My 3rd oldest daughter is 15 and just started dating seriously. No problem, I just send my Trunk Monkey along as a "chaperone" during her dates!

VIDEO - 12 Gauge "Chaperone"!

The year was 1988, some time around the end of January, or the beginning of February. I was flying C-GJJG for Little Grand Rapids Air Service. C-GJJG was a 1959 de Havilland "Beaver", and her gear was rigged on de Havilland Beaver skis. They are very robust skis, with leaf-spring suspension, good flotation, and excellent all-around handling characteristics. JJG was used to haul freight, trappers, moose meat, ski-doos, and anything you could get through the doors into her. She also hauled many families, and during the memory related here today, that is what she was doing.

The phone rang in the Flight-Shack, and it was a fellow from Poplar Hill, Ontario. Poplar Hill is an Indian Reserve on the Berens River system, just upstream from the east end of Stout Lake. Telephones were not in abundance in Poplar Hill, as for some reason the locals had an aversion to paying their phone bills. Go figure. Anyway, this gentleman said he was calling for Helen Moose, and she and her family needed a ride back to Pauingassi. I told him I could be there in just over an hour.

I warmed up old JJG and fired off to Poplar Hill. It was only 50 miles, but it was already afternoon and there was a heavy snowfall warning out, but the snow wasn't supposed to reach this far north (oh yeah, and the cheque is in the mail, too). I cranked on through the sky past Moar Lake, Sharpstone Lake, and Stout Lake. I marveled at the ice formations around the rapids on the Berens River, as the water doesn't freeze when it is moving that swiftly, and water currents are always on the mind of a ski pilot as he is attempting to land on lakes that are fed by flowing water. I made it to Poplar Hill and loaded up Helen Moose and her family, and took off for Pauingassi.

Helen Moose was from Pauingassi, the daughter of Joseph Crowe. Joseph was a great trapper, and was the head guide at Fishing Lake Lodge well into his 60s. He was a slight man who always wore a feather in his cap, and wore sunglasses all the time, even at dusk on an overcast, rainy day. His children grew up in the bush, and people who live this way get very acute senses.

Helen had married a fellow from Poplar Hill, and had a number of children. Poplar Hill and Pauingassi had close ties, as they were connected by water. In past times the Native people were nomadic hunter-gatherers, and would travel great distances to acquire sustenance. Many places on the river had a great wealth of natural resources and were key meeting places for people, or were intersections of trade and travel routes. These places became today's communities.

My gaze left my instruments, and I looked outside. DAMN snow! We had been in it for awhile now and it was THICK. I was worried that when we hit the burned-out area north of Sharpstone Lake, we may not be able to continue. It was already a white-out, and without trees for visual reference, it would be risky to continue. We flew on and the snow got heavier. I headed a little south, thinking if I hit Sharpstone Lake dead-on, I could follow the Berens River all the way to Fishing Lake, where Pauingassi is situated.

The snowflakes were now the size of "Loonies", I hadn't found Sharpstone Lake, I was losing vertical visual reference, and had 1/8 to 1/4 mile horizontal visibility. Time to land. We found a long narrow lake to land on, and set her down. There was one narrow strip of trees on the south side of the lake the fire hadn't touched, so we could build a fire and make shelter if need be. We covered the engine, and waited in the airplane hoping the snow would let up.

It didn't. Great, here I am stuck on an unknown lake, with a planeload of kids, in the winter. I-yi-yi. We decided to get out and cut wood for a fire. It was getting close to dark. The snow was deep and Helen's husband and I headed for the thin stand of trees to cut wood while we could see. Helen had been sitting in the airplane, but now stuck her head out the door as we headed off. She paused, and told her kids to be quiet. Then she called us back. "Maa", she said to us. "Maa". (Maa is the Saulteaux word for listen.) I couldn't hear anything. "What is it?" I asked. "Running water", she said. I held my breath and listened again, concentrating hard. Ever so slightly, faintly through the snow, I thought I heard it, too. "Meegeesi Rapids", she said. "It must be Meegeesi Rapids." What a stroke of luck. Meegeesi Rapids is where Moar Lake drains toward Fishing Lake.

We decided to attempt to take off and fly in the direction of the sound, and if it was Meegeesi Rapids, I knew exactly where we were and would follow the river home.

We took off and stayed low, and within a couple of minutes...Meegeesi Rapids!!! Unbelievable. Boy, was I feeling happier. We followed the river and made it to Pauingassi. Just as I unloaded, the snow started to let up. I bid my passengers adieu, and flew the last 9 miles to Little Grand Rapids. I landed, covered up the airplane, and walked up the hill to the Air-Base just as darkness covered the landscape.

As I sat by the fire later that evening, sipping on a pickle jar full of "liquid intellect", water, and ice, I thought about the events of that afternoon. If not for the acute senses of a "Moose", I might still be sitting out on a lake shivering. I, for one, was glad to be inside.

C-GJJG was a great Beaver, and could haul a great load. She hauled many moose out of the bush, but there was one "Moose" she preferred over all.........

The exploits of the barnstormers and bush pilots of the post-Word War I era and later have always intrigued the hell out of me. These men were the adventurous type, full of "piss and vinegar", pioneers in a new age of aviation, trying to make a living any way they could. Who can forget the story of Wilfred Reid (Wop) May, that great Canadian bush pilot, delivering the diptheria serum in a snowstorm to save the villages of Little Red River and Fort Vermilion? He also helped track Albert Johnson, the "Mad Trapper from Rat River". Or how about Clennell Haggerston (Punch) Dickens, that great Canadian northern pilot, flying the Barren Lands to "map" the previously "unmapped" area with no weather observing stations, and obviously, no maps? These men are just two of the great aviation pioneers that opened up previously inaccessible territory. They shared similar traits with their peers elsewhere, the traits being perseverance, courage, gallantry, and (sometimes) good fortune.

My story today shifts to a latitude a long way south of the 49th Parallel. I have known of this pilot and his story for close to 20 years, and tremendously enjoy refreshing myself with his exploits from time to time. It is a story that has everything. Romance, intrigue, suspense, exotic locales, airplanes, gold, and an unfinished ending. It is an absolutely true story, and how Hollywood ever missed this one, I'll never know. This story should have been made into a movie with Humphrey Bogart in the lead role, but it never was. A dream of mine is to produce this movie, and I would cast Ralph Fiennes or Harrison Ford in the lead role, though I would prefer to play the lead and do the flying myself. Like I said, a dream.

Angel Falls! The world's highest waterfall! It looms up over 3200 feet, with an uninterrupted vertical drop of over 2600 feet! It is 16 times higher than Niagara Falls. Angel Falls is located in Venezuela, northern South America. The "Falls" are named after a famous "bush aviator", Jimmie Angel.

The tale begins in 1924, in a bar (of course) in Panama City. An old, transplanted Alaskan prospector named McCracken, approached a young, 25 year old pilot by the name of James Crawford Angel, and asked him if he was the type of flier that could "land an airplane on a dime". Angel answered that he was, the two men negotiated, and Angel was paid $5000, and he purchased a used airplane, an open-cockpit, two-seat, war-surplus, Bristol Fighter. This event began the legend of Jimmie Angel, and the unfinished quest that would consume him for years until his death.

Jimmie Angel was born in Springfield, Missouri, in 1899. In 1916 he enlisted in Britain's Royal Flying Corps. He flew in the war and was shot down once. He ended up in Egypt, and flew for T.E. "Lawrence of Arabia" against the Turks. He then was for awhile attached to the Italian Air Force, then flew in China. Later on he flew for Charles Lindbergh's Flying Circus, flew a Gotha bomber in Howard Hughes' film "Hells Angels", but at this point in his career he was in Panama.

After purchasing the used Bristol Fighter, Jimmie and the old prospector flew up the Orinoco River to Ciudad Bolivar. Then they flew over the jungle, with the prospector asking Jimmie to fly erratically. Then the old prospector became excited as they saw a peak that towered above the other jungle-covered peaks. It was Auyantepui, or "Devil's Mountain". The old man wanted to land, and Jimmie found a short spot between a stream and a cliff, and made the landing. For 3 days they panned for gold and filled a gunny sack, and on the third day with a tropical storm approaching, Jimmie launched the aircraft off of a cliff with a 3000' vertical drop, and returned to civilization. The old man would return to Denver, Colorado, and stated he would contact Jimmie in the future.

For the next few years Jimmie's fortunes waxed and waned, but he never returned to "Devil's Mountain" for more gold out of respect for the old prospector's claim to it.

In 1931 Jimmie received a telegraph that the old prospector, McCracken, was dying, and he requested Jimmie's presence. Jimmie went to see him in Denver, and McCracken gave Jimmie the rights to the mountain, but had a hard time describing the landmarks along the route to the mountain. It had been 7 years since they were there, and the jungle is a difficult place to navigate, but nevertheless Jimmie told him he would try to make it back to "Auyantepui".

In 1935 Jimmie began flying for a company that operated off a strip on the Orinoco River. He had chosen this position to be close to the mountain. He was doing aerial photography, and this allowed him to conduct his own search for "Auyantepui" as he worked. He searched and searched, but couldn't find the mountain. He began to wonder if the old prospector had told him they had landed on "Devil's Mountain", when actually they had landed elsewhere, just to throw Jimmie off. It was during this period when Jimmie made a great discovery that would assure his lasting fame. Flying around the shoulder of a mountain, he came across a mountain-face and water cascading out of it over 3000' into the jungle below! Initially, Jimmie was silent about his discovery, as he was already being ridiculed about his gold stories. Finally, he took 2 engineers on a ride to see his discovery. Later, a team from the American Museum of Natural History would enter the jungle to measure the waterfall, which was named Angel Falls in Jimmie's honour.

Jimmie took a wife, but continued his search for the gold. He acquired a larger airplane, a 7-passenger Ryan Flamingo. He continued his search, and in 1937 not far from Angel Falls, he spotted a clearing on a butte beside a stream. Was this the spot? Jimmie had to know.

Jimmie, 2 explorer friends, and his wife returned to the butte a couple of days later in the Flamingo. Jimmie made an approach to the clearing, and landed. As he was coming to a stop, the wheels broke through the surface, and the aircraft flipped over. No one was hurt, but the airplane would not be flying back from the clearing. For a period of time, the group searched for gold, all to no avail. Dejected, they hiked off the mountain, the trip taking 11 days!

Frustrated, and without an airplane, Jimmie Angel left Venezuela and returned to the States. They settled in California, and raised a family consisting of two sons.

Old dreams die hard, and adventurers never lose their urge. 19 years after leaving Venezuela, at the age of 57, Jimmie decided to head south and try to find the gold-laden stream amongst the peaks one last time. During this last attempt, while taxiing a Cessna 180 on an airstrip in Panama, a gust of wind flipped the plane, and Jimmie Angel died of a brain hemorrhage. His quest was over.

Jimmie Angel was cremated and his ashes spread over Angel Falls. Years later when asked about Jimmie's quest, his wife insisted it was all true as "Jimmie wouldn't have risked our lives for nothing".

As you can see, an amazing story and an amazing fellow. You can see why I am so intrigued. Jimmie's Ryan Flamingo was salvaged from the crash-site 33 years later, and today sits restored at the Ciudad Bolivar airport, after being declared a National Monument by the Venezuelan government. The gold to this day has never been found, so the object of Jimmie Angel's lifelong quest remains shrouded in mystery like the mist encircling Auyantepui!!! (Don't you think there is a movie here? Let me know!)

Angel Falls!! Named after the great flier Jimmie Angel, the "Falls" are fed by a great subterranean river draining an area that gets "300 inches" of rainfall a year!!

The life-worn face of great Bush Pilot "Jimmie Angel". The lines on his face detailed the miles he had flown, and some of the scarring was from a fire that broke out in a Ford Tri-Motor he was flying over the Andes...

There is a group of young people abroad and in our midst doing an outstanding, and many times, "thankless" job. I personally support them and thank them for their unwavering service.

VIDEO - Here's To The "Heroes"!

It has been 20 years since we lost Shuttle Challenger and her valiant crew. Remember them.

Challenger Commander Francis R. Scobee

Challenger Pilot Michael J. Smith

Mission Specialist Judith A. Resnik

Mission Specialist Ellison S. Onizuka

Mission specialist Ronald E. McNair

Payload Specialist Gregory B. Jarvis

Payload Specialist Sharon Christa McAuliffe

VIDEO - Challenger and Crew Tribute
(patience)
-----------------------------------------------------

A TRIBUTE TO SEVEN HEROES' 'SPECIAL SPIRIT'

---spoken by President Ronald Reagan

Ladies and gentlemen, I planned to speak to you tonight to report on the State of the Union, but the events of earlier today have led me to change those plans. Today is a day for mourning and remembering. Nancy and I are pained to the core over the tragedy of the shuttle Challenger. We know we share this pain with all of the people of our country. This is truly a national loss.

Nineteen years ago almost to the day, we lost three astronauts in a terrible accident on the ground. But we've never lost an astronaut in flight. We'd never had a tragedy like this. And perhaps we've forgotten the courage it took for the crew of the shuttle. But they, the Challenger seven, were aware of the dangers and overcame them and did their jobs brilliantly.

We mourn seven heroes: Michael Smith, Dick Scobee, Judith Resnik, Ronald McNair, Ellison Onizuka, Gregory Jarvis and Christa McAuliffe. We mourn their loss as a nation together. To the families of the seven, we cannot bear as you do the full impact of this tragedy, but we feel the loss and we're thinking about you so very much. Your loved ones were daring and brave and they had that special grace, that special spirit that says, "Give me a challenge and I'll meet it with joy." They had a hunger to explore the universe and discover its truths. They wished to serve, and they did. They served all of us.

We've grown used to wonders in this century. It's hard to dazzle us. But for 25 years the United States space program has been doing just that. We've grown used to the idea of space and perhaps we forget that we've only just begun. We're still pioneers. They, the members of the Challenger crew, were pioneers.

And I want to say something to the schoolchildren of America who were watching the live coverage of the shuttle's takeoff. I know it's hard to understand, but sometimes painful things like this happen. It's all part of the process of exploration and discovery. It's all part of taking a chance and expanding man's horizons. The future doesn't belong to the faint-hearted. It belongs to the brave. The Challenger crew was pulling us into the future, and we'll continue to follow them.

I've always had great faith in and respect for our space program. And what happened today does nothing to diminish it. We don't hide our space program. We don't keep secrets and cover things up. We do it all up front and in public. That's the way freedom is, and we wouldn't change it for a minute. We'll continue our quest in space. There will be more shuttle flights and more shuttle crews and yes, more volunteers, more civilians, more teachers in space. Nothing ends here. Our hopes and our journeys continue.

I want to add that I wish I could talk to every man and woman who works for NASA or who worked on this mission and tell them, "Your dedication and professionalism have moved and impressed us for decades and we know of your anguish. We share it."

There's a coincidence today. On this day 390 years ago, the great explorer Sir Francis Drake died aboard ship off the coast of Panama. In his lifetime, the great frontiers were the oceans and a historian later said, "He lived by the sea, died on it and was buried in it." Well, today, we can say of the Challenger crew, their dedication was, like Drake's, complete.

The crew of the space shuttle Challenger honored us by the manner in which they lived their lives. We will never forget them nor the last time we saw them -- this morning -- as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye, and slipped the surly bonds of Earth to touch the face of God.

We all know that in this age of "global terror" a person has to be extra vigilant. Al-Qaeda has threatened attacks in Canada, but none have happened "yet". Recently there have been reports of illegal aliens of Middle Eastern descent using fake ID trying to pass themselves off as "Real Canadians". There "are" true Canadians of Middle Eastern extraction in Canada, but they are loyal and patriotic to this country, and are hard-working and law-abiding, and would never be involved in subversion or destruction. Therefore, law enforcement agencies in Canada would like the Public's help. They have come up with a "verbal statement" that will "entrap" any "false" Canadian, and if you suspect an impostor, verbally make the following statement to him/her, and note the person's reaction.
---------------------------------------------------------

"Last night, I cashed my pogey and went to buy a mickey of C.C. at the beer parlour, but my ski-doo got stuck in the muskeg on my way back to the duplex. I was trying to deke out a deer, you see. Damn chinook, melted everything. And then a Mountie snuck up behind me in a ghost car and gave me an impaired. I was S.O.L., sitting there dressed only in my Stanfields and a toque at the time. And the Mountie, he's all chippy and everything, calling me a "shit disturber" and what not. What could I say, except, "Sorry, EH!"
-------------------------------------------------------

If the person you are talking to nods sympathetically, they're one of us. If, however, they stare at you with a blank incomprehension, they are not a real Canadian. Have them reported to the authorities at once. The passage cited above contains no fewer than 19 different "Canadianisms".

Here they are in order:

* pogey: EI (Employment Insurance). Money provided by the government for not working.

* mickey: A small bottle of booze (13 oz) (A Texas mickey, on the other hand, is a ridiculously big bottle of booze, which, despite the name, is still a Canadianism through and through.)

* C.C.: Canadian Club, a brand of rye whisky. Not to be confused with "hockey stick," another kind of Canadian Club.

* beer parlour: Like an ice cream parlour, but for Canadians.

* skidoo: Self-propelled decapitation unit for teenagers, (Snow-Mobiles)

* muskeg: Boggy swampland.

* duplex: A single building divided in half with two sets of inhabitants, each trying to pretend the other doesn't exist while at the same time managing to drive each other crazy; metaphor for Canada's French and English populations.

* deke: Used as a verb, it means "to fool an opponent through skillful misdirection." As a noun, it is used most often in exclamatory constructions, such as: "Whadda deke!" Meaning, "My, what an impressive display of physical dexterity employing misdirection and guile."

* chinook: An unseasonably warm wind that comes over the Rockies and onto the plains, melting snow banks in Calgary but just missing Edmonton, much to the pleasure of Calgarians.

* Mountie: Canadian icon, strong of jaw, red of coat, pure of heart. Always get their man! (See also Pepper spray, uses of.)

* snuck: To have sneaked; to move, past tense, in a sneaky manner; non-restrictive extended semi gerundial form of "did sneak." (We think.)

* ghost car: An unmarked police car, easily identifiable by its inconspicuousness.

* impaired: A charge of drunk driving. Used both as a noun and as an adjective (the alternative adjectival form of "impaired" being "pissed to the gills").

* S.O.L.: Shit outta luck; in an unfortunate predicament.

* Stanfields: Men's underwear, especially Grandpa-style, white cotton ones with a big elastic waistband and a large superfluous flap in the front and back!

* toque: Canada's official National Head Apparel, with about the same suave sex appeal as a pair of Stanfields.

* chippy: Behaviour that is inappropriately aggressive; constantly looking for a reason to find offense; from "chip on one's shoulder." (See Western Canada)

* shit disturber: (See Quebec) a troublemaker or provocateur. According to Katherine Barber, editor in Chief of the Canadian Oxford Dictionary, "shit disturber" is a distinctly Canadian term. (Just remember that Western Canada is chippy and Quebec is a shit disturber, and you will do fine.)
------

So, you see, any "Real Canadian" already knows these terms, and will understand what you mean. If there is still a slight "tinge" of doubt about the possible impostor, then give them the "Chilly Beach Quiz", then you will know for sure. If he doesn't get at least 7 out of 10, he isn't a "Real, Genetically-Violent, Hockey-Mad, Beer-Swilling, Patriotic Canadian"!

TAKE THE QUIZ! (not for the squeamish! "Blood and Guts Warning!")

Quiz -
Chilly Beach Canadian Trivia
---------

Thanks to my good buddy;

Wayne Letkeman
Thunderbird Lodge & Outposts
General Manager

P.O. Box 129
Lac du Bonnet, Manitoba
CANADA, R0E 1A0

Ph. 1-204-345-0188
Toll 1-800-732-2801
Fax 1-204-345-0189

"CHEERS"!

Wes called on the Mobile phone: "Are the rest of the materials there yet?" "No", we told him, "but hopefully by the end of the week." "OK", Wes told us, "but the ice is deteriorating".

Wes was the Camp Manager at Sasaginnigak Lodge. He had been building a new cabin at the camp, and was short materials. He needed the materials to finish the cabin, which was already booked mid-May. It was now late April, 1995.

I was flying for Northway Aviation Ltd. at Drunken Point, Manitoba. Northway owned Sasaginnigak Lodge, in the heart of Atikaki Wilderness Park, and had been flying in building materials for the cabin. It was almost complete, with just interior finishing materials being needed. The problem was, we didn't have them, and we had had a heat wave, and the ice was rotting. Any more delays and the ice would be too unstable to land on, and the cabin wouldn't get finished, and some treasured guests might get annoyed. Then we received a call stating the material would arrive the following day. Thank God!

The materials arrived the next day, and we started to load the Cessna 185 on wheel-skis, and guess what? Murphy's Law! Some of the bundles were too long. Time to figure out a different plan. Using the Beaver would be too risky, due to the weight of the aircraft, and we needed it at first open water. Ah-hah! The Cessna 207, old C-FBHP! We called it the "bowling alley", as when you were hauling freight with no seats installed, on the return empty leg if you looked back into the empty cavernous area of the airplane, it looked like a bowling alley! A large cabin area, a nose-baggage compartment, over-sized, wide-stance gear. Perfect! I checked the weather and it was supposed to freeze hard for the next two nights. Our last window of opportunity. We loaded the "207", and there was only room left for the pilot, me! I would leave early in the morning.

I took off early the next morning. It was about -15*C, clear sky, and no wind. Down I went. I buzzed all the wolves and coyotes out on Lake Winnipeg that were eating the rough fish the fishermen leave behind on the ice when they lift their nets. I hit the east shore and looked for moose all the way to Sasaginnigak, seeing a few. Arriving at "Sas", I surveyed the ice. There were some holes, and rough spots, but if I landed far enough out, I figured I would be OK. The freeze overnight had really helped to "knit" the ice together. The ice was just starting to turn dark, but would hold the airplane, as long as I avoided the holes.

I made a long approach with full flap, landed, and kept the weight off of the nose. The tin can rolled to a stop, and I shut down and got out. Man, is it nice out here in the bush. Wes and Gord came to greet me by Ski-Doo, and we unloaded. They would have to make a couple of runs back and forth, and I went to see what they had done in the cabin. Excellent workmanship. I returned to the plane, and I gave Wes and Gord their mail and tobacco. I bid them farewell, took off on the ice, and returned to Base.

The ice rotted and melted, the cabin was finished, we switched to floats, and started hauling guests out to fish. The cabin was a big hit, and has since been booked heavily every year. One day in April put it all together, and for me, just another day flying in the bush!

Always check for holes before landing....

If you land at "last ice", avoid the holes and run-off gullies...

C-FBHP delivers the materials, the cabin is finished, and U.S.-Canadian continental conflict is avoided....

The beauty of the cabins at "Sas" and the unequalled quality of Wes Klassen's work is apparent in this photo.....

It is close to the time of year that sees an aviation company like Blue Water Aviation Services Ltd., Pine Falls, Manitoba, receive literally around 500 or so resumes from mostly young, some eager, some not so eager, low-time pilots. A lot of young pilots also show up on the doorstep looking for employment. At first impressions, a small percentage of the potential hirees present themselves well and look the part of a float-pilot. The majority, though, look as though they would look comfortable in a flower shop setting, or maybe a manicurists salon. This is not to frown on anyone's appearance, as I know Clark Gable and I would never be considered twins, and I always seem to purchase pants with holes in them. Anyways, I have been asked in the past on how to do well in an interview for a float job, as I have been involved in personnel management for a number of years. So, here are Steve's tips on how to do well in an interview!!

1/ Be polite and well-mannered, and a credit to your mother. You wouldn't believe how many points you will gain.

2/ Stand up straight! I can't stand a sloucher.

3/ When you shake hands, GRIP and shake VIGOROUSLY! There is nothing worse than me squeezing a limp fish hand. Limp hands can't tie up Otters to the dock properly.

4/ Dress tidy, but when looking for a float job, don't wear black polyester slacks, a white shirt, and a tie. If we hire you on the spot, and need you to work immediately, you are not appropriately dressed. I don't mean to frown on this type of attire, but dress appropriate for the job.

5/ If you have dish-pan hands or piano-fingers, don't even come and see us.

6/ Be knowledgeable about our company's aircraft. Don't look at the Otter and ask us "how long have you had that Beaver?"

7/ Be knowledgeable about the geographical area the company flies in. Know the major lakes and rivers.

8/ Be familiar with the other air services in the area. Know who owns them and their fleet composition.

9/ Be familiar with the lodge operators and outfitters in the area, as they will be air service clients.

10/ Include references on your resume. If I need an employee "right now", very seldom will I chase you for "references on request".

11/ Make sure your references are from previous employers, NOT from the CFI at the flight school where you did your training, and not from an Air Canada pilot your Dad knows.

12/ If you grew up on a farm, make it known! Farm kids make the best pilots. (Don't bullshit that you're from a farm if you aren't, as it will show very quickly, and you will be severely beaten!) (Yes, by me!!!)

12/ Make sure ALL your work experience is on your resume.

These are just a few pointers, and certainly not a guide to win the job every time. Just do a little research ahead of time, and show up as prepared as you can be. Below is a photo of a man who showed up prepared for the job interview, was hired, and 20 years later, we still work together.

As you can see, this young man MADE an effort, and even spent a little money to be WELL-PREPARED for the job interview. I still remember the interview vividly. By the end of the interview, there was a lot of singing, and all of the world's problems had been solved for the night.

So, in closing, for all you budding float-pilots, take a hint from the young man above, and when you show up for the interview, present yourself well, and BE PREPARED!! (actually, I like Kokanee better!)

Peter Kalden is a friend of mine, and a well-respected Manitoba Outfitter. He owns Davis Point Lodge And Outfitting in the St. Martin area of Manitoba. I came to know him as he contracted the company I was working for, Northway Aviation, to do the flying for his non-resident Moose Hunts. The flying was conducted from a base on the Icelandic River in Riverton, Manitoba.

Peter was allocated a stretch of river on the Berens River near Long Lake, roughly 25-30 miles northwest of Little Grand Rapids. Peter had a beautiful stretch of river running east-west, with beautiful moose habitat on all sides. There was also an old trapper's cabin along this stretch of river, but it had seen many years of decay and unuse.

Peter is of German extraction, and had connections overseas to offer guided non-resident hunting packages. This fall in particular he had a group of German citizens coming to hunt.

We met on the docks early the morning of Peter's hunting party's departure date. We usually needed the Otter, Beaver, and Cessna 185 to transport a large party of hunters and guides. Hunters are a breed unto themselves. I am sure they bring everything they personally own out into the bush, as well as items they have pilfered from their neighbours the previous evening. We always found a lot of humour in what the hunters would bring.

We finally managed to load the party into the 3 airplanes, and cranked off down the river to takeoff and transport them out to the Berens River. The trip took about an hour, and we dropped the party off on a small rocky knoll on the edge of the river. Basically, the trip into the bush was quite uneventful, except when Peter slipped into the water while trying to help me secure the Otter to the shoreline. I tried to suppress the smile trying to escape my lips. This was late September, and the water was very cold. I didn't understand the words or the language that came hurtling out of Peter's mouth as he quickly exited the water, but then again, I probably wouldn't have wanted to anyway. Peter's German guests really seemed to be impressed with the stretch of river, as when they exited the airplane, each guest would stop, look up to the sky, sniff the air, thump their chest with both fists, and say "CANADA"!!

I bid the party adios and headed back to Base. They had a mobile telephone and would call daily to let us know of any success they had, and also to let us know they were OK.

Within a few days, Peter called to say they were having great success and they had meat to pick up if we were in the area, but it was a cold Fall, so when the meat was picked up wasn't critical, as they had it covered and hanging. It just so happened we had aircraft in the area, so we picked up their meat, which happened to be 4 Moose. These guys had tremendous luck, or great guiding. (We told the guides it must have been luck, jokingly. Peter had good guides: his son Alex, along with Brent, and Jerry.) We transported the meat back to our Base, and made arrangements for Peter's wife to pick up the moose meat, as the hunting party was staying in the bush for another few days to fish and relax.

We picked up Peter's group of hunters a couple of days later. I was amused and astonished to learn that the German hunters had insisted on staying in the old trapper's cabin, even though it leaked, was full of mice, and was rotting. They said they were really experiencing the "Canadian bush", and it seemed to be a badge of honour to them to have slept in a "real, honest-to-goodness, aboriginal's trapper's cabin". It made me ponder momentarily that most Canadians don't realize the value of the diverse and basically unspoiled, priceless geography that we own. I'm sure there are many countries in Europe where the natural, unspoiled wilderness is virtually nil. I'm sure this trip was the trip of a lifetime, what with the breathless beauty of the wilderness, the trapper's cabin, the tremendous moose hunting, and last, but not least, the chuckle everybody had when Peter fell in the water. Anyways, we made it back to our Base, unloaded, and bid the hunters "auf wiedersehen". I am sure this was a trip they were going to remember due to the numbers of pictures they had taken over the past number of days, and I was happy to have been a part of their "Great Canadian Adventure"!

Old CF-UKN on "the step" transporting Peter and his crew of moose hunters out to the Berens River....

A beautiful fall day on the Icelandic River, Manitoba. As you can see, 4 beautiful specimens....( I mean the moose racks, silly.....) Canada is sure blessed with an abundance of natural resources!!

Let's drift back in time, to June 13, 2005.............
-----------------------------------------

I arrived at the Base this morning at 4:45 AM. Departure time was 5:30 AM to take 8 fishermen to the camp at Red Willow Lake, and retrieve 8 fishermen that were already in camp. This, I did, and by the way, one of the guys I brought out caught a 24" walleye, that is a damn nice fish! By 8:30 AM I was back at Silver Falls, reloaded, and headed for Pauingassi with construction workers and supplies. Again, trip completed, and back at Silver Falls at 11:30 AM, just as passengers were arriving for a flight I had at Noon, to Gammon River East Outcamp. Right on time again!

Some people ask how, with a hectic and busy schedule, a "Bush Pilot" can stay on time. It is very tough, what with weather delays, tardy passengers, head-winds, you get my point. But somehow, I can always make up time, and this is because of "Polish Precision".

"Polish Precision" consists of 2 items, a "Polish" Otter, and a "Polish" Digital Clock. When running behind schedule in a Polish Otter, the throttle can be advanced slightly to speed up and make use of some more of those "ponies" up front. By referencing the Polish Digital Clock, which is accurate to 1 second, a busy pilot can stay on schedule! For a photo and info on "Polish Precision", see below!

A Bush Pilot with a "Polish Otter" will get you there on time, even with your boat............and how can he do this, you ask? He can, because he references the.............

"POLISH DIGITAL CLOCK" - The University Of Poland Science Students spent 4 years labouring to perfect this project, and is it ever accurate! I know I would be lost with out it! It sure helps me stay on time!

View The - "POLISH DIGITAL CLOCK"

Until next time, "Do Widzenia"!

"BBbbbrrr--i-i-i-ii-nnn-gg-GGGGG!" The phone obliterated the silence at the Flight Shack, as Edward and I were both engrossed in our paperwork. It was the end of ski season, as the ice was rotting, and we had decided to change venerable de Havilland Beaver C-GJJG, and tin-can Cessna CF-LDW to straight wheels. JJG was wearing straight de Havilland metal skis, and LDW was wearing hydraulic wheel-skis. We were operating from a Base at Little Grand Rapids, Manitoba.

It was the end of April, and ski season was over, so to speak. We had hung around longer than usual, as the local trappers always wait until the absolute last minute to organize and set a date to fly out, so as to be on the trap-line for open water. Every day that goes by, the ice rots and gets weaker. Well, we thought we were done flying, and we were going to work on the aircraft, and then move them off of the ice up to the runway. Then the phone rang...........

"Hello Steve, we need to go to Shallow Lake, 'Right Now'!" It was one of the Owen family members from Pauingassi. As my blood pressure increased, I got annoyed and asked him all the old questions; "Don't you know the ice is rotting? Why have you waited so long to fly out? Do you realize there is current traveling Shallow Lake? Yadda, Yadda, Yadda........" I got all the same old answers; "I was busy. I couldn't find a partner. I was waiting for my cheque. My wife was sick. I didn't realize how late it was." Then I started to laugh my ass off, as I realized there was no point in even asking the questions, because I already knew the answers. It had been cold the night before, and I agreed to do the one last trip, as the families relied on the income from trapping, I was heading north, and there was a large area at Shallow Lake that should be current-free, and hold the Beaver, but the boys would have to walk a mile pulling toboggans piled high with their gear. One thing about the local aboriginals, they know how to read current in a lake or river, and know where to walk to avoid falling through the ice.

I warmed up the Beaver, and vowed this would "absolutely be my last trip"! Engine warm, I got out and was met by Edward, who told me that while I was warming up, another trip arose. A couple of locals wanted to go to Bissett, 72 miles south, to pick up some "groceries". They wanted to use LDW. I was concerned about the ice at Bissett, as it had already pulled away from shore. Edward said this would be his "absolutely" last trip also, and would return to Base without landing if he deemed the ice unsafe during a visual aerial inspection once he arrived over Bissett.

We both took off for our respective destinations, mine being Pauingassi first, to pick up the trappers, before I went to Shallow Lake. Arriving at Shallow Lake, I could see where the river current entered the lake, and was eating away the ice. I picked one spot to land, and I figured it would be OK, although it was a long way from shore, and away from any current. I touched down, and slowly came to a stop, and this always causes a little apprehension, especially at the end of ski season. We stopped completely, and didn't sink! We exited, and I checked the ice. It had "candled" on top, and was dry, but held the Beaver well. We started unloading, until I heard one of the Owens saying "Pilot, Look"! I looked out the door, and there was a stream of water about 8-10" high shooting up through a crack in the ice beside the front left ski. I tell you, if there was a "Beaver Unloading National Championship", the Owens and I would have won the "Gold" that day. The boys headed across the lake pulling toboggans, and I took-off, uneventfully, but vowed to not do another trip on skis.

As I returned, I radioed Edward, who was returning and had had his own "fun". He had made Bissett, landed in the middle of the lake, walked with his passengers to shore, and had to "jump" the 4' of open water where the ice had pulled away. Once his passengers "shopped", they had to jump back to the ice, throwing the "groceries" across. Walking back to the plane, they were unnerved to see that the ice had sunk slightly, and the skis were in water. Edward quickly jumped in, fired up, moved to a high spot on the ice, "loaded" as fast as my passengers and I "unloaded", and took off. He also vowed to not do another ski trip. We both arrived back at Base safe and sound. We then changed JJG over to wheels, and moved it up to the airport. Now there was no way we could do another trip to the bush. LDW was moved to the airport also, and the next morning we would take the skis off.

That night we sat and chatted and laughed while consuming some "wobbly-pops", and reflected on the day's events. It is a fact of life in Northern Manitoba that the locals always wait until the last minute to do most tasks, and flying out to the trap-line at "last ice" was no different. One just has to be wary about landing surface conditions. During this time in my career, I learned a wealth of information about the bush. It was one of many experiences from my past, and a "life memory". I tell you, I can see the look on the face of the trapper "as clear as the day it happened" when he said.... "Pilot, Look"!.... and water was shooting up through the crack in the ice..............

LDW, bush-flying veteran......

JJG, great "Bush Taxi".........

Yesterday we were introduced to a fine shapely being named Connie. She is a great "fashion plate". Let's watch her "strut her stuff" as she slinks down the runway during an evening show, keeping the boys spellbound and "full of drool"!

VIDEO - "Lady" Of The Evening!

Watching this "beauty" take-off would cure your "erectile difficulty", if you were so afflicted...........

I was looking at some photos from earlier in my career, and chuckled over the many "external" loads I have flown. I have also been asked hundreds, if not thousands of times, how all the materials and equipment get into a lake in the bush inaccessible by road. The most-asked question is always; "How did you get the boats in here?" The following story may shed a little light on the situation.

Spring. A beautiful time of year for a bush pilot. Give me a float-plane and give me somewhere to go. As beautiful as the fall is with the change of colours, the decrease in temperature, and the shorter days, the spring is equally marvelous with the increase in sunshine, the greenness signaling rejuvenation, the birds, and the melting of the ice.

It was May, 2004. I was flogging an Otter on floats for Blue Water Aviation Services Ltd.. It was nice to be back on floats. It is most enjoyable seeing familiar lakes once again after the ice leaves them. It is also nice to follow the rivers and see how powerful the rapids and falls run in the spring with all the runoff added to the river.

During this time of year, we supply a number of fly-in lodges with the initial staff and equipment needed to open up the camp for business. One of these lodges that we service is Aikens Lake Wilderness Lodge, and we do the support flying from our Sub-base in Bissett. Gerry and Phil are the co-owners of Aikens Lake Wilderness Lodge, and each spring they commit a lot of time and energy to ensuring the opening of their camp is a smooth affair. Every year they show up in Bissett with a "slightly" over-loaded truck and we run two Otters back and forth between their lodge and our Sub-base until all their staff and freight is safely deposited at Aikens Lake. Every year they always bring one item that does not fit inside the airplanes.( I think Phil does this just to annoy me as he always has a good laugh when he shows us what he has brought.) This year it was a large boat, but it would have to be flown in later due to daylight restrictions.

A couple of days later, I was coming back from "up north", and my track would take me directly over Bissett.
I looked out the side window and noticed on the lakes there wasn't much wind. The temperature was also cool, and much more agreeable with flying "external" loads. I didn't have any more trips that day, and there were two crewmen in Bissett to help with the "external".
I reduced power, and down C-GBTU went. I approached Bissett from the northwest and "skimmed" the landing so well, you wouldn't have spilled your beer. I taxied in and shut the old horse down as I coasted towards the dock. I got out and tied her up.

Johnnie, "Codfish", and I rolled the boat over on the shore to have a better look at it. Holy shit, this boat is a lot larger than I thought it was. It was an 18' Lund, with live wells, wooden flooring, and pedestal seating all installed. Good grief, this bugger is going to be heavy. Lund boats are heavy boats, but they are quality-made. They are extremely stable on the water, and always survive the plane ride to the lake damage-free. Johnnie, "Codfish"(his name is Wendell, he is from the east coast), and I took the seats out of the boat and carried it over to the Otter. After we finished checking each other for hernias, we strapped the boat on the side of the Otter. A boat is always flown stern-first (physics I won't get into here) and is held on with "Herc" straps, straps so named as they are used in Lockheed C-130 Hercules aircraft to secure palleted loads to the floor. We double-checked the straps for security, and taxied out. I had a partial load inside the airplane, and I took along "Codfish" as a "swamper".

The old Pezetel engine started to throb as the supercharger spooled up. One thousand screamin' horses whinnied in unison as C-GBTU lifted off the lake at Bissett and climbed towards Aikens Lake. We landed in the east arm of the lake, as this is where the docks are located. Gerry met us, and he was quite happy to receive his boat. We unloaded and bid him adieu, took off and headed back to Bissett. We never damaged the boat or the aircraft floats, and still had all our fingertips and finger-nails. Just another day flying in the bush.

So, the next time you are at a camp in the bush and see some large, hulking, unsymmetric piece of equipment or machinery sitting there, and you wonder "how the hell did they get THAT in here?", chances are it came by air!

After a verbal berating from Johnnie and "Codfish", I relented, and secured the boat with "Herc" straps instead of duct tape.....

In light of the fact that my friends would not let me pretend to be Captain, I pouted, took my boat, and went home....

My buddy Clive Pearce sent me a link to an outstanding aviation photographer. His name is Richard Seaman, the "Flying Kiwi". The clarity of his photography is unbelievable! He captures "moments in time" like few others. Check out some of his photography of some of the aircraft that keep North America safe!

B-2 "Spirit" at the Edwards Air Force Base 2005!

Edwards Air Force Base Airshow 2005 Highlights!

F-22 "Raptor"!

F-117 "Nighthawk"!

Thanks Clive! As the French would say, "Bon de Poulet"! Good Chicken!!!!!!!!!

"God Bless the U.S.A.!"

What I do..........

CLOMP! My feet hit the floor. I struggled to focus on my watch in the dark and hit the illuminate button. Crap, 3:30am already. A few more groans and I was up, as I had a 5:00am trip to take 4 canoers and 2 canoes onto the Bloodvein River, dropping them at Artery Lake, just across the Manitoba border, into Ontario.

I was on the dock by 4:00am to check over the Otter and warm it up. I had tied the 2 canoes onto the airplane the previous night. They were using two 17' Old Town canoes, and for my money, these are the best all-around canoes made. They fly great, they are durable, they are stable, and they haul a great load. I have flown thousands of canoes, and these ones are good. Anyway, I warmed up my old beast, and shut down just as the canoers arrived.

Canoers always intrigue me. They aren't your regular "good ole boy" types. No, they are much more eccentric. They seem to feel they have to be one with the river or have something to prove to themselves or somebody else. Hard to put a finger on, but a noticeably different clientele. Anyways, we loaded up, took off, and headed across Lake Winnipeg for Artery Lake. We would be crossing Lake Winnipeg's east shore roughly a dozen miles south of the Bloodvein River Indian Reserve. We would pick up the Bloodvein River on the way so the canoers/eccentrics in the back could have a look at some of the white water on the lower portions of the river.

We stayed low and enjoyed the river, saw numerous moose and waterfowl, and some other canoers. Flying at 5:00am to me has always been so enjoyable, as the air is cool, the turbulence is minimal, the aircraft performs much better due to the lower temperatures, and the new rookie pilots with verbal diarrhea aren't in the air yet. Anyways, on we flew, past "The Knot", a stretch of river so named as that is what your stomach feels like taking off if the wind is wrong, past "The Big Bend", past Kautunigan, and past the Gammon River-Bloodvein River junction, into the vastness of Atikaki Provincial Wilderness Park.

Atikaki is the Ojibway word for " country of caribou ". There are a number of small stable herds in the park, and can be seen more readily in winter by following their tracks in the snow by air. We flew past Stonehouse and Bushey Lakes, beautiful moose habitat. We crossed the border and I greased the aircraft onto the water .

There are some beautiful red ochre pictographs the canoers wanted to see on the lake so I dropped them off as close as possible. I bid them adieu and 600 horses pulled the Otter into the air in a couple of hundred feet. Man, does this old girl perform well empty. Time to have some fun on the way back.

I stayed low and looked for more moose and wildlife on the way back, all along the Bloodvein. My mind wandered back to a purer time in history and in my mind's eye I imagined the trade and commerce that must've been conducted by the native people when transportation modes and methods were more primitive. I thought about how the river was named. Some will say it was named for the red granite that runs through the bedrock, others will tell you it was named after a battle when the local Ojibway and Cree battled an invading tribe and the river ran red with blood. I flew past a stretch of river where I have dropped people off in the past to fish and they have caught 6 different species of fish! Northern pike, walleye, channel catfish, rock bass, mooneye, and burbot! The river also holds sturgeon in the lower section.

The longing for the past just about had me until the radio brought me back to the 21st century. Some rubberhead on the radio was asking his buddy where he ended up the previous night, and then proceeded to give a position report every half mile. I climbed to 2000 feet and returned totally to reality. I looked at my watch. 6:30am. Yes, the rookies are in the air. Time to be vigilant.

By the way, the Bloodvein is one of 17 rivers nationally designated as an heritage river, it is unspoiled, and well worth an excursion by canoe! Adios!!!

Fishing is always great on the Bloodvein River........

Turn up the volume, and watch a "fantastic piece of iron" slice the skies, a Lockheed Super Constellation. The Historical Aircraft Restoration Society (HARS) overhauled and maintains this "prehistoric gem", in addition to it's fleet of other aircraft. Listen and watch as a 9,600 HP orchestra manipulates 72 cylinders to produce a sound rivaling any symphony!

VIDEO - "Super Connie VH-EAG"!

VH-EAG! Love that "dolphin fuselage"...........

"BR-R-R-I-I-I-NG-NG-G"!!! The phone startled me and ended my wandering through the dreamworld of scantily clad women and free beer. I snapped back to reality and realized I was in the Flight Shack. I dropped my feet off the desk and grabbed the phone. "Hello, Little Grand Air", I said. "Hello Steve, it's Patrick. I want to go grocery shopping to my trapline this afternoon. Can you fly me this afternoon?" came the voice from the other end of the line. "Sure", I said, "but what do you mean by grocery shopping?" "You'll see", Patrick said. "See you after lunch, and I'll need the Beaver."

I hung up the phone and sat there with a stupid look on my face. Grocery shopping, I wonder what he means by that? I figured I would find out after lunch, so I went and fuelled and warmed up the Beaver, and waited for Patrick to arrive.

It was the late 1980's, early January. I had known Patrick Owen for a number of years, and really liked the guy. He was very quiet, very straight-forward, and definitely the man to have with you if you were stuck out in the bush. He had grown up trapping and hunting and was acutely in tune with the bush. The kind of man that goes moose hunting in the fall with a Winchester Model 94 30-30 in a canvas sheath, and takes along a backpack of gear, and that is all he needs. The kind of man that can imitate moose sounds, and uses a piece of birch bark to amplify his call when calling in a moose. The kind of man that builds his own cabin in the bush when his father or grandfather's trapper cabin has decayed. Yes, Patrick had a lot of experience and knowledge.

Patrick showed up with a buddy after lunch, and we headed for Horseshoe Lake, located on the Berens River, about 25 miles west of Little Grand Rapids, Manitoba, where our Air-Base was located. We got to the lake and circled. Patrick had built a new cabin the past fall, and I picked it out from the air. There is a lot of current coming into the lake, and it goes right past Patrick's cabin. I would have to make a tight landing in the small bay to the east and hug the shoreline. "Routine, for a great pilot like myself", I thought. What an arrogant cuss.

I made the landing, and shut down the airplane. I was a little concerned about the ice thickness due to the current, but I figured it was OK where I landed. I exited the airplane, stepped on the ski, then the ice, and one leg went straight through the ice up to my nuts. HOLY SHIT!!!! Panic goes through your mind in times like these. The airplane sinks, and we all die, or something along those lines. Anyhow, I grabbed ahold of my thoughts, and lifted myself back onto the ice. It was only a hole covered in snow. This is a phenomenon that can happen due to current, swirling water, an underwater spring close to shore, or it could've been an old waterhole Patrick cut through the ice previously when he was at his cabin. Whatever it was, Patrick and his buddy headed for his cabin smiling, while I stayed to measure the actual ice thickness around the airplane. I used an axe, and the thickness was 8" of good blue ice, adequate for the Beaver.

From the lake, I had observed Patrick go to his cabin and pull off the window-coverings, then the windows, and disappear inside. He returned to the window a few minutes later, and threw out a moose quarter! Now I got it! This continued until the number of quarters on the ground X 4 = multiple moose. Patrick had been hunting at his cabin at freeze-up, had done extremely well, and had stored some of the meat in the cabin. What a way to grocery shop!!!

We loaded and flew back to base, then unloaded the moose meat into Patrick's snowmobile trailer. He paid me and thanked me for the flight, then departed. He said he was going to share the meat with a few different families. This was what the Native people did in earlier times, and nothing was ever wasted, as even the tongue, nose, liver, heart, and fatty deposits behind the eyes of a moose was consumed.

I watched Patrick disappear around the point, and was glad there were people like Patrick still around. The Native people in Canada are losing a lot of their acquired knowledge of "living off the land", and to me this is a shame. Time marches on, though, I guess, but all is not lost, because with people like Patrick around, the knowledge marches on!

Old C-GJJG was a "59 Beaver", but Patrick liked to use it as a "shopping cart"...

Horseshoe Lake Grocery Store, with Patrick entering the "meat" section.....

Always choose a number of choice cuts when shopping.....

Patrick was (and still is) one "helluva" hunter.....

Good day folks, time for a wee tale from the memory banks of my mind.

A couple of years back I was up flying for Munroe Lake Lodge. I had started the Caribou hunt for the lodge in the beginning of September, and had flown a number of groups, guides, supplies, etc., into a number of lakes around Munroe. I was due to be relieved by another pilot, and the last trips I did were to take a new group of guests and guides into Farnie Lake, just east of Baralzon Lake, just south of 60* latitude, in northern Manitoba. Anyways, I was asked by the lodge owner if I had ever heard of Polar Bears in the area. I said "no". Farnie Lake is more than 100 miles northwest of Churchill, MB, where most Polar Bears migrate to at that time of year. Boy, was I wrong. Anyhow, the last trips were done and I was relieved by another pilot.

During the next week the hunt for caribou continued on the tundra. This area is the northern edge of the tree-line. One of the laws in Manitoba states that a guide who is guiding non-resident hunters cannot carry a rifle. ( Oops, what a bonehead rule that is, as you will soon see. ) One day a guide named Steve Obelnicki was guiding a male and a female hunting caribou. They had dropped a caribou. Steve was cleaning the animal, and the guests were at the boat pulled up on shore, over 100' away. Suddenly, Steve looked up and over a small rise appeared TWO Polar Bears, and an Arctic Wolf. I know what I would have done in my pants. Being a top-notch guide, he kept his composure and headed for the boat. ( Remember, he has no rifle. ) The Polar Bears and Wolf kept coming toward the downed caribou, and then one bear started to accelerate towards Steve. He quickened his pace and told one of the guests to shoot over the bear's head. They were hunting with black powder rifles ( single shot, ouch!!! ). The shot was made and Steve made the boat. He asked the woman if she was menstruating, she wasn't, as this will bring predators for miles, but I guess the caribou blood was enough odour. One of the bears was full grown, and one was a juvenile. From the safety of the boat they watched one of the bears devour the internal organs of the caribou in 2 minutes. They set out for camp, which was quite a distance from where they were hunting, and made it safe and sound. I'm sure good whiskey was consumed as the story was related back at camp. End of the story? Nope!

The next morning another guide named Harold Devaux and his group loaded up in a boat and headed south. As they came around a little point close to camp, lo and behold, there was the smaller bear. The bear saw them and followed them along the shoreline as they attempted to make it back to camp, as they were going to warn the other guides and hunters. As they got close to shore, the bear was challenging them. They had had enough. Seven shots from a high-powered rifle were needed to drop the bear, and it was the smaller of the two!!!!! Everybody was safe, they never saw the other bear or the wolf again, a call was made to Natural Resources for the authorization for the guides to carry rifles ( which they received ), and the caribou hunt was finished.

Talk about a great life-story. I can see Steve in my mind's eye at an old age telling his great-grandchildren...." did I ever tell you about the time......?". Come to Manitoba, folks, adventure like no other. By the way, now when someone asks about polar bears, I say " Let me tell you a story......."

This is my brother "Gene, Recessive". He is a helicopter pilot, and sometimes he keeps strange company..........!!!!!

I was flogging through the sky on a beautiful day hauling a load of diesel fuel up to Dogskin Lake Lodge. I was flying a Polack Otter, old C-GBTU, augering along behind the four-bladed prop. BTU was a 1957, with a 4-barrel carb and a supercharger, cranking out 1,000HP on takeoff. It was early May, and I was flying out of the Winnipeg River at Silver Falls, Manitoba, for Blue Water Aviation.

I clipped along north, past the gold mine at Bissett, then crossed the Gammon, Bloodvein, and Sasaginnigak Rivers. There was still ice on Sasaginnigak Lake on the east side, and I could see that Dogskin Lake still had some ice pans floating around, but I would be able to make it into the bay where the docks were. I had to land in the channel and taxi through some ice that was bridged to the shore, but the old Otter on Edo 7850 Beech 18 floats chewed right through it. The ice on the lake made my mind wander back 20 years...............

"I was flying a 1959 Cessna 180 on Fluidyne 3000 wheel-skis, CF-LDW. It was some time around mid-late December. LDW had an O-470K Continental engine, rated at 230HP on takeoff. It had droop-tips and the Cessna 185 gear legs and tail-wheel assembly. It was a great performer and would lift whatever you could cram into it. It was a great trapper machine.

Anyways, I was flying out of Little Grand Rapids, MB, to drop some gear off for Stan Owen at a trapper cabin at the south end of Dogskin Lake. Then I would proceed to Frances Lake, which adjoins Dogskin Lake, and pick up Stan's brother, Joseph, and return him to Little Grand. Joseph always trapped alone, and he was a master at it. I dropped off Stan's gear, and talked to him and his helpers. His family had had the trapline in the Dogskin area for many years, and tremendously enjoyed being out at the cabin, especially at this particular time of year. I had dropped them off in late October on floats, and was just now resupplying them, as the ice was now just safe enough to land a ski-plane on. I bid them adieu and headed to pick up Joseph. It was a very short flight, and extremely smooth down low, as it was blazing sunshine with zero wind, not a breath, not a ripple.

I landed at Frances Lake and shut down the airplane. I got out of the airplane and walked up to Joseph's cabin. It was nestled nicely in the evergreens, to provide shelter and break the wind. The native people are brilliant at placing cabins in the bush for warmth and shelter. I know of trapper cabins that aren't even visible by air, unless you know exactly where they are and can look straight down on them from low-level. Anyway, Joseph's cabin was typical native built, made of peeled jackpine, with a low roof and low doorway. I peeked in, and he wasn't there, but smoke drifted from the chimney and just lay over the cabin due to the no wind condition. I decided to sit on a stump and wait. I leaned against his cabin and became very relaxed. After a few minutes, I started to have an eerie feeling. I couldn't put my finger on it. Something was not right. This was the very beginning of the acquiring of my "Bush Pilot" sense, which today is much finer tuned. So, I sat there, and my mind raced. What was different? What is going on? My hearing started to give it away as I started to hear the beating of my heart, the blood pumping through my head, and the breathing of my lungs. I held my breath. That was it! It was SILENCE! Absolute silence. No birds, boats, ski-doos, phones, cars, people talking, chain saws, squirrels chattering, nothing. For the first time in my life I had experienced absolute silence. Even in a house with nobody else home, in our civilization, there is always a hum from something. This was pure silence. I sat there and a smile crept to my lips. Another new experience. Hey, this bush flying is great! I sat still for about another 5 minutes enjoying the silence, and then decided to get up and stretch. The rustle of my jacket first broke the silence. As I got up, I noticed Joseph about 150 yards away, waving and coming towards me pulling a sleigh. Ahh.., my timing was perfect.

I greeted Joseph, we had some weak tea with condensed milk, loaded his furs, closed his cabin, and took off for home. Joseph must've thought I was a little cracked as I flew back with a dopey smile on my face, but to me, it was an experience to relish. I had experienced true silence, and it was DEAFENING!......."

I came back to reality and shut down the 1000HP radial and coasted to the dock. The boys unloaded me. I said good-bye, fired up the radial, and took off. I made a little detour over Joseph's cabin, and noticed it was overgrown and falling apart. Joseph had had a stroke a number of years back, and couldn't trap anymore. I felt a tinge of regret, but I guess that is life. I rolled the DG to 200* and headed south. I know all things come and go, but I'll always remember Joseph O. and the little cabin at Frances Lake!

CF-LDW was a great "trapper machine", seen here posing in front of the Little Grand Rapids Nursing Station!!

C-GBTU was the machine I was in when the memories returned. A real "1000 HP Canadian Back-Bush 4x4"!

VIDEO - Latest "Cessna Caravan" Plummet.........

Let's see the "Islamist terrorist box-cutter cowards" try something on this airplane........

VIDEO - My Kind Of Passenger Briefing!

Hey folks, how is it going? A story just came to mind, so bear with me.

I live in an area where a lot of the geography is only accessible by air, so air transport to some people is like city people getting in a taxi. Anyway, the two stars of the story are Lloyd Leveque and Rhoda Pascal, an aboriginal couple from the local Little Grand Rapids Indian Reserve, 65 miles from our base. Lloyd, a friend of mine, is the male in the couple, and he has a trapper's cabin at Shining Falls, at the south end of Family Lake, and the headwaters of the Pigeon River. Anyways, here is how I remember the tale.

It was the morning of May 16, 1997, just after the ice had departed the more southerly lakes. It was a morning of shit weather and wind, not untypical for the time of year, and the fact we were operating off Lake Winnipeg, from a base at Pine Dock. My friend and fellow pilot, Jim Johnson, had picked up Lloyd and Rhoda at Sophie's, a local motel, restaurant, and watering hole. They wanted a Cessna 185 trip to Shining Falls. Needless to say, the trip was delayed, so Lloyd and Rhoda exercised their lips and elbows all day at the bar. Five flights were cancelled that morning, as the weather stayed poor. There were also 8 guests booked into Sasaginnigak Lake Lodge at noon, the Sullivan group.

As the weather improved slightly, and Lloyd and Rhoda deteriorated rapidly, we decided to tempt the elements. I would load 8 people ( Sullivan group ) into the Otter with gear, and go straight to Sasaginnigak and back. Jim would take Lloyd and Rhoda with their gear and excess gear for Sasaginnigak Lodge, go to Sasaginnigak, then Shining Falls, then back to base. As there was excess gear, Jim decided to use the Beaver.

Finally, both aircraft were loaded. Jim was in the office so I loaded Lloyd into the right front seat of the Beaver, and Rhoda behind him. I then said, "See you, Lloyd, have a good flight!" I then closed the doors and proceeded to the Otter. I told the Sullivan group I would be taking all 8 of them, and for some reason they all seemed tremendously relieved. As I loaded them in the Otter, a couple of them milled around me, and finally one guy asked, "Where is Lloyd going?" "He has a trapper cabin at a place called Shining Falls", I replied. "Oh, I see", the gentleman said. I told them their gear in the Beaver would be dropped at Sasaginnigak before Lloyd went to Shining Falls. They stared at me in disbelief! "Has Lloyd worked for your outfit for a long time?" an older gentleman queried. "No", I said, "his camp is private and has nothing to do with our operation", as partial bewilderment started to invade me. "Does he fly here often?" was the gentleman's next question. "Yes, numerous times during spring and summer", I replied. "In that kind of shape?" the gentleman raised his voice. "Yes, Lloyd is usually 'half in the goose' by this time of day", I said, wondering what this guy's problem was. "Doesn't he ever crash?" the gentleman said, his voice up an octave and quavering. "What?" I said, a stupid look on my face as this guy had totally lost me. "Lloyd, doesn't he ever crash?" the man wanted to know. I'd had enough! "What the HELL are you talking about?" I asked the gentleman. "Lloyd flying an airplane in that condition!" he said. Now I clued in and burst into laughter! I said, "My buddy, Jim, the other pilot, is flying the plane and dropping Lloyd off. He is in the office. Lloyd and Rhoda are just waiting for him." "Good Lord!" the gentleman said, "I was really beginning to wonder." At this point in time, sheepishness had invaded his very being to the point that I thought I could see wool stubble growing on his chin. He climbed the ladder into the Otter with his slice of humble pie and I closed the door, shaking my head and grinning. Some people sure can have a misconceived perception of normal, everyday events, as when I said good-bye to Lloyd and closed the door, the group I was transporting thought Lloyd was the pilot.

Anyway, we made it to Sasaginnigak, although we should have been wearing hard hats, it was so rough. Jim managed to find Shining Falls and drop off Lloyd and Rhoda. We both returned to base, and at the end of the day, we had some great laughs about some people's misperceptions, and downed some great Canadian Whisky!

Son Shane holds his "berries" and poses beside stalwart Otter CF-UKN! The "Sullivan Group" always preferred the Otter, especially if "Lloyd" was flying the Beaver...........