Another floatplane story: A guy who owned a fishing lodge outside Ketchikan was selling his old 172 (145-horse Continental) on floats to a guy outside Anchorage (Wasilla, actually... Home of Sarah Palin). It was summer, so he couldn't leave his lodge. I volunteered, asking only costs and a ticket back to KTN from ANC. The plane only had two seats in it, and a handheld radio for comms, Thinking ahead, I planned on stops at Sitka, Yakutat, Cordova and then Finger Lake in Wasilla. I discovered, luckily, that there's no gas at the float dock in Yakutat, so i purchased 3 - 5 gallon gas cans to take along. Off I go, stopping at the El Capitan Lodge (the seller's lodge) to pick up all the ARROW paperwork, which wasn't in the plane when I started out of Ketchikan! Next stop Sitka, where I filled up on gas, including the three gas cans. Off to Yakutat, past Lituya Bay (famous for one of the largest tsunami waves ever!), with a brief stop in the glacial lake at the bottom of Mount Fairweather (15,266 ft) to relieve pressure on my plumbing. Totally alone, standing on the float with my fly open. Not a house or a tent or ANY man-made thing in sight, I felt like I was standing at the 50-yard line in a full football stadium! It took a loooong time to feel relaxed enough to pee, believe it or not! Had to dodge small floating ice blocks on takeoff! Landed at Yakutat, then got the 5-gallon cans, one at a time, up onto the wing and carefully put 15 gallons into the tanks. Then, with the 3 empty gas cans, went up to the top of the pier, called for a taxi to take me to the airport, about 5 miles out of town, to use the self-serve pump to refill the gas cans, then back to the dock and do the refueling acrobatics again, putting two of the gas cans in the wings, and one in the cabin in reserve. Off again, over a gigantic ice field west of Yakutat. Ground speed all of about 70 mph due to westerly winds. Average altitude about 500 feet, due to some coastal stratus. Large areas of not much in the way of civilization! Saw 2 or 3 houses at Icy Bay, then lots more of nothing but miles of sloughs parallel to the beach, left behind by retreating glaciers. Big brown bears feasting on something, looking up at me as I circled once overhead and kept going. They looked like maybe they'd appreciate a fresher snack than what Mother Nature had left for them! Seemed like a longer flight than it really was, but one filled with wonder. Large flocks of birds taking of ahead of me as I approached, like a scene from an African wildlife documentary. Finally, the Million Dollar bridge east of Cordova! You'll have to look up that story... There's a road from the bridge past Cordova AIrport and into the town. As I flew along the road, I watched as a truck simply drove off the road into the swamp! I radioed that in, but I have no idea what the outcome was. I stopped at Cordova Municipal Seaplane Base... it's a lake with a dirt runway alongside, and self-serve pumps for both the float planes and wheel planes. Time to call it quits for the night! "Nice quiet drinking town with a fishing problem", is how they describe themselves.
The next morning, the fog was thick! Some fishing boats leaving the harbor and disappearing almost instantly down the channel. I went over to "CKU" Cordova Municipal, filled the fuel tanks on the mighty 172 and then waited... and waited... and, finally, at about Noon-ish, the clouds started to break up, or so I thought. I blasted off the lake and as I passed town I realized I might have been a tad too aggressive. There were some breaks, and I could see shorelines, but it wasn't what you might call a "bluebird" day. I was literally groping my way along. Finally, I headed south instead of due west, and found bigger and bigger holes; big enough to climb up and see over the fog layer. VFR to the west! Hooray! I managed to make it through Portage Pass from Whittier to Turnagain Arm, which leads to Anchorage at the head of Cook Inlet. I kept on climbing, all the way up to about 4500 feet, and snaked around the Class C airspace while asking Anchorage Approach if they could see me on their radar. Evidently, they only had their transponder trackers and no primary radar that day! Nary a blip did I make on their screens. The rest of the way to Wasilla, all of about 50 miles, went quickly, and I found the man whose airplane I was flying right where he was supposed to be. All told it was about 11.5 hours of pure adventure. I've never done another like it, almost... I'll save the next adventure for another day.
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