On May 16th 2003, Todd Kelsey and I flew into the upper Chickaloon drainage with Dave of Grasshopper Aviation out of the Wasilla airport. We got to the airport to find out that fog was sitting over the landing zone so we sat around in Dave's office while he regaled us with tales of plane crashes. Nothing fills your mind with confidence like a pilot who reminisces about various spills and forced landings. Apparently losing a tail in a landing was no big deal. Who knew?

While flying in Dave apparently sensed my unease and did his best to scare me silly. He skimmed along the river, diving in sickening bursts of madness. When we landed we landed a bit too fast and hit the ground HARD slamming into the rocky strip and bouncing close to 10 feet in the air. I crawled out of the plane and ran into the bushes dry heaving.

There were 3 other people at the landing strip. Jake, a bear hunting guide, and his two clients. Jake was the classic Alaskan bear guide. He was classic in the sense that instead of flying out with his garbage on his lap he opted to throw it into the bushes. Classic in the sense that he had hauled literally hundreds of pounds of junk into this area only to leave it sitting under a blue trap so it could be destroyed by bears and porcupines.   [Read More... ]

My pilot, Mike Meekins, maneuvers his plane between granite towers and we float out into the open, the Talkeetna glacier spread below us, her many forks outstretched and the plane spiraling over them with my eyes glued to the window looking at ice, granite and snow.  Meekins studies the snow and we aim for a calm tongue of powder unscathed by the winds. 

We drift in, the landing so smooth I can barely tell when we've touched down.  And then Mike opens the door and we step out into deep snow and blue sky.  He passes me my bags and then he's off leaving me standing alone and 50 miles from the nearest road.  If I were to escape on my own I'd be a modern mini Shackelton, skiing down glacier past yawning glaciers to a wild river meandering through thick brush with sleepy bears waking up hungry, no food since October.  I stand still and silent for a full minute after Mike's drone disappears into the next valley.  It is so quiet it's deafening.  The overwhelming silence makes me squint and shake my head and then I roll back my head and scream "YAAAAAAA!!!"  There's not even an echo... my voice fades the second it leaves my mouth. 

Mike is flying a Supercub, which means 1 trip per person.  Each trip is one and a half  hours round trip so I busy myself making camp.  Over the course of the next 5 hours the rest of our party arrives. Eric Parsons comes after me, followed by Yvonne and finally Bryce Stath. We amuse ourselves by watching their eyes and face light up as each person steps out and looks around.

Finally the transportation cycle ends and Mike shakes our hands.  "The 28th right?" he says.  "Call me on your sat phone and give me the weather."  We all wave and he takes off and then we're truly alone; no one around for miles - no overflights, no flightseeing tourists.  We are totally removed and it feels good!   [Read More... ]