We're still rotting away in the air taxi office.
We're beginning to turn into one big family. We have free access everywhere, and go to look at the planes. Bob, the pilot, explains it all to us. The Cessna we were in yesterday is as old as me; it was made in 1975, and is considered one of the youngest planes in the fleet. His favourite is the Irish SC7
Sky-van, built in the year of the moon-landing. It's a cargo-carrying plane, and can even carry a jeep up to the oil-fields. We examine the pilot's cabin. I've never seen such a run-down interior in my life.
It's a museum piece, and I can't understand how anyone can go up in the air in it. But Bob has complete faith in it, and says it's very reliable. He flies 900 hours each year, so he knows what he's talking about.
Chapter II.: Hunting in the Alaskan Arctic
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Most of their work is done in the winter, when the entire countryside is frozen, and lakes become solid. Then the oil prospectors can easily carry out their investigations and safely travel over the endless oil-fields. The lowest temperature at which a Cessna can fly is -40F, and at these temperatures they have to use a separate heater to start it. The plane’s engine is placed inside a balloon and hot air is pumped into it. However, the heater also cannot start at these temperatures and requires its own heater to start. Thus all the heaters are linked up.
A winter take-off can be rather complicated.
In Deadhorse there is no mainswater or sewage system as in winter the pipes would freeze and burst making it pointless to install them. Bob collects sewage water in a big blue tank – standing right behind us, giving the occasional gurgle – which is emptied every 3 -4 weeks, at a charge of $8000 a time.
Jay, my fellow hunter, likes to talk a lot about his family: he has two sons and a daughter. Colton, the elder boy is nine. They live in Alabama, and so far the child has shot eight white-tailed stags and eight hinds. The day before yesterday he killed two Canada geese with one shot from his 20 gauge shotgun . The hunting season has not yet begun, but Colton’s grandfather has a very flexible attitude towards the starting dates, and as it all took place on his farm, the geese provided a good family dinner. Jay shows me his son’s photo, and has every reason to be proud of him. Colton wil make a great hunter!
I’ ve wandered back to the hotel for a few hours of boredom.
I’m getting quite good at being bored, as during these periods I can take endless naps. I have a doze in this armchair and then, for a change, I try the other one.
There’s absolutely nothing to do. There’s a pool-table, which is constantly in use, and a table-tennis table, but unfortunately I haven’t a partner. I’ve just received an email from my friend, Dr.Zsolt Kőhalmi
(SCI). He says that this kind of weather is perfectly normal, and that when he was in Alaska, he hunted under exactly the same conditions. In fact, everybody says these conditions are quite average.
So what’s the weather like when it’s bad?
I’m trying out some Red Man chewing tobacco, which I’ve just bought, and it’s giving me hiccups.
In a bad mood, I occasionally spit a brown jet out into the ice-cold rain.
Chapter II.: Hunting in the Alaskan Arctic
Page 10