I could barely make out the runway tucked in between two mountain ranges at the base of Cairn Mountain. "You gonna land on that thing?", I asked the pilot. "Sure", he grinned. "Why?" "I don't think it can be done", I replied. "You ever done it before?" "Yeah. Three or four times", he said. "It looks hairy at first but you finally get used to it and it's not so bad after awhile as you'll find out after you're checked out on it. Ready?" "I guess so". Here I was, a co-pilot in a C-47 (Goony Bird) supply plane in Alaska during the winter of 1952 getting checked out on a new supply route with the ground temperature about 35 degrees below zero. Recalled to active duty the year before and sent to Alaska, I was presently assigned to the Alaskan Air Defense Command as the Combat/Operations Duty Officer in charge of the air defense of Alaska during my 8 or more hours of daily duty. Shortly after arrival, radar experts decided that a supplemental search radar should be installed atop Cairn Mountain located in a remote mountainous region west of Anchorage. The operations station and landing strip at the base of the mountain were named Sparrevohn. To bring both the station and landing strip into being, a caterpillar was first parachuted down to bulldoze a runway. It was damaged and almost sank in the tundra. Another was dropped and, although somewhat damaged, ground crews were able to repair it using salvaged parts from the first caterpillar. Thus, a single runway was bulldozed at the foot of the mountain and covered with pierced steel planking (PSP) --- and what a runway it was! Short and not very wide, it sloped upwards about 15 or 20 degrees towards the mountain with high mountain ranges paralleling either side. Landing was somewhat like flying into a shoebox with the top and one end removed. You had to do it right the first time. There was no margin for error. You could not abort and go around once you were committed on final approach. "OK", briefed the pilot. "We're going in. On final approach I'm gonna ask for full flaps. See those two 55 gallon barrels? That’s the approach end of the runway. Its mandatory that we touch dawn exactly between them otherwise we'll be in deep serious and maybe buy the farm*. Got it?" "Got it", I replied nervously. "Another thing", he said. "When the wheels touch down I want you to jerk up the flaps immediately to kill our lift and besides, once down, I'll be using lots or power to get us to the top of the runway. OK?" "OK". God, how did I get here? We were on final approach now. I paid scant heed to the mountains flashing by to the left and right but kept trying to watch everything else. The airspeed was lower than usual but the pilot was using more power as he drug the plane in on a flatter approach. We were committed now! Land or crash! "Full flaps!", he ordered. "Full flaps", I acknowledged. The barrels came up fast. The pilot chopped all power and we touched exactly between them. I jerked up the flaps as the pilot applied almost full power to get us to the top of the runway. The planking rattled and buckled as we roared to the top----the pilot keeping the tail up to maintain directional control. At the top, he chopped his left engine, tromped his left brake and practically did a ground loop coming to a stop facing downhill. We were safely down! "OK, you got that?", the pilot asked. "I think so". After lunch and a short visit, it was time to take off. "Gets dark pretty fast in the winter", the pilot said "and we need the daylight". "OK, I'm ready". We started the engines and let them warm up while I received take-off instructions. "I'm gonna lock my brakes", he said, "and apply full power. When I get maximum RPM's and manifold pressure, I’ll unlock the brakes, raise my tall as quick as I can and away We'll go". "Got it", I replied. "Oh. Another thing", he said. "I want you to give me a quarter flaps for extra lift when I reach 85 knots airspeed or the end of the runway----whichever comes first". "Oh Hell! Is it that close?" "Yep", he said. "Ready?" "Ready". Under full power, the plane was now lurching and starting to slide on the cold and frost-covered steel planking. The pilot released the brakes and away we shot down the runway like a bobsled. With one hand on the flap lever, my eyes traveled rapidly from the airspeed indicator to the barrels. When 85 knots came up only slightly before the barrels, I quickly dropped a quarter flaps and we were suddenly airborne! "Like that?", grinned the pilot. "Like you said. It's pretty hairy", I replied. "You going to the officers club party tonight?", he asked after a while. "Yeah. I think so. I could use a drink".
(*) An old flying cadet expression. Numerous cadets came from farms that were mortgaged to the hilt by their parents. Each cadet carried a free $10,000 government life insurance policy which usually was used to pay off this mortgage in the event of their death. Thus, whenever a cadet crashed, he is said to have "Bought the farm". John Yauk -- 7-8-91 |