It’s
not all sunshine and circle jerks on a whimsical traveling tour.
sometimes you run into the disgruntled types, even in the aviation
crowd. I made it out of MacKenzie yesterday on my third try out of
town. Instead of using the pass, there was a hole of light right over
the mountains. i climbed up and took it. A couple miles later it was
all clear skies just like everyone told me it would be.

-Super-turbulent, but clear. Tatums set her all time ground speed
record on that leg doing 144 mph, thanks to a swift tailwind. As we
descended into Fort St. John (seriously, why doesn’t canada drop the
“Fort” off of all these towns already–i say there’s a two word limit on
town names) i hit a pocket of low-pressure or a pocket of ultra-gravity
or wind-shear or whatever you want to call it. The plane dropped with
the speed of sound, me and all the cargo stayed in place. thus cramming
my head into the cross bar above me. It struck me, or i struck it while
tower was talking to me and i just basically told him “i got the crap
beat out of me by the wind”–kind of to buy me time to figure out what i
should really be saying…he asks if i want to file i PIREP. (in flight
weather briefing by pilot in the sky). I say sure that sounds fun and
then he leads the witness to classify the air as severely turbulent. He
confirms his findings with 3 other pilots in the area, all talking
faster than i care to fly. They concur while i’m landing in 35mph gusts
trying to find my way to the fuel ramp without flipping her over like
those planes on Orcas with the busted props. The gas cans sitting on
stump of a stick in the back seat make it feel like a child is fighting
me on the controls…as i park to get fuel i meet Mr. Personality. No
let’s call him Mr. Cheery to protect his identity. Mr Cheery shows me
the office where i can gather my thoughts and perhaps make my next
flight plan. I ask the girl behind the counter if it’s okay to drink
the tap water and she says we drink from the water cooler. I go over
and see it’s empty and replace the empty tank with a new one and fill
my cup. As i chug the water and walk away Mr. Cheery closes a door
right behind me that says “personnel only”. Mr. Cheery, a subtle man is
still expecting me to buy some gasoline at $7.52 a gallon, so we fill
me up, exchange currencies and i go to the terminal to eat with the
clean shaven jet passengers and their ipods.
As i get back to the terminal Mr. Cheery tells me Fort St. John is
no place to be stuck during overcast days. It’s too far from town, no
fun, etc…it would be in my best interest to leave now for Fort Nelson
instead of waiting till morning. He’s such a serious guy-looks like a
bad guy from an old James Bond movie. I take the advice and file the
flight plan. I roll about 2 feet on the runway and am airborne thanks
to the wind. I think about how lucky i am Mr Cheery was there to guide
me…GUIDE ME RIGHT INTO A BUNCH OF STORM CELLS. XM Weather doesn’t work
much past the MacKenzie area and i was just then finding that out. It’s
not the XM either. It’s that there aren’t many satellites in the sky
gathering the data. I wondered why the clouds ended so abruptly in a
perfectly straight line…
I spend the next 1.7 hours flying around storms and climbed to 8000
feet where it was smoother and then the massive, black storm the size
of NYC was before me-90 miles still from the next stop. The main
frequency for flight service isn’t working out so remotely but the
tower can hear me and i have him extend my flight plan. Then i convince
myself i’ll be making my first true bush landing to refuel and sleep
thinking through all the possibilities -sleeping with flare, gun,
gasoline, lighter and bear spray all in hand. First i’ll gun him down
with the spray. Then if he still attacks i’ll dump gas on him. If i’m
still alive for the third attack i’ll light a match or fire the flare
gun at him…then i’ll laugh at him and put neosporin in my wounds as he
runs around like guys on fire in hollywood…
There’s lot’s of time for making up scenarios up there…kind of like
raking hay back when i was a kid-only it’s a propeller-not wheels and
you’re in a straight line instead of doing endless circles. And i was
thinking about girls back then. Now i’m old and think about bears.
Flying out here after dark would be stupid with clouds, no stars and
no town lights on the horizon to tell you which way is up or down. I
couldn’t tell if i was going to make it around the storm so i found
another airstrip an oil company uses 50 miles away and split the
difference between it and the proposed Fort Nelson airport and waited
to see which one was in the clear (of storms) as darkness approached
and fuel tanks emptied. Meanwhile, on the XM radio Obama promised big
futures to each and every one of us. Presidents and cheering crowds and
politics all seemed so absurd and i wondered if his was the last voice
i’d ever hear as i put a hex on Mr Cheery back in Fort St. John. But
luckily i was jumping to conclusions and all turned out fine 5 minutes
later with a clear path straight to the big airport. I wanted to give
Mr. Lobotomy in the control tower a hug but i’m pretty sure he wasn’t
having it even though i was his only customer in hours. I accepted his
directions to a spot to camp out off of the taxi way. They don’t get
much traffic here and actually let people camp in the mid-field area
between runway and taxiway.
I land and realize town is even further from me in Fort Nelson and
Mr. Cheery just didn’t want to have to deal with a guy buying less than
a hundred bucks of gas for longer than he had to. It had nothing to do
with my comforts and distances from town. I set up camp in the wet
grass and eat a granola bar. In the morning a helicopter pilot, who was
weather-grounded with me confirmed my vibes of Mr. Cheery. He knew
exactly who i was talking about. Big 50 yr old guy with bleach blonde
hair. It turns out Mr. Cheery used to be nearly the head of his fuel
company and now he’s merely in charge of pumping gas in one of their
stations…and it is at this point i know XM Weather is not the only
weather source you can’t trust. Heli-boy and I have a good ol’ time
eating breakfast and eventually exchange info so he can stay in Ohio
and I can stay in his various posts in Canada.
I’m starting to feel sickish, so i take a nap in the tent and he
scud runs some botanists 50 miles away for a little while. They are
looking for rare plants in spots where oil companies want to place
large pipelines. Then heli-boy takes an oil well worker on a ten minute
ride that will save his company from paying him to drive four to five
hours to check on a well. Somedays the oil companies use nothing but
rented helicopters to check their wells since there’s a lack of bridges
and roads.
I take one of the fuel company’s cars to town to kill time and eat.
I sit behind a strange man at a restaurant who is doing nothing but
sitting and staring at people–small town past time i figure. These
types love me. I will not make eye contact. Catherine of Seattle warned
me i attract the weirdos–don’t make eye contact was her advice.

As I’m eating some lady notices my laptop and asks me what i’m doing
there. I tell her i’m weathered in and trying to make it to Alaska–or
at least Watson Lake by sundown. She moves on saying she’ll probably
beat me there. Meanwhile, i can feel strange man’s silollette is
turning toward me. I am not making eye contact…holding strong for five
mintues…not gonna do it…5 three minutes pass…shit, i look up—eye
contact—
“So, what kind of plane you flying?”
Me: standard answer, no frills or smiles
“Oh~ yeah~? Sounds like an ultralight, my son has one of those…” we
start defining what an ultralight is in Canada vs. the omni-powerful
and ever destructive USA and my eyes glass over and i wish i had not
made eye contact…
What is it with the Canadians and their “~oh ~yeah?~” it’s like they
are mocking you but they have a lobotomy and are too nice to commit to
the mocking half way through and the words peter off toward the end of
the pronunciation. i can’t quite place it…it’s not as definitive as the
“oh yeah” in the movie Fargo. I would actually prefer they grunt or
fart than emit these “~oh yeah?’s” to confirm they are listening.
This guy is full of “heys” and “ayes” too. He was a pilot and not as
creepy as i feared but more long winded than i ever imagined. He wants
to talk to me until the place closes. I want to file a flight plan, get
out of his town and never come back. He wants to look at my maps…”i
don’t have any” but then it turns out he’s a pilot and he knows secrets
of the terrain…Then all of a sudden I have maps in my backpack. We
clear the table and he tells me that “I don’t want to scare you or
anything, but……………..” He tells me about every fatal aviation accident
since the dawn of time, 90% of which occur within 50 miles of where we
are standing…Then Mr. Disclaimer, as we can now call him, points out a
few gravel bars i could land along a river which is 50 miles north of
the traditional route all the “tourists” who kill themselves fly. Seems
like good info but he can sense my excitement and doesn’t want to be
responsible for my demise so he says things like, i’m not going to
point to exactly where this strip is but it’s somewhere around here
(like i’m going to remember this anyway).
So Mr. Filibuster, as i now have coined him, has blown my chances of
getting into Watson Lake before dark, but he actually did show me a
couple noteworthy things on the map and almost scared me into never
flying again, selling the plane for a loss and taking the greyhound
back to Ohio where i will remain until i die of boredom, but not as
fast as if i had stayed in Fort Nelson…keep in mind i’m now in a tent
passing time
BTW Ohio’s great…come on i was joking…the heart of it all…birthplace of aviation…go bucks?
cracker barrel?
Well another guy here with a lobotomy told me it’s going to get down
to 0 centigrade tonight. That’s what my sleeping bag is rated for, so
bring it on.
Thats the report.
September 22nd, 2008 at 8:06 pm
Greg,
Linda and I, and all your Portland and Orcas gang are so very pleased for you. You’ve accomplished an Odyssey not many of us get to experience, and you’ve done it with aplomb and verve and high good spirits. We’re all jealous as shit, as you might say.
September 22nd, 2008 at 11:11 pm
Jealous!? Hell No. Gaysport? Well, ok, maybe a little bit jealous. That was a good blog and a good time in Portland. (Except that McCain bit) Keep in touch. I want a copy of the Derby film!
September 24th, 2008 at 8:19 am
As a footnote, I finally got the recipe for blueberry/peach cobbler from Marianne…Carl made her send it. I’m selling it on the internet for $10 a pop as my own recipe…ought to make a fortune.
September 24th, 2008 at 1:36 pm
Welcome home. Hope you make our fly-in Saturday, starting at 3:00. Might bring a tent and sleeping bag. There will be beer drinking around a camp fire that night and lots of folks wanting to hear about your adventure.
…and it was kind of you not to mention the real reason the fence needs repair too! jg
September 24th, 2008 at 5:02 pm
When are you coming back? How can they keep you down on the farm once you’ve seen Orcas?
September 28th, 2008 at 8:10 pm
F*#K that Palin chick - I am voting for Swingle. You are officially my hero. I want lots of pics and vijeo if you got it. Can you come take over my job so I can do the same thing? What the hell am I talking about, I don’t think I have the balls.
Bravo Swingle. Bravo.
September 30th, 2008 at 3:30 pm
So you’re back in ’round on the ends, hi in the middle’. And safely, too, except for the DA and a few other adventures. What was your total chock-to-chock time? And now what’s next? And you survived the end of the hurricane, although my sister in Mansfield said they got some pretty hellacious rain . . . and homecoming at the old alma mater comes up soon. One of my old heroes, Ron Lancaster, who graduated in 1960, I think, went off to play QB in the Canadian football league, then coached, and was a GM for a couple teams—anyhow, he died early in September. Mortality sinks in. Growing old is not for sissies!
Bea
October 27th, 2008 at 1:29 pm
Welcome home Greg,
Thanks for sharing with the rest of the Gaysport residents your adventure. It has kept us on the edge of our seats and wanting for more. Hope life isn’t too dull for you after all this.
Thanks again.