We load our equipment into the Cessna 207.
As well as the Alaska Air Taxi pilot, we have Jay with us. Together with this unexpected fellow-hunter, I am setting off for the base, Kavik Camp. From there we will take another plane to reach the hunting grounds. Our pilot uses the same runway as the large planes, but doesn't seem bothered by the fact.
Without any use of the radio, he just takes a look around, and simply drives out onto the tarmac.
We take off.
We are heading south-east; Kavik Camp is about 50 miles away. The little plane flies low; our altitude cannot be more than 450 ft. But it's not dangerous: the ground is completely flat, with no hills at all, let alone any mountains. The ground is thickly covered with grass, and I look in vain for a large bush or tree. The view is monotonous, with no landmarks to help with navigation. Our pilot flies the Cessna relying on his GPS. I'm surprised by the number of lakes. We can see big, small, and even tiny, lakes.
Some are linked, some are separated by just a few feet of land, and others are completely apart, but
Chapter II.: Hunting in the Alaskan Arctic
Page 6
all reflect the dim light. Wherever I look, I see nothing but lakes. The weather is not improving, and the clouds almost touch the earth. There is a constant drizzle, and our poor little plane is almost choked by the surrounding fog. After flying for 20 mins. we reach the co-ordinates, where , according to the GPS, the camp should be.
But it isn't.
We make a large circle, and again go down to the supposed site of the camp. No luck. The pilot begins a systematic search, making larger, and larger circles around the camp-site co-ordinates, but we still can't see anything. We try another method, flying in from different directions, and from greater distances. It's not an easy job for the pilot; there doesn't seem to be a landmark in sight. With growing puzzlement, he continues the search, but we can not see the tents.
We circle tightly over our apparent destination for 20 mins. - the flight here didn't take much longer -
with no results. Finally, we have to give up as we are getting low on fuel.
We are on our way back to Deadhorse.
Today we can't take off; we have to spend the night here. Alaska Air Taxis offers to let us spend the night in their office, but I'd rather stay in the Prudhoe Bay Hotel. The room price includes unlimited food and drink, so I shall have a big breakfast tomorrow.
A tiny Bob-cat tractor tows the plane into a hangar for the night, so the poor thing won't get wet.
Tomorrow, we'll try again to get to the base-camp.
It's raining, getting colder and colder, and the wind is blowing.
The fog still doesn't lift.
Yesterday, Greg Jennen managed to leave Fairbanks in his small plane, with a passenger on board.
But, two hours after take-off, they were forced to land because of the fog. They were able to crash-land near a river, and were contacted by satellite telephone. They had to spend the night in the plane.There was one sandwich between them, which they ate, and nothing else. At present, there is no way for them to take-off.
Their situation is critical.