Singlecoil
I don't reMember
- Joined
- Jul 26, 2002
- Posts
- 1,273
Village Life Part Two March 26, 1995
“Flight 460, what are your intentions?”
With Nome weather down to 400 feet, I would have to shoot the gap between Army Peak, and Cape Nome, 600 and 800 feet, respectively. That asshole from the FAA is certainly going to ask how I stayed above 500 feet and out of the clouds; luckily I was alone, therefore no witnesses. Something in the tone of her voice on the radio...“Well, I guess I’ll head over to White Mountain and wait this one out, ETA 15 minutes from now.”
“Flight 460 roger, that sounds like a really good idea, Nome weather is not improving.”
A quick 180, a quick call on the radio to get the coffeepot fired up and I’m off to White Mountain, population 250. The weather was getting lower by the minute, the village popping out of the whiteness as I crept through 400 feet. A quick ride down the hill in Tom’s sled and I was in the village. Our agent Tom lives with his wife and three kids in a nice two story home, complete with computer, fax machine, VCR, etc. Hard working folks, they somehow find time to be agents for an airline and tend to their 1400 Reindeer.
Each summer, the deer get “horned,” as in having their antlers cut off. The antlers are then shipped to Korea where they are ground into a powder and used as an aphrodisiac by Korean men. Whatever turns you on...
Whenever you get stuck in a village, you always get fed extremely well. White Mountain was no exception. That evening we dined on spicy reindeer stew, which was outstanding. The next day the weather was just the same; very low ceilings and icing conditions. Feeling I should start earning my keep, I felt obligated to spend a couple of hours helping Tom shovel the three feet of snow off his roof. That evening was a special night: the one night a month that B.J. cooks “Eskimo Food.” Feeling not a little uneasy, I inquire as to the menu.
“Reindeer tongue, black meat, muktuk, reindeer stomach, and smoked strips, but if you don’t like it, I have some canned soup.” Black meat? This is none other than dried seal meat, and muktuk is whale blubber. These items are not your usual Eskimo cuisine; these are delicacy items, so naturally the whole extended family was invited. I put a little fingernail-sized piece of muktuk on my tongue and slowly chewed the rubbery substance. Feeling the bile rising, I turned my head and prepared to vomit in a fit of shame and embarrassment. Somehow, I choked back the vile fluids as the children laughed and sweat began to ooze out the pores of my forehead. The reindeer tongue provoked about the same reaction, and the reindeer stomach was safe from me. I saw a bowl of twigs on the table, some sort of root, and gingerly chewed on a small piece of wood. It had a subtle, strange taste, somewhere between cinnamon and spearmint. I probably ate a total of about two ounces of food, and was not in the least bit hungry for more.
Finally the weather broke overnight, leaving a thick coating of frost and ice all over my airplane. Armed with an ice scraper, I got off as much as I could and figured the rest wouldn’t have any significant effect on aircraft performance. Since the temperature was right around freezing, I knew I could find a patch of warm air somewhere and melt the rest off before I landed in Nome. At 2300 feet over the pack ice, the frost began to quiver and slide. Landing in Nome with a clean airplane, I was almost hoping the FAA would be there so I could show him how clean it was. But they’re never there when you want them to be.
“Flight 460, what are your intentions?”
With Nome weather down to 400 feet, I would have to shoot the gap between Army Peak, and Cape Nome, 600 and 800 feet, respectively. That asshole from the FAA is certainly going to ask how I stayed above 500 feet and out of the clouds; luckily I was alone, therefore no witnesses. Something in the tone of her voice on the radio...“Well, I guess I’ll head over to White Mountain and wait this one out, ETA 15 minutes from now.”
“Flight 460 roger, that sounds like a really good idea, Nome weather is not improving.”
A quick 180, a quick call on the radio to get the coffeepot fired up and I’m off to White Mountain, population 250. The weather was getting lower by the minute, the village popping out of the whiteness as I crept through 400 feet. A quick ride down the hill in Tom’s sled and I was in the village. Our agent Tom lives with his wife and three kids in a nice two story home, complete with computer, fax machine, VCR, etc. Hard working folks, they somehow find time to be agents for an airline and tend to their 1400 Reindeer.
Each summer, the deer get “horned,” as in having their antlers cut off. The antlers are then shipped to Korea where they are ground into a powder and used as an aphrodisiac by Korean men. Whatever turns you on...
Whenever you get stuck in a village, you always get fed extremely well. White Mountain was no exception. That evening we dined on spicy reindeer stew, which was outstanding. The next day the weather was just the same; very low ceilings and icing conditions. Feeling I should start earning my keep, I felt obligated to spend a couple of hours helping Tom shovel the three feet of snow off his roof. That evening was a special night: the one night a month that B.J. cooks “Eskimo Food.” Feeling not a little uneasy, I inquire as to the menu.
“Reindeer tongue, black meat, muktuk, reindeer stomach, and smoked strips, but if you don’t like it, I have some canned soup.” Black meat? This is none other than dried seal meat, and muktuk is whale blubber. These items are not your usual Eskimo cuisine; these are delicacy items, so naturally the whole extended family was invited. I put a little fingernail-sized piece of muktuk on my tongue and slowly chewed the rubbery substance. Feeling the bile rising, I turned my head and prepared to vomit in a fit of shame and embarrassment. Somehow, I choked back the vile fluids as the children laughed and sweat began to ooze out the pores of my forehead. The reindeer tongue provoked about the same reaction, and the reindeer stomach was safe from me. I saw a bowl of twigs on the table, some sort of root, and gingerly chewed on a small piece of wood. It had a subtle, strange taste, somewhere between cinnamon and spearmint. I probably ate a total of about two ounces of food, and was not in the least bit hungry for more.
Finally the weather broke overnight, leaving a thick coating of frost and ice all over my airplane. Armed with an ice scraper, I got off as much as I could and figured the rest wouldn’t have any significant effect on aircraft performance. Since the temperature was right around freezing, I knew I could find a patch of warm air somewhere and melt the rest off before I landed in Nome. At 2300 feet over the pack ice, the frost began to quiver and slide. Landing in Nome with a clean airplane, I was almost hoping the FAA would be there so I could show him how clean it was. But they’re never there when you want them to be.