Chapter 11
Page 79
Page 79 
Another volunteer cargo handler, who Jed found out later was bush pilot Dougie MacTavish, one quarter Yupik Eskimo, one fourth Athabaskan, and Russian, topped off with a quart of Scot's blood, handed over a five gallon carton of ice cream to a group of kids —to save it from melting— and shuffled over in turned down hip boots with what was to be an ever present smile.
"Jenny MacPherson. Saw Colonel on way through," he began in Kuskokwim River country patois, "recognized you as thinking of him. You grown skookum. What happened your dad? Him fly out government plane? What you up to? Who this?"
"Whoa, Dougie. This guy friend of me. He horse pilot, outside. Skookum tough. We're looking for Dad. Think he went Hoot. Something not right. Want look self. You fly us Sasha Island, not tell anyone?"
"We go."
Dougie's high wing Cessna, a float plane, reeked of salmon, smoked salmon 'squaw candy' strips, and salmon eggs intended for the Japanese 'caviar' market, but the craft was beautifully maintained, and flown, as best as Jed could judge, by a natural pilot. They carried their equipment to the shores of the Kuskokwim piled high on the hood of an old Jeep painted in wild psychedelic colors.
There weren't any roads to McGrath. Vehicles were brought in by barge. Since numbers were limited, used cars could have been a seller's market. This particular junk heap — affectionately named the Venerable Jeep— had belonged to a hippie who had given up on the idea of communing with nature the first time the thermometer dipped to 40 below. Apparently Dougie had purchased a 10% interest. It wouldn't have mattered if he hadn't. The key had been lost long ago. Anyone who needed transportation from the Northern Commercial Company trading post, to the Wien office, to the McGrath Road House (a combination hotel, restaurant, and saloon where customers poured their own whiskey from a bottle slid down the bar) climbed in, touched two wires together. Since the transmission was stuck in four wheel second, and because the only road in town —besides the taxiway— led to the garbage dump, it appeared that even ten year old kids were allowed to 'borrow' old Ven.
After loading the plane, the jeep was left where it stood on the beach. Jed helped paddle the Cessna out into the current while standing on a float. And since Dougie didn't seemed to be concerned that they were being carried along by the river, Jed enjoyed drifting past the collection of cabins —all had sled dogs staked out in the back yard— that was suburban McGrath. Once the preflight had been taken care of, their pilot turned the plane with the current, wobbled it from float to float to break the surface suction and applied additional power to put them up on step. From here the transition from 'water skiing,' kicking back a tail of spray, to flying was one of the smoothest sensations Jed had ever experienced.
"Jenny MacPherson. Saw Colonel on way through," he began in Kuskokwim River country patois, "recognized you as thinking of him. You grown skookum. What happened your dad? Him fly out government plane? What you up to? Who this?"
"Whoa, Dougie. This guy friend of me. He horse pilot, outside. Skookum tough. We're looking for Dad. Think he went Hoot. Something not right. Want look self. You fly us Sasha Island, not tell anyone?"
"We go."
Dougie's high wing Cessna, a float plane, reeked of salmon, smoked salmon 'squaw candy' strips, and salmon eggs intended for the Japanese 'caviar' market, but the craft was beautifully maintained, and flown, as best as Jed could judge, by a natural pilot. They carried their equipment to the shores of the Kuskokwim piled high on the hood of an old Jeep painted in wild psychedelic colors.
There weren't any roads to McGrath. Vehicles were brought in by barge. Since numbers were limited, used cars could have been a seller's market. This particular junk heap — affectionately named the Venerable Jeep— had belonged to a hippie who had given up on the idea of communing with nature the first time the thermometer dipped to 40 below. Apparently Dougie had purchased a 10% interest. It wouldn't have mattered if he hadn't. The key had been lost long ago. Anyone who needed transportation from the Northern Commercial Company trading post, to the Wien office, to the McGrath Road House (a combination hotel, restaurant, and saloon where customers poured their own whiskey from a bottle slid down the bar) climbed in, touched two wires together. Since the transmission was stuck in four wheel second, and because the only road in town —besides the taxiway— led to the garbage dump, it appeared that even ten year old kids were allowed to 'borrow' old Ven.
After loading the plane, the jeep was left where it stood on the beach. Jed helped paddle the Cessna out into the current while standing on a float. And since Dougie didn't seemed to be concerned that they were being carried along by the river, Jed enjoyed drifting past the collection of cabins —all had sled dogs staked out in the back yard— that was suburban McGrath. Once the preflight had been taken care of, their pilot turned the plane with the current, wobbled it from float to float to break the surface suction and applied additional power to put them up on step. From here the transition from 'water skiing,' kicking back a tail of spray, to flying was one of the smoothest sensations Jed had ever experienced.
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