At some point in the summer of 2010 I started thinking about owning a Piper Supercub. It started off innocently enough, with inquiries I made on a airplane that was in pieces and needed to be assembled and recovered. What a bargain- think of the money I could save by doing the work myself.
Its funny how once you convince yourself that spending 25K for an airplane in pieces is okay, and another 20K for a motor for it is also okay, it becomes very easy to think that paying 70K for one already assembled also makes perfect sense. And that's how it happened.
The word spread among local pilots that I was looking for a 'no assembly required' cub, and in the blink of an eye I became aware of a 'good one' in the state of Alaska. The owner of the plane also lives in Seattle, but he keeps it in his hangar in Delta Junction Alaska.
A normal person might have paused to think about the logistic hurdle of purchasing an airplane that far away, but in my fevered state of mind, that difficulty actually added to its appeal. The plane would have to be flown down to the lower 48! What an adventure! Time to go look at it.
One nagging logistic problem is that I didn't know how to fly an airplane to bring it down. Fortunately my friend Everett Johnson is a pilot and he volunteered to make the journey to go look at it.
Day 1
Everett and I leave Seattle today on Alaska Airlines and make it to Delta Junction Alaska, which is just south of Fairbanks. It is late September, hunting season, and the only motel with rooms available is located in the boonies 20 miles from town. Everett has instincts about some things that are uncanny, and upon arrival, he sizes the place up as a religious compound. The head lady came out to greet us in a very long old fashioned dress, and Everett wasted no time getting to the bottom of it with a question. Sure enough she confirms that many families live there ‘cooperatively’, but defensively explains it is a non-denominational religious compound.
As I check in, Everett stands behind me and hisses not to drink any Kool-Aid if it is offered to me, and I have to fight back tears of laughter. We settle in, but poor Everett is up all night vomiting what we think is bad sushi he ate a few days earlier.
Day 2
There is a fabulous breakfast waiting for us in the morning, but Everett is unable to touch his. I am wondering if he should be in a hospital because of the sounds I heard him making in the bathroom last night. It is like a sound track from the Exorcist. But white faced and wobbling, he emerges from the bathroom and declares it is time to go look at the airplane. I can see how sick he is, and I will forever be grateful to him that he was able to get on his feet. That’s a bush pilot, and a friend!
We make our way to the tiny airport, and as we round the corner in the car we get our first look at Supercub November 2 Lima Bravo and I know instantly it is 'the one'. Its love at first sight.
Money changes hands with grave faces, because the owner doesn't want to sell it and it shows. The economy has hit his business hard, and he is forced to let go of the airplane. It is hard for both of us because his pain is palpable. But with the paperwork complete, the former owner leaves, and Everett and I sit on the ground to wait, unable to leave because of low visibility. But three hours later a window opens up at 11:00 in the morning and Everett declares he is fit to fly and jumps into the front seat. There is only one seat left, and its the back seat.
That's when I discover that Piper didn't design the back seat for 225 lb 6' 3" men. I am going to be in this seat with my head against the ceiling for the duration. In this cramped capacity I will serve as Everett's first officer (aka flight attendant) for the entire trip, retrieving maps, airport directories, navigation aids, weather forecasting equipment (chicken bones) and food and beverages from the extended baggage area behind me.
We take off and have a little trouble at first with navigation, getting a bit off course before Everett discovers that the compass is off by as much as 45 degrees. Fortunately Everett is very good at Pilotage from his years as an Air Transport Pilot, and with the problem detected we are now back on track towards the Yukon. As we near the Yukon border I am impressed- in every direction we see endless miles of incredible country unspoiled by man's hand.
At dusk we cross the border into the Yukon, and land at a place called Beaver Creek. The red line shows our flight path that first day.
The Beaver Creek airport is tiny, and no one is here, so no one can make fun of me for lining the nose of 2LB up with the Beaver Creek sign for a few photos. I am busting at the seams with pride that I own this airplane. It seems like a dream that such a gorgeous thing can be mine.
We expect someone to meet us here, because it doesn't seem possible that we can arrive in Canada without setting off an alarm of some kind. Looking down the road we can see the lights of Customs a quarter of a mile off, and they had to hear us come in. Finally it occurs to us that they really don't give a rip that we are there, so we hoof it down to see them. We fill out the paperwork, and the nice young man attending the booth decides we pose no threat to Canada. He even calls a motel in town (five miles south) for us, and the owner of the motel declares she is on her way to get us. What a welcome to Canada.
But as we enter the motel room we understand the hospitality might have a little something to do with lack of business. We are afterall in the middle of nowhere.
As we enter the motel room we see a sign has been tthoughtfully stapled to the wall to let us know where the furnishings had come from in case we wanted some of our own.
It is undeniably sturdy looking stuff. The TV stand appears to be an expensive antique as it looks incredibly worn. The owner even thoughtfully antiqued the door jamb molding to match the TV stand and make it look as though a hobnail boot has kicked the hell out of it repeatedly. The curtains are also a homey touch, but I notice that Everett doesn't seem to want to brush up against anything.
Day 3
I wake up early, concerned whether Everett has been doing the Linda Blair projectile vomiting again. As I entered his room with camera in hand, he informs me with a scowl that things in the bed have drained half of his blood. I tell him that he should consider instead just how many Democrats were conceived on that same mattress. With a howl he springs from the bed vertically and was on his feet. Looks like we are going to get an early start today, as I hoped.
Once outside in the light of day Everett proclaims that we have slept in a former oil pipeline crew shack. How he knows this kind of thing I can only imagine. The owner of the motel had apparently purchased several of them to make herself a 'motel' behind her filling station and convenience store.
After a fair breakfast (considering where we had just slept), we are given a ride back to the airport by the owner of the motel, who we learn also runs the radios at the airport when it is open during daylight hours. She is a nice lady and we enjoyed talking to her.
We find 2LB is waiting for us, and once again I am awestruck at how pretty she looks.
Our plan for today is to make our way down across the Yukon and arrive at the Northern edge of British Columbia before dark.
The great part about taking photos in a cub is that you can open the window on the right - it swings up freely and locks. The door will also swing down, so it can be dropped out of sight. This is a very fun thing to do in the summer, but in late September at 5,000 feet the cold air at 80 mph is like wrapping your lips around a bottle of liquid Nitrogen.
The Beaver Creek airport is tiny, and no one is here, so no one can make fun of me for lining the nose of 2LB up with the Beaver Creek sign for a few photos. I am busting at the seams with pride that I own this airplane. It seems like a dream that such a gorgeous thing can be mine.
We expect someone to meet us here, because it doesn't seem possible that we can arrive in Canada without setting off an alarm of some kind. Looking down the road we can see the lights of Customs a quarter of a mile off, and they had to hear us come in. Finally it occurs to us that they really don't give a rip that we are there, so we hoof it down to see them. We fill out the paperwork, and the nice young man attending the booth decides we pose no threat to Canada. He even calls a motel in town (five miles south) for us, and the owner of the motel declares she is on her way to get us. What a welcome to Canada.
But as we enter the motel room we understand the hospitality might have a little something to do with lack of business. We are afterall in the middle of nowhere.
As we enter the motel room we see a sign has been tthoughtfully stapled to the wall to let us know where the furnishings had come from in case we wanted some of our own.
It is undeniably sturdy looking stuff. The TV stand appears to be an expensive antique as it looks incredibly worn. The owner even thoughtfully antiqued the door jamb molding to match the TV stand and make it look as though a hobnail boot has kicked the hell out of it repeatedly. The curtains are also a homey touch, but I notice that Everett doesn't seem to want to brush up against anything.
Day 3
I wake up early, concerned whether Everett has been doing the Linda Blair projectile vomiting again. As I entered his room with camera in hand, he informs me with a scowl that things in the bed have drained half of his blood. I tell him that he should consider instead just how many Democrats were conceived on that same mattress. With a howl he springs from the bed vertically and was on his feet. Looks like we are going to get an early start today, as I hoped.
Once outside in the light of day Everett proclaims that we have slept in a former oil pipeline crew shack. How he knows this kind of thing I can only imagine. The owner of the motel had apparently purchased several of them to make herself a 'motel' behind her filling station and convenience store. After a fair breakfast (considering where we had just slept), we are given a ride back to the airport by the owner of the motel, who we learn also runs the radios at the airport when it is open during daylight hours. She is a nice lady and we enjoyed talking to her.
We find 2LB is waiting for us, and once again I am awestruck at how pretty she looks.
Our plan for today is to make our way down across the Yukon and arrive at the Northern edge of British Columbia before dark.
We are fortunate in that the weather is perfect and off we go.
The great part about taking photos in a cub is that you can open the window on the right - it swings up freely and locks. The door will also swing down, so it can be dropped out of sight. This is a very fun thing to do in the summer, but in late September at 5,000 feet the cold air at 80 mph is like wrapping your lips around a bottle of liquid Nitrogen.
The left side window doesn't lift up, but it does slide back, allowing photos to be taken without glare from the Plexiglas. Everett suggests we land on top of the ridge to the left and I cant tell if he is serious or not. Someday if I will get enough booze in him he may tell me whether he could have done it.
I am clicking away with the camera at the mountains around us and Everett notices, so he takes a photo of me. Then he elects to give me a taste of mountain flying and we plunge into a canyon to the right and hug the hillside. It is incredible to be 100 yards away from this savagely frigid beauty.
As we come out of the snow I ask Everett if he will drop down into the valley, as it is nice to see the warm colors again. The lakes in the Yukon are an incredible color of emerald green, and one might think you are in the Bahamas.
If you see something interesting in a cub, well shucks, just fly a little closer and have a look see.
Fall Colors are kicking in, and it is incredibly pretty, but a short time later we also see the widespread damage done by the Pine Beetles. The price of global warming, the pine beetles can now survive the winters in greater numbers, and take out millions of acres of trees, rendering them useless.
An hour later Everett gets bored and pretends he doesn't know where he is, so he announces its time to drop down onto the Al-Can highway to look for road signs. Down we plunge and are soon skimming along at 3 feet off the deck at 70 mph, as a sign flashes by that services are a mere 2 km ahead.
About three in the afternoon we find ourselves on final approach to Watson Lake. We land to refuel and consider our options for continuing on, but then discover the battery is dead due to a fuse that tripped, and we are unable to prop start it. That is something I have since learned to do, but for now we are stuck for the night in Watson Lake while the airplane battery is recharged.
FBOs tend to be full of nice people, and we are offered a ride to town by a young man who works there. Not a bad thing to be stuck in Watson Lake, as we have been in the airplane a long time and need a break, and we discover that the town has an outdoor sign museum that has signs from all over the world. There are thousands of them, placed there by people who visit. Watson Lake is a portal to the universe, kind of like Ballard Wa.
Day 4
I wanted to get an early start in the morning so we arrived at 8:00 to unplug the airplane from the charger, and discuss the flight to Prince George with Renny, the A&P and CFI at the old hangar which was built during World War II. The man is interesting as hell and full of valuable airplane lore, and he and Everett launch into a 30 minute argument about airplane floats that doesn't appear as though it will ever end. I am eager to go since we have weather that is clearing, and hearing that, Renny suggests that we fly "The Trench". He said there was no need to fly east to stay over the roads, and that the Trench is the only path local pilots use to get to Prince George.
That proves to be one of the best advice we got on the trip, because I have never seen anything so beautiful as the Trench. The colors of the small lakes all looked as though Maxfield Parrish had painted them. Moose tracks were often visible in the shallower ones.
And we didn't have to go far before we ran across some of the critters who made those tracks
The mountain are in the Cassiar range, and I have to look them up when I get back for they are beautiful
Before long we are nearing Prince George and signs of civilization appear. Baby rain is making visibility interesting although we are still VFR. We arrive at Prince George and spend the night in a Casino/Hotel.
Day 5
Its is the final stretch, and we decide at first that we are going to head east based on the weather advisory. But looking south while in the air we see a clear window of weather and we opt to go for it. Climbing to 8,000 feet to keep our options open we are passing over country very familiar to me because of my frequent trips up to hunt moose.
I am astonished when I see the town of Hope B.C. below us, and realize that we are now in easy striking distance to make it all the way that day. We have made the trip from Prince George to Hope in incredible time.
The Frasier valley is simply beautiful.
Soon we see the San Juan islands to our right, as we head to Anacortes to clear customs. It is a spectacular sight and a fitting end to the trip that something so beautiful is there.
We clear customs at Anacortes then make the final landing at Monroe airport, where I have a hangar waiting for 2LB (she is now in a hangar in Fall City).
Everett places his Beaver pelt pilot hat on me as we pose at the end of the journey. I feel great sadness take hold, as I realize that my anxiety about beating the bad winter weather down in October has caused me to rush the trip, and I wish now that I had not pushed Everett so hard. That trip should be done in no less than ten days, not five. I hope someday I can persuade him to make the trip with me again.
