I am taking your husband to the Islandâ? This was said out of nowhere to the starter wife. I barely knew The Pilot Fiddler at this point but agreed anyway. Sure, why not? I was recently returned from the red salmon season up on Bristol Bay and my current domesticity was feeling like an ill-fitted suit.
Arrangements were made.
A short time later I found myself standing in the Fremont airport managerâ??s office, watching out his window for my first look at The Widowmaker. As she glided in on the North/South runway, I grabbed the bag from my truck and met him along the side of the grass taxiway.
Not yet having an understanding of the weight and balance considerations of small aircraft I was somewhat taken aback when The Pilot declared I was overweight, especially as I considered myself a light and hardy traveler. After unrolling and sitting on both tent and sleeping bag, and discarding everything else that didnâ??t fit in my pockets, we were declared ready for departure. The entire cargo in the rear three-quarters of the plane consisted of one small black well-worn antique violin case.
â??Watch for other planesâ? The Pilot said. I noted the ancient altimeter and tachometer, but no radio. Or anything else for that matter.
So we flew north at about twelve hundred feet without the benefit of navigation aids other than our own eyes. The blue expanse of the lake was on our left and the green nubs of the Udell Hills on our right we began to climb in anticipation of the crossing. Later voyages required a single to perhaps as many as three refueling stops, based on the vagaries of headwinds and groundspeed, on this trip we were protected by a dome of high pressure and a tailwind at altitude pushing us along.
We passed over the point of the peninsula having reached an altitude high enough to trade our height for the distance needed to make it back to land. Or at least that was the way it was explained to me. Certainly we were high enough to take in the Manitous, the Foxes and the wide south-facing sweep of Iron Ore Bay spread out in the sparkling lake.
â??In case of an engine out Iâ??ll put her down next to the biggest sailboat we can findâ? It was such a beautiful day and our surroundings so gorgeous that in no way did that possible predicament sound the least bit dangerous. In fact, at the moment it appealed to me as a new and exciting watersport.
You like to Jet Ski? Cool. We crash planes into sailboats.
Entering into Paradise Bay high and from the east, The Pilot put us into steep dive aiming directly at a particular building along the street facing the bay. When we reached what seemed to me to be the last possible instant he pulled up, mashing the throttle all the way in and roared over the rooftops in a convincingly dramatic fashion. Responding to my pale and terrified appearance I was told it was customary to announce oneâ??s arrival in such a manner to hopefully awaken the curiosity of a barstool inhabitant to come out into the light and on down to the airport and pick us up.
I am not sure the current layout, but in the day the approach to Welke brought one directly over the island dump with its cloud of seagulls. Dropping through them seemed an unnecessary excitement.
A raggedy pickup with a picnic table in the back dropped us off at The Shamrock.
We dropped our belongings in the grass outside as we walked in the front door. â??Donâ??t worry. No one will mess with our stuffâ? I think I like this place, I thought to myself.
My first visit - 1980 ?
Moderator: Gillespie
