A bush pilot’s Boxing Day

There have been some great ones. Wop May, Max Ward, Martin Hartwell to name but a few. Bush pilots, real characters all of them. Flying little planes the way that men used to sail makeshift boats of leather and wood. They flew through the foulest weather to bring supplies to tiny remote northern communities. Carrying the sick and the injured to medical attention hundreds of miles away, while most of us were still abed. A rare breed; especially these days. Flying planes older than they are with not much more than luck and a pair of vise-grips to keep them running. They are our lifeline. I have spent many hours in cramped cockpits, buffeted by wind and thermal columns over scattered lakes in summer. I have flown in planes as small as a two seater Cessna 152. I have flown in most of the real classics of the north; Norsemen, Otters (twin and single), Beavers and many others. On floats and skis and wheels. I have ridden with sled dogs at my side and a case of eggs in my lap. I have seen them carry everything from caskets to baby carriages. And I have met some of the most unforgettable men and women who flew them.
I remember a Christmas over two decades ago. I was living in the tiny Hamlet of Ft Liard in the southern NWT. Although it was then on a brand new road, the airport was still a hub of activity. Through a mutual friend I had fallen in with the local pilot and his wife; Grant and Elaine. They were wonderful outgoing people whose home; an old single wide trailer which had seen better days, was a drop in center for everyone. Mounties and Priests and trappers mixed and mingled. As someone would leave another person would arrive. The coffee pot and tea kettle were never dry. Ashtrays overflowed and so did the conversation. The bush radio crackled as trappers hundreds of miles away called in to book charters or give Grant a shopping list. The trailer stood at the end of the town’s small runway. Outside planes sat on the gravel waiting for the next trip. It was bitter cold so canvas shrouds covered the engine. When the time came Grant would fire up a diesel heater called a Herman Nelson and warm the engine up. But only the engine would be warm. In these small planes; in winter the compartment seldom got warm. You can always tell the bush pilot. He or she has a fur hat of some sort usually huge and snug looking. Wearing winter coveralls with several layers underneath; and boots, good boots.
I had fallen into a routine of stopping by after dinner with my golden retriever in tow. He would sit at my feet if the place was crowded, but would sit on the old couch if there was room. There would be a hot drink, tea for me and some kind of treats too. Cookies or some homemade cake, yum! Seiko my dog always scored a treat too. I would catch up on local gossip and take away the lists that had come in to be filled at the store, if I could read Grant’s scrawl which was worse than my own. An hour often turned to two and usually I was a lot later leaving than I had planned. Christmas was approaching and it was brutally cold. “You hanging around for the holidays?” I asked as I put on my coat. “Not us,” Grant said genially “Vancouver is calling me!” “I wonder how it ever got through; your line is always busy. I’ll see you when you get back.” I said as I opened the door and stepped out into the inky blackness of an arctic winter night. My boots squealed as my feet hit the snow at forty five below. Seiko was heading straight for home a sure sign it was cold.
I spent a wonderful Christmas day with other southerners stranded in the north by the need to work. Christmas was our busiest time of year. I awoke to the sound of the phone on Boxing Day. I patted Seiko’s head as I picked it up. I figured it was friends or family calling to wish me a Merry Christmas. It was; sort of. Grant’s booming voice filled the earphone. “Merry Christmas!” he said cheerily. “This sure is a good line!” I said “You sound like your right here!” “I am right here. There was a change in plans, Elaine’s Mom got sick she had to go east.” Grant had been here for Christmas. “Well why didn’t you say? We had turkey and everything!” I said feeling bad that my friend had been alone for the holiday. “I had two charters. It was late when I was done. Besides I missed the store, what are the chances of getting some coffee and some grub?” he asked. “About one hundred percent! How about I join you and help you eat some of that grub and we’ll call it a late Christmas dinner?” I replied. “Sure, Turkey TV dinners are my specialty! Meet you there in fifteen minutes?” I waited for him at the front door. The company truck came down the road the headlights stabbing through the ground fog that seemed to always hover at these frigid temperatures. “Change in plans, buddy.” Grant said as he slid from the cab, the engine still running, no one ever locked a vehicle or shut one off in winter if he didn’t need to, not in those days. There was always a change in plans when Grant was around.
“I got a charter to Nabu. Some folks are going back and I’m picking up a couple of Elders who want to shop. Can you help them out?” “Sure!” I replied. The store was closed on Boxing Day but who could refuse an elder, especially one from Nahanni Butte which was tinier than us and had only a small store. “You ever been to Nabu? Wanna come along?” Grants asked. “No and yes!” I replied enthusiastically. I was always up for an adventure. Grant picked up his shopping and we returned together to the tiny trailer that served as his home and office. We dragged out the Herman Nelson and fired it up. Working without gloves at those temperatures we had to keep blowing on our fingers to get the grommets done up on the hood. We put on coffee and waited for our fares. We didn’t have long to wait. Arms loaded with packages a young couple arrived by toboggan pulled by a small snowmobile. As the snowmobile pulled away we filed toward the small plane.
I took the co-pilot’s seat. “Don’t take off until I get back!” Grant said slapping my knee as he pulled the chalks and did his walk around. He got back in and we began our taxi for takeoff. Grant spoke into the mike as we headed down the runway. He read my look and said to me “I gotta give my call sign and direction in case there is other traffic.” The small terminal building was dark and still, there was no radio operator working today. I nodded. We were soon airborne and flying out over the Liard River, just a smooth white strip below us. The couple in the back were chattering away, still full of the Christmas spirit. They seemed excited and I was glad to be doing someone a kindness on this cold winters day.
We had not travelled very far when I noticed that the plane was visibly slowing. The single engine was snarling even louder than normal. I cast Grant a sharp look. He was busy fiddling with some knobs and seemed distracted but not worried. If he was calm the couple in the back was not. They had taken a death grip on the headrests of each of our seats and were holding on for dear life. The easy banter had stopped and they were shouting over the snarling engine “What’s wrong, what’s wrong?” over and over and over. It was a bit unnerving. Grant raised his head and turned to them “The prop pitch is frozen! It is too thin we will move very slowly but we are fine!” This shut the couple up but did not do much for their mood. They held each other’s hands tightly.
I took my cue from Grant. He seemed calm. After all last week he had set a plane down on the highway when a newly installed engine had torn out of the mounts that someone had installed improperly. If he could land a plane safely with the engine sticking out at a ninety degree angle this should be a cake walk. The flight should have been less than an hour but with the frozen prop took more than two. When we arrived the couple got off the plane, kissed the frozen ground and dashed away like scalded cats. Grant sought out a local teacher who owned his own plane to borrow a Herman Nelson. I got directions from some heavily bundled kids with sleds as to where the elders lived who were supposed to be going back with us. As I approached the home the young couple was just leaving. “This could be interesting.” I thought to myself as I knocked on the door. A little old lady answered. I told her the plane would be ready to go in half an hour. She was adamant. She was not going anywhere in that plane, her sister either. I wished them a Merry Christmas and headed back to the runway.
“Ah, you are alone!” Grant said his steaming breath almost hiding him in the still air. “Brilliant deduction, what was your first clue?” I said cockily. “Well you’re a big guy but not even you could hide both Sisters. No luck, eh?” “None, you would have a better chance of getting them to fly by flapping their arms.” I said with a smile. “Sorry, pal you just lost a fare.” I added. “Well then, it’s turkey time!” He said beaming. Soon we were in the air, the engine sounded fine. It was easier to talk as he gave me a headset. “Variable pitch prop froze, that’s all, it usually breaks loose.” He said into the mike. “It sure is a beautiful day!” I said as I glanced around. The river lay below us, snowmobile trails snaking off in every direction. Smoke curled from tin chimneys sticking out of the picture postcard log cabins below, their roofs pillowed in deep snow. The sun was starting to set on this, one of the shortest days of the year. The winter solstice had just passed. We landed at the airport right on time. Seiko was asleep on Grant’s couch where I had left him. I lit a fire in the old wood stove while Grant put the dinners in. He made a pot of hot water for coffee and tea. As we ate he looked at me sideways. “Were you scared?” he said curiously but not accusingly. “Nah! I took my cue from you. You were calm so I figured it was O.K.” He brightened “You have that much faith in me?” he asked. “I’d put my life in your hands.” I said and I meant it. After all I just had.