I woke up to fog that was so thick I could not see the windsock. The sun came out and burned away the clouds, but by the time I arrived in the Alaska Range I was nearly 8 hours late and the sun was severely baking the snow. I was not nearly as concerned about being late as I was about the scorching sun and the prevailing snow pack. I was delivering 350 lbs of groceries to a mountaineering team headed up the Maclaren glacier. As I arrived over-head it was obvious that much time had been spent packing down an adequate run-way for me to land on. This was an annual job, but the team was camped at a sight 2 miles from the normal re-supply position. These are the scenarios that make my job tough. I was then faced with a tough decision to make. Land at the new spot, or be “ultra super cautious” and only land where I had landed before. There is nothing dangerous about landing in a new spot, but the snow looked slushy, there were numerous boulders poking through, and I was heavily loaded. If I landed at the usual spot I would need to wait for at least 2 hours and I was already late. If I gave up and went home it would cost somebody more than $1000.
I questioned the team extensively over the radio about snow conditions. The report from the ground was that they were sinking 6-8 inches with snow-shoes on. This is not a bad report and they had obviously spent hours packing out an adequate surface for landing. I did not like the boulders sticking out of the snow pack in close proximity, but I trusted the report. My concern was that the pounding sun had loosened the snow into a slushy bottomless pit. I had three options;
#1 turnaround and fly two hours back to the house.
#2 land in the normal spot and wait for 2 hours.
#3 Trust that the snow was as good as reported, and land on the packed surface.
I opted for option #3 and swung wide for a landing. I set the skis of the Cub down on a slight up-slope and began my deceleration process. Initially on touch down the snow felt firm and my confidence was bolstered. I began to ease off the throttle and the plane began sinking ever so slightly. I expected this because the lift on the wings was diminishing with every passing second. I was committed to this landing because I was going up hill. I had decided that once my skis touched the snow I was definitely landing. As the full weight of the Super Cub settled onto the skis, the right ski decided to play submarine and my forward progress came to an abrupt stop in a dramatic fashion. When all the slush had settled I killed the engine and opened my door. The Cub door did not open all the way, as the slush piled under the fuselage and wing held it half open. The cub was sitting at a sharp angle with the right wing 8 feet lower than the left.
I was absolutely sick as I crawled out of the Cub and sunk up to my nipples in a wet slush pit. The entire team of mountaineers was running towards me on snow-shoes asking if I was all right, or if I had just crashed. I was not totally certain myself, as I swam around the plane looking for damage. I made my way back to the Cub door and dug out my snow-shoes and shovel. As the team surrounded the plane and we off-loaded, my mind was racing with options. I knew I was probably going to need to spend the night so that the cooler temperatures could be used to harden the snow. I had more flying waiting for me back at the house, and spending the night was not an appealing option.
Once the Cub was off-loaded I had the team begin digging out the submerged landing gear. I was so thankful to see that there was no damage, and I had not hit a rock. We built a large ramp for the right ski, and I drained 15 gallons of gas out of the wings. I eventually decided that it was worth a try if I could get the runway packed again. I put two people on each wing to push as I started the engine and powered out of the massive hole. We taxied a short distance before attempting to turn around for departure. The whole time I was taxing, the Cub was breaking through the snowpack every couple of feet. Without the added 4 bodies pushing on the struts I would have gone nowhere. Once the Cub was successfully turned around I lined the team up into two rows of 5 people each. With arms locked and snowshoes under-foot they pounded the surface of the snow in mini stomping steps one team after the other. The runway was slightly crowned with several large rocks on the far end. With the two teams stomping the bottomless slush into submission and 4 stout individuals pushing on the wings I began my takeoff slide.
When I first applied full power the aircraft honestly stood absolutely still and only very slowly began to move forward. I glanced at my wing men and women … two were chest deep in the slush, and the other two were still stomping along. One ski dropped through the crust and then the other. The aircraft came to a stop and then slowly started forward again. I slid for hundreds feet before any significant acceleration was accomplished and the wingmen could no longer help. I was still lumbering along and far from flying speed when I crested the top of the hill and the two teams of compactors bailed off the runway. I started down slope, with slush flying, engine roaring, and the seat cushion squeezed tightly between my cheeks. I finally got “on step” and pulled in full flaps to increase lift. I was well beyond the point of no return and the rocks were getting closer and closer when the skis finally left the surface of the snow. I have never been so relieved in my whole life, as flight was attained, and I left that miserable slush pit far below. This was the first of two trips, but there was no way I was going to head back into that trap while the sun was up. I radioed back to the team on the ground that I was happily airborne and headed for home.
That night the temperature dropped and the snow firmed up. I returned with the remainder of their supplies early the next morning and the snow was so hard I could have landed on tires. I also delivered several large cookies from Sheep Mountain Lodge and we had a little talk about adequate snow conditions for landing. Decisions in this job are not always black and white. Often I am faced with numerous bad options. Had I known that every 5th step they were sinking to their chest I would have never landed. If anything can be learned about this little story it is simply this; Assume nothing.
This photo was taken nearly 4 years ago by one of the students, and it still makes me sick every time I see it.