking lake. “  He cursed and  pumped out the pontoon water.

“There.  Let’s give it another try.”

He taxied down as far as he could without getting tangled in weeds.  Then

we were moving.  The pontoon filled with water as we went full throttle

down the lake.  Far shore became the near shore.  No lift yet.

“Move your body  forward…gut more lift.”

Then we had liftoff.  To me it seemed  just in time.  Seemed we were

just skirting the swamp and  maybe touching tree tops  Not true of

course.  Imagination played.

The rest of the flight was easy.  In an hour we had landed at Sault Ste

Marie where Marjorie was supposed to be waiting.  I had said noon but

we were late, very late. She was not there.

Her turquoise VW beetle  was in the parking lot but no sign of 

Marjorie.

Then she walked into the holding lounge from the aircraft side.

“I pretended to be  sick.”

“A man offered me a tour of the city from his plane.  I did  not

know he was just a pilot in training.  Scared me near to death.

Only way we got back on the ground  fast was I pretended  to

be about to vomit”

And so  it ended.   Our days of mining exploration were over.  They

ended with a bang.

alan  skeoch

August 2020

P.S.  I know this sounds hard to believe.  Writing from memory

can result in exaggeration.  So here are the simple facts

of that last flight.

1) Water levels had  fallen dramatically (see picture)

2) Pilot did hit something and punctured one pontoon.

3) I  watched him pump out the pontoon

4) We failed to get liftoff on our first attempt and jettisoned

the cargo on the beach.

5) Second attempt was just barely successful and I remember

the pilot asking me to lean forward.

6) Our baggage?   Do  not know what happened.

7) Marjorie did take a joy ride that scared her enough to feign vomit

8) This  was  not my final job.  The next summer we flew to Merritt

B.C. on a short seismic job.  But this Paradise Lodge job was

my last bush  job.