Aviation stories told here

[FlyChicaga]

I particularly like this story, strictly because of a few passengers' reactions after the flight.

We were flying the terminator flight one night. We had been given a different routing that evening due to some icing reports on the normal plan. The flight ran fairly smooth for the most part, up until approach. During climbout, we quickly emerged from some low clouds at the hub and were out of the ice and IMC in clear skies for our entire time in cruise.

Coming into the airport, we didn't hit the clouds until around 7000 feet or so, which wasn't so bad. Some light rime ice, occasional light chop. Pulling up ATIS at the destination we found that weather was being reported as 600 overcast, 2 miles visibility, and light snow. Eh, not too bad. We were expecting an ILS approach to the northeast.

When we checked in with approach, we were given a descent to 4000 feet and a vector for the localizer only approach. Apparently a Delta MD-88 crew has to go missed due to an intermittent glideslope, so they were now using the LOC only. Still ok for the weather, since the MDA was just over 450 feet AFL, and visibility was above minimums. However, this active runway did not have any aids to assist in vertical guidance (VASI, PAPI, G/S, etc.). Not a large concern, but it would have been nice at night after flying a non-precision approach to near minimums.

As we descended to 4000 feet, we noticed the outside air temperature had risen to +7 C. Interesting! We looked outside, and the light to moderate rime was completely gone. A definitely plus. Now, a descent to 3000 feet, update on the weather: Still 600 overcast, 2 1/2 miles visibility, light snow. Delta just landed and are clear, so the runway is ours.

As we descended to 3000 feet, the turbulence began. Moderate. I put my hands on the controls just in case of an autopilot disconnect, since it was getting fairly rough. Eh, maybe it was getting somewhat severe. I was quickly slowing to our Vra speed for the jolts we were feeling, and turned up my EFIS displays and instrument lighting to help me see the indications. The rough air was making it difficult to focus. We did see shear indications +/- 20 knots. Now, 3 miles to the FAF.

As we were closing in on the FAF, we noticed the temperature was now -2 C. That was quite a shift from the +7 C at 4000 feet... a 9 degree shift in a 1000 foot descent. Looking outside, the light rime... well mixed ice was there now. Bump to level 3 again (engine A/I and the boots).

At the FAF, we continued with the approach as normal down to MDA. At about 2700 feet, the turbulence we had experience smoothed out to light. Thank goodness. Soon we broke out, leveled at MDA, and picked up the runway ahead. "Leaving MDA, flaps 20, landing checklist." After that wild ride, I was able to finish it off with a smooth landing on the snow-covered runway. (Honestly, the airplane just kinda stopped flying and layed itself nicely in the touchdown zone.)

On the taxi in, I mentioned how it seemed the boots didn't get much of that ice off, and we'd certainly need to deice in the morning (since we were doing a continuous-duty overnight). Little did I know.

Before the passengers could deplane, I hopped out to attach the prop ties, and check out the ice that was left. Well, to my surprise, it was no light ice. In fact, it was some serious ice. Ice 1/2 inch thick on the leading edge of the prop at the hub, decreasing to maybe 1/8-1/4 inch thick 3/4 the length of the prop. 3 inches of thin runback on the prop past the boots. Rough clear ice from the nose back to the AOA indicators and windscreens. Ice nearly a foot behind the wing deicing boots. Ice the entire length of the spinner. Practically every leading edge of anything had ice on it. A major chill ran down my spine.

As I went to the stairs to notify the Captain of my findings, the passengers were on their way out. Nobody really said much, besides a "the boots doing their job tonight?" and a "that was quite a ride." Then a woman came down the stairs, breaking the silence: "Son, were you the pilot?" "Yes ma'am, I was" I said. "Honey, the angels were with you tonight. You are quite a pilot. Those angels were watching you." I could just smile. What could I say?

Then I notice another woman in the doorway, shaking hands with the F/A and Captain. She makes her way down the stairs, and without a word, just walks up with open arms and hugs me tight. She mentioned a similar comment about the angels watching me, then went on her way.

All in all, quite a night. Too bad I didn't have more time to sleep it off, since 5 hours later we'd be back out for another flight.

Well, the next morning, we prepared the ice-covered machine as normal. Preflight, systems checks, hot jugs, and engine start-up to warm up the cabin. After startup, we notice a slight vibration from the engine. Must be that ice on the props. Some must have come off, causing a slight unbalance. Noted. They'll need to hit the props with some extra fluid once we get to the deicing pad. (Note: No gate deicing available. Airport ordinance, since the fluid gets in the water system.)

Once the passengers get boarded up, and we finish our flight paperwork, we start number 1. Same slight vibration. So as the Captain brings the condition lever into min-max (low pitch) on the number 2, the engine vibration gets very excessive. Serious vibrations which we immediately know is NOT good for the aircraft, so condition lever to fuel off. Nope, this is not going to work.

To make a long story short, we had to barter for a towbar of unknown existance, hidden in a maintenance hangar. It took negotiations with six different airlines to finally find one. It was our only solution: A tow to the deice pad to rid the airplane of the remaining ice from the night previous, and the current freezing rain which moved in during our delay. About four or more hours later, the freezing rain made it's way out of the area, we had a clean airplane, and we were able to depart for home.

Maybe those women were right. The angels were with us. It was quite a learning experience, to say the least. Thinking back, I should have known what would have happened with that inversion, but at the time getting knocked around in the turbulence it didn't occur to me. We were too busy flying. Plus, looking outside, we had no reason to think otherwise.

 

[skyking1976]

Captain G and The Rookie

Not one of my personal stories, but a good one nevertheless. 13 years later, it's still funny.



There is more than one type of guy flying for the airlines and more than just what's described here. He can be the old crusty captain; time-weathered and seen it all, yet a big softy on the inside. The "it's a living" guy; just there to make the (at one time) decent money. And the rookie; eager to learn, eager to please, sometimes a little bit overprepared for the job.

Captain G, we'll call him, shows up for an early A.M. trip. He one of the first types, just not as old as you would expect. Nothing really special about this one except that the F/O, not too terribly long out of IOE, is Mr. "Super-pilot". He's not an ego-maniac, mind you. He's one of these guys that has a tool or gadget for every conceivable situation you can think of. VERY technical minded individual, you see. This guy had no learning curve whatsoever with the EFIS system on the company's new aircraft as opposed to the older pilots, who had only flown steam gauges up until recently.

Typical friendly exchanges between G and the rookie. Shortly thereafter they make their way out to the sleeping aircraft for its wake up call. The rookie, ever eager to please his captain, volunteers for the walk-around. After stowing his overnight bag, he sets his loaded-to-the-gills flight case next to his seat and produces the largest Mag-lite in production. It took something like 20 D cells for this two million candlepower behemoth. The rookie wants to inspect the exterior lighting of the airplane, but, instead of a friendly tap on the side of the airplane, Captain G gets a face full of ultra-bright krypton bulb. "Oh well", our Captain thinks. "New guy on the job. I made mistakes too. He'll figure it out." Remember the definition of assume?

Walk around completed, the young F/O finds his seat and settles in for the first of an 10 leg day. Ever over-prepared, the rookie begins to unpack his support media from the flight case. Sennheiser headset, multiple sun shades, insulated coffee mug with spill-proof lid, Jepp charts, two types of sunglasses (one for cloudy conditions, one for bright sun the rookie explains), earplugs, flight time forms, flying gloves, post-it notes, and a real serious looking mechanical pencil.

Watching the unusual unpacking ritual, Captain G starts take more of an interest as to the strange habits of his new companion. The rookie begins to get the ATIS when he realizes that his mecha-pencil is out of lead. More unpacking ensues as he searches for his pencil refills. The cockpit floor is fast becoming a resemblance to an aviator yard sale. Now that his flight case is almost completely unpacked, the rookie finds his conatiner of lead and proceeds to fill robo-pencil. Maybe it was nerves, maybe it was too much coffee, the tiny lead container proved to be too elusive for Mr. Rookie. Pencil lead goes flying everywhere. If Captain G were a Vietnam Veteran he would be having flashbacks with all the shrapnel that had just entered the cockpit. Apologizing the entire time, the rookie begins searching for pencil lead amongst the flight case jetsam and dark grey-colored cockpit floor. Finally he gets himself together, cyber-pencil reloaded, and flight case repacked.

Passengers board, engines start, the ritual begins. After the "first flight of the day" run-ups are completed, Captain G asks the rookie if he wantsto fly the first leg. Naturally the answer is yes and the airplane is turned over to the rookie. As weather in the Midwest is prone to do, a nice, thick fog layer accompanied my an overcast layer was the order of the morning. Rookie gets his EFIS set up, radios tuned, flight director up and directing, and the take off roll begins. As our rookie friend climbs though the fog and clouds, eventually breaking out on top, the "New Airplane Syndrome" kicks in. EFIS goes completely black, both sides. Not an electrical failure, just EFIS. Rookie starts to show signs of panic. "What do I do now?" he asks Captain G. "Were on top, right?" asks G. Rookie: "Yeah." G: "Look outside." Rookie: "Oh..."

The next day, in another airplane of the same type, our captain discovers that the transponder has decided to select completely random numbers when the dials are turned. Eventually it settles on one code despite any attempts to change the numbers. Captain G calls clearance delivery and explains the predicament. Eventually he gets clearance to give him the squawk that is displayed in the transponder. Problem solved, right? Guess again. The rookie gets himself up to the cockpit, performs his unpacking ritual and begins to get the clearance. Captain G stops him and explains the transponder issue and that everything had been rectified.

They continue on for a couple of legs with the same transponder number assigned. Eventually ATC asks if they can get their transponder fixed. Captain G says they can on the next stop through their maintenance base which happened to be only two legs away. ATC begrudgingly gives the clearance with the same squawk again. The whole negotiation process had incurred a slight delay, so the F/A comes up to the cockpit, wondering about the cause while Captain G is in mid-negotiation with ATC. Our rookie friend fields the F/A's question. "We're having problems with our transponder. We can't get it to display anything but what's already in there, see?" Rookie grabs the transponder knob and gives it a violent twist. All "8's" appear in the display and now it's in permanent test mode. The captain looks like he's going to cry...





I'll have to pick some brains for more stories. More to come...

 

[ibaflyer]

And there I was......

weather was 0/0; one engine out, hauling cancelled checks in my pocket and my co-pilot on fire.

No really, I do not have a airline story or even a charter flight tale to tell. I just have a story about my friend (a partner in my plane).

Here we are, He is in the left seat, I am in the right and it is not that long after he gets checked out in our t-tail Lance. I guess he wanted to impress me with his knowledge and skill so he is telling me how he sets up for his landings, speeds on final, when he does his GUMPS check, etc..

Anyway, I guess I am feeling a little devilish, so, while we are starting downwind, he is looking for other traffic that called on the radio so I just reach up and pull the breaker for the landing gear. I just wanted to see if he would notice. We continue downwind and he starts his GUMPS check. Fuel pump ON, gear DOWN and so on.. flaps as needed and calls his BASE turn.

Nothing.... He has NO idea that his gear was not down. He calls FINAL and I finally say, "Is the Gear down?" He looks up and notices that the three green lights are missing. He reaches up and takes the gear switch to the UP posisiton and back down again. NOTHING. He repeats this two more times all while flying down final. I ask him, "What are you going to do?" He says "I'm not sure why the gear will not come down? and he is still flying down FINAL. I ask him again, "What are you going to do?" He says, I am going to get the book out and see what the problem is? I ask him, " are you going to do this before or after we impact the ground?" I call out MY PLANE and start a go around before he realizes just what is going on.

After a few seconds, he then says, "You fly the next approach I am shaking too bad." I push the breaker back in, fly the pattern from the right seat and proceed to smash it on the runway. (I am not used to flying from over there and I think that I set ELTs off in other planes with that landing) Anyway, I think that we both learned a valuable lesson. #1 He learned that just because the gear selector is in the down position, the gear may not be down and #2 I can not land from the right seat.

 

[Singlecoil]

Great thread, Mar. You forced me to scan my hard-drive for the emails I used to send to friends and family from up there....like this one....

A flight on the rocks? February 6, 1995

The native girl cautiously creeps toward the barstool. A bush pilot is draining a cold one after earning his daily pay. “Excuse me, were you my pilot today?”
“Oh, that was you from Brevig Mission?”
“That was such a scary flight!”
“Oh, well, umm, I’m sorry about that, I didn’t think the weather was going to be that bad or I wouldn’t have taken any passengers.”
“It was so white and there was all that ice on the airplane!”
“Well, I didn’t get any ice on the way up, and it was kind of unexpected. By the time we were icing up, there was little to do but get to Nome as soon as possible, and then we taxied into the snow drift, it was too dark to see.”
“I was so scared, I was wishing I stayed home, but I’m glad I got here safe, and I’m glad you were flying, and…will you dance with me?” Like I’m going to turn that down.
The weather was not forecast to get below 3000 feet with ten miles of visibility. Now I know why they call them “weather guessers.” My gut was telling me that something was rolling in, but we had lots of mail and our other plane was broken, so I kind of had to take a look. I think I’ll listen to my gut a little more the next time.
The first twenty miles north were a pretty solid white-out, but the weather improved from there and my first two stops were uneventful. In Wales I had to wait 30 minutes in an 80 below wind chill for our agent to show up, making the flight late. Wales had warmed up from a 101 below wind chill earlier in the week. I took off and called Nome to extend my flight plan. They answered by telling me Nome had gone down to a 600 foot ceiling with a half a mile visibility, essentially closing the airport. I headed to Teller to wait out the storm at our agent’s house. I was there for 90 minutes with another pilot, admiring the agent’s collection of gold nuggets from his 15 claims.
Nome came back up to three miles so I went to Brevig Mission, only 8 miles from Teller, to load up passengers and head for Nome as darkness approached. We were following the coast only about 30 miles from Nome when it started—freezing rain. The worst kind of icing with the fastest accumulation rate, and of course, a 207 has no de-icing equipment. In 15 minutes, the wings, tail, and prop were covered, forcing me to use full power to keep from descending. My defroster was working well so I had a little hole in the windshield I could see out of. The clouds were low and full of more ice so I couldn’t climb to find warmer temperatures. The passengers kept looking at the wings, then at me, then at the ground, then at me, etc. I naturally ignored them and acted as if this always happened. The wind had increased to a thirty-five knot headwind, slowing my progress and lengthening my time in the icy rain. Nome weather had come back down to a little over a mile, forcing me to get a clearance to approach the airport. Usually this means a ten to thirty minute delay, far too long in these conditions; the airplane wouldn’t fly that much longer if I kept putting on ice. I was thinking I would have to declare an emergency to get first in line to land when the controller told me there was no other traffic. Lucky—an emergency commands lots of unwanted attention, and even more unwelcome paperwork.
Two miles out I saw the runway and lined up. I reached for the flap handle but caught myself. Ordinarily flaps will allow the airplane to fly safer at slower speeds, but with this much ice on board, it would surely stall the tail and nose in. I touched down smoothly with no flaps and started to taxi in. In the darkness, I managed to find a snowdrift, forcing us to shutdown and deplane. I pointed in the direction of the terminal, and the two ladies on board walked off, saying nothing. I noticed the two men looking at the ice on the wings and shaking their heads. I had to inform them that the ice was unexpected and to my surprise they thanked me for the flight and helped me push the plane out of the snow. I quickly ran next door to see if I could put the plane in a hangar before the FAA saw it. I chipped a piece off the tail and one off the wing; perfectly clear, thick ice. I closed out my paperwork and headed for town. What does a pilot do with thick chunks of ice from his wings? He puts them in a glass and pours scotch over them; after all I had the next two days off.

 

[Singlecoil]

Village Life Part One March 7, 1995

Maybe that little voice should have been telling me something. There I am holding short of the runway with my hand out the window making sure this rain isn’t freezing on the wing. The weather has been down to the ground for two days, backing up the passengers and mail.
Our friendly FAA inspector has been lurking in the shadows, busting my balls when I least expect it. Luckily when he stopped by the weather was bad enough that I had left the plane in the hangar. Apparently that wasn’t good enough. Picture a fat scaly man with thick glasses and bad skin; the kind of guy that doesn’t wash his hair for fear of losing it. Picture your average bush pilot, swilling coffee and brooding over the weather. Freezing rain, low ceilings…crap I have to leave it in the hangar. Enter Mr. Smith, “Do you have approval to operate in ’ground icing’ conditions?”
“Uhhh, well, we can’t take off with snow, ice, or frost adhering to the surface of the aircraft. I saw freezing rain in the observation, and in the forecast and elected to leave it in the hangar.”
“But that’s not what I asked you. I want you to show me your approval to operate in ’ground icing’ conditions in your company operations manual.”
In all my years of flying and instructing, I had never heard of the term “ground icing.”
“Umm, could you define that?” I ask trying to stifle any hint of disgust in my voice.
“We have it today. (Long pause.) Anytime you could have ice adhering to the aircraft when it is on the ground, whether it be freezing rain, or pushing the plane out of a warm hangar and having snow melt on it and freeze, etc. Turn to page A1-4 of your ops manual.”
“Okay, let’s see…there doesn’t seem to be a page A1-4.”
“Well this manual is obviously not up to date.” (Punishable by death or suspension at the discretion of the Administrator.)
“I’d be very upset if this manual is lacking, because I have diligently kept this manual up to date.” The bush pilot affirms defensively.
As it turns out, we never had such a page. I’ve seen the FAA pull amazing things out of their a$$es, but never imaginary terms and even more elusive sheets of paper. I’m sure it was in there in between one of those Schultzy’s Sausages.
So there I was waiting for Alaska Airlines to land and making dam sure my airfoils weren’t suffering from “ground icing.” The weather was steadily getting worse, but the weather at my destination was considerably better. The thought crossed my mind that I might end up getting stuck out, but if you can get the people home, you’re kind of obligated to do so. The 737 fades into view out of the muck at a frightening angle to the runway. Without a chance of landing, the jet powered up and went around. The pilots sheepishly advised Nome that they missed the approach and were going to contact the radar controller. I expected another 15-minute delay for them to try again, but was suprised to find them entering a holding pattern, allowing me to take off immediately. Keep in mind, they are flying on instruments and can’t find the runway, but I’m taking off under visual flight rules in my trusty 207. I quickly take off and exit the airspace to return the favor all the while thinking how they must feel having botched their approach in a stiff crosswind.
The trip down the coast was kinda white. Hugging my programmed GPS course to dodge the cliffs, I warily creep along the coast over the pack ice. Twenty minutes later, with no improvement in the weather, I start to question the destination report, but am reassured by the village agent over the radio. I pop up to 1500 feet to cross over the hills back over the land and find excellent visibility and higher ceilings. The three passengers and pilot raise their eyebrows and grin noticeably. I deliver the two passengers to Golovin and drop the other one off in White Mountain and plod on to Nome. Shortly out of White Mountain, I manage to raise Nome and check the weather.
“Nome ceiling 400 overcast, visibility 1 and one quarter of a mile, VFR flight is NOT recommended.” By the tone in her voice, I wondered if the FAA guy was standing over her shoulder. “What are your intentions, Flight 460?”
...to be continued.

 

[Singlecoil]

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.

 

[skyking1976]

What does a pilot do with thick chunks of ice from his wings? He puts them in a glass and pours scotch over them;

I hope it was cheap scotch...

SK

 

[Singlecoil]

It was actually Glenfiddich and as the ice was perfectly clear, quite tasty as I recall.

 

[skyking1976]

OK... I'll accept ice in Glenfiddich. Just as long as it wasn't older that 12 years or casked in sherry or port casks. Really good scotch is meant to be drank neat. No ice, no water, nothing added. To do otherwise is quite sacreligious.

 

[A Squared]

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. [/B]

Jeez, singlecoil, you're not gonna admt that a little piece of Muktuk kicked your ass are you? C'mon, muktuk isn't bad, hell I acquired a taste for it. My first muktuk experience: 1993, I was surveying native allotments on the Wulik river (up by Kivalina) It was a nasty, wet, cold windy day. In the arctic sometimes summer just a word. We were all soaked to the skin. Doing that kind of work, you got a choice. you can buy that fancy high-dollar cutting edge raingear that breathes, and after a few days of cutting brush with a chainsay, the bar oil soakes through that gee-whizz polymer membrane and your raingear is about as waterproof as pantyhose (it still breathes good though) Or, you can buy the old standby Helly Hansen PVC raingear which doesn't breathe at all. It does however, reliably keep rain on the outside and your moisture on the inside. So it's midday, we're sitting in the boat with Caleb, a local we had hired to drive us around the rivers. The man was a god with a river boat. he could run up through shallows you'd think twice about in a canoe... without touching a single rock, this in a boat with a prop ....later that summer he got his first jet unit and then water seemingly became optional. There was however a learning curve associated with the jet drive. On several occasions we found ourselves crammed ungracefully together in the bow of the boat, a long, long way from water, wondering what we were going to do next ..... a come-along would have been useful. Oh yeah, this was supposed to be about muktuk. Right, where was I?.... wet cold, tired, eating soggy lunch... peanut buter sandwiches or the like. Caleb says in that distinctive native lilt: "A squared, that stuff won't keep you going, you need something that will last you" and hands over some muktuk. Me, I'm a try anything once type of guy so I saw off a chunk and pop it in my mouth. Hmmm, quite tender, but with a little substance to it, a slight fish flavor .. but very VERY rich. What I wasn't prepared for was rush of heat that flooded through me a few minutes later. I suddenly felt warmed from within and completely re-energized. Say what you will but that stuff is pure energy. When you're wet cold and miserable and a stiff drink by a roaring fire is a long, long way away, muktuk will warm you up and get you back on your feet like nothing else can. There was more than one day I was more than happy to share Caleb's muktuk.

Agutuq, now, that 's a different story, that stuff is nasty. Agutuq is the so-called "eskimo ice cream" it's seal oil and berries, whipped until it becomes lard-like. It's been almost 20 years since I had a mouthful of agutuq and it still makes me shudder.

 

[A Squared]

Oh yeah, this was supposed to be aviat

....alrighty then, same year as my muktuk debut. As I said, I was working on a large Native Lands survey in the North-west arctic. I wasn't employed as a pilot at the time, but I had my C-180 with me. Most of us were living in Noatak, with a few crews in Kivalina. We had Sundays off, and this one was a nice clear sunny one (you get good weather in the arctic too, just not enough of it) There's not much to do in the village, so a co -worker and I hopped in my plane and blasted off. Our plan was to hop over to Kivalina and visit with the crews over there for a bit, them continue on to Kotzebue, a larger town, large enough to have stores, and medical facilities (more about that later) So, there we are hanging out in the quarters in Kivalina, drinking coffee and telling lies when there's a knock on the door. Two women walk in and one asks "are any of you with htat airplane out at hte airport?" Immediately every head in the room turns toward me ... so much for pleading ignorance. "yeah, that's my airplane". Are you going to Kotzebue? I can see where this is headed and a little fabrication could easily have nipped this in the bud, but I tend to be honest to a fault. "yeah I'm going to kotzebue" "Do you have room for 2 people?" Errr, ummm, I hesitate. She quickly assures me that she could pay. I try to explain that I don't have a 135 certificate, that I can't do charters .... she doesn't care. this is the bush, she wants to go to Kotz, my plane is going to kotz, who the hell cares about some kind of certificate? ....sensing my reluctance she tries a different angle ... "It's a medical emergency" OK, my bullshirt detectors are on full alert, but it's a slow afternoon, so I figure I'll play along for a little malicious fun...."A medical emergency, huh? what sort of medical emergency?" " a toothache" " A toothache, eh? but you said there was two of you" " yes, me and my husband" "so you both have toothaches?" She initally said yes, but realizing the improbability of both of them having toothaches, said no, explaining that her husband had a toothache, but she had to go with him. I briefly considered trying to pin her down on exactly why the toothache required her presesnce in Kotz, but I relented and let it slide. What the hell I thought, I *am* going to Kotzebue, and I *do* have 2 empty seats... "OK", I told her, " meet me down at the airstrip in 15 minutes" and they turned tail and bolted. We finished up our coffee and wandered down to the airstrip, as I was checking the oil, a big cloud of dust, kids, dogs and 4 wheelers rolled up. Going to the big city is a big social event it turns out, at least on a warm sunny day. Out of the dust cloud emerges the woman from the earlier conversation. She has in tow a sheepish looking guy whom she introduces as her husband. Sure enough he's holding a hand to the right side of his face, wincing in pain. She holds up a backpack, obviously stuffed full, and asks if I have room for it. Sure, and I stow it behind the seats. when I turn around she's holding a large duffle bag, also stuffed full, How about this? Yeah, OK it'll fit, I stowed the duffle bag, and magically she was holding a large cardboard box when I turned back around .."how about this? D@mn, I didn't realize that a toothache required so much paraphernalia..OK box is stowed, at this point I notice that the husband is now holding the LEFT side of his face ...... Uh-oh-, it must be one of those migrating toothaches, those are the worst kind....better hurry and get this poor soul to medical help...... After getting all the boxes bags and people stowed and secured, the flight to Kotz was pretty uneventful. I briefly toyed with the idea of calling ahead to Kotzebue radio and having them call the ambulance crew and have them meet us on the ramp, but I decided that would be taking things a little too far. My medivac passengers were met be a group of family members who didn't seem too terribly concerned about the toothache and didn't seem to be in much of a hurry to rush him off to the hospital .... unsympathetic louts!

I guess in retrospect, this isn't so much an aviation tale but look at the bush village culture .. ok I still owe you a flying story.

 

[Singlecoil]

I don't know what it is about muktuk, but it wasn't for me. I've had "bear butter", black bear fat that was hard like cold butter and didn't mind it so much. It was the same way as you described muktuk, very rich and full of energy. I have heard that some arctic expeditions were unsuccessful until they discovered the need for much more fat in their diets. Foods high in animal fat have been a big part of the natives' survival up north for sure.

As for the scotch on the rocks deal, you're right. Forgive me, I was in my twenties...

 

[mar]

Dining out Eskimo Style

Yes, garcon. I'd like to start with the roots for the first course. Muktuk as an entree and Aqutak for dessert. But I'll take my Glenfiddich now please.

Yum. I've also tried Muktuk. And herring eggs with seal oil. But I guess I got the gussak version of akutaq because it was made with Crisco and lot's of sugar and berries.

I didn't find it too bad--just like really bad frosting. But I suppose when made with bear or caribou fat it probably has a different flavor.

I'm glad to see the Alaska contingent chime in.

And I've really enjoyed the other submissions too. It's good to see what life's like back in the world.

I gotta think of a Lower 48 story. But in the meantime I hope some of the old timers decide to contribute as well.

Til then.

 

[sky37d]

Okay, You asked for it
A few years ago, I was dating the lady who is now my wife, and was taking flying lessons. Sometimes she would ride along during flight training. She had had some surgery a couple of years prior at a clinic in the middle of Michigan, near the town of Brooklyn. She needed to go there to get her records. I talked to my instructor, and the airport manager at the Brooklyn airport. The airport manager said he'd run us over to pick up the records. The day we were supposed to go, we couldn't. I called the airport manager, and re-scheduled with him. Day comes, (a Sunday) off we go. Brooklyn is a tiny airport, grass, just north of MIS (Michigan International Speedway). We landed, taxied over to the airport manager's house. No answer. No one around. We taxied up to the end of the runway, because it looked like a store was there. No store, it's an Moose lodge. I ask the bartender if we could use a phone to call a cab, she explains the closest cab is 15 miles away. A guy over hears us, asks what's wrong, and we explain. He hands us the keys to his brand new Dodge Ram Pickup truck. We drove over, got the records, refilled his tank, got back to the Moose thing, and he's there. Now his wife is there giving him a bunch of trouble, as is everyone in the place. We say good words about the good samaritan, buy a round for the house in his name, and headed back.
Nice folks.

 

[rumpletumbler]

Once upon a time I flew for a fractional in Kennesaw. I flew SIC Part 91 Citation flights and on some non SIC required Grand Rennaisance Commander flights. One day on a maintenance test flight the head "goober" who I'd never flown with before took me with him for said maintenance test flight. He was normally a Gulfstream boy (wow) but today he was being required to fly a slowtation. Because the trim had been worked on extensively I checked it pretty thoroughly during prefilght and said it looked fine. During the taxi he slammed the a/c from one side to the other and pointed at the fuel flow meters while the low fuel annunicators were lit. I explained his error and he was angry that his trick did not work. Shortly after takeoff he asked for some "forward assist" on the yoke. I pushed on the yoke and it was obvious the autopilot was engaged so I let go and just kind of rolled my eyes. He wrestled with it a minute an then declared everything ok. Never once did I tell him that I knew what was up and never once did he tell me what he had done. He was and is an idiot and is no longer ops manager for this company. Not a great story I know but maybe his dumb lard ass will read it one day and realize how stupid he looked.