hard snow, I was able to reach the plane. She was anchored up to the lower wing in the hard-packed, drifted snow. The only apparent damage was a slight buckling on the tips of the lower wing ailerons.
It was obvious the plane would have to be shoveled out, and this could not be done until the wind died down. So, once more, I fought my way through the howling, bitter-cold wind, to the roadhouse.
Later in the day, as I sat at a window watching helplessly, the wind changed direction slightly, and increased in velocity. It undermined snow from the plane and sent that little biplane scurrying off out of sight.
The wind continued to blow at near-hurricane speed throughout that night, and the next day, which was Christmas. What a way to spend my first Christmas in Alaska, I thought, wondering if we still had an airplane, and how we were going to pay the considerable balance still owed on its purchase price.
The runaway Stinson Detroiter in December, 1927, on Lake Minchumina as it appeared when found nine miles from the Kammisgaard Roadhouse where a storm had blown it. Despite the drooping elevators and other damage, Noel Wien managed to make repairs enough in the field so he could fly it to Fairbanks for proper repair.
It was two more days before that northeaster finally weakened and died, and we were able to venture onto the ice in search of the plane. We found it in the brush on the other side of the lake, deep in snow again, but still intact, and still on its skis.
REPAIRS IN THE BUSH
It took Kamasgaard and me all day to dig it out, and when we had finished I made a closer inspection for damages. The ailerons on the lower wing were bent a little more, one ski was turned up slightly, and the elevators on the tail were pretty badly crumpled. However, the wings on that sturdy old Stinson had stood up under the terrific buffeting it had taken, and the propeller had suffered no damage. By bracing up the metal ribs I was able to straighten the elevators and the ailerons. The main control rod to the elevators had parted, and I managed a temporary repair. Before I turned in that night I had her ready to fly. And tied down.
Kamasgaard had developed a bad cold while helping me, so he decided to fly to Fairbanks with me. The day was calm and clear. The engine was turning over smoothly when we started our takeoff run. We kept hitting bad drifts, but I figured with the light load I could bounce the plane into the air quickly. But before we got off, the worst happened; one of the skis snapped off just ahead of the pedestal, dug into a hard drift, and nosed us up. Both blades of the prop struck the ice and bent to almost a three-quarter turn before we settled on our ski-and-a-half.
Talk about being discouraged! I was about ready to give up. It was now well after Christmas, and I figured that at this rate I would be lucky to get to Nome before New Year’s day.
We spent all that day and the next in getting the plane in shape to fly. Ordinarily, I would have waited for search parties to find me and bring new parts. But it would still be another three or four days before I could expect search parties from Anchorage or Fairbanks.
Kamasgaard and I set about straightening the prop blades by heating them with a blow torch and prying with a monkey wrench. It was a slow and tedious job because the steel blades were tough, and there was the danger of cracking them. With the slightest crack, it would have been extremely dangerous to fly. We spliced the broken ski with a sturdy board, and on the sixth day after I landed at Lake Minchumnina, we were on our way to Fairbanks.
The repaired ski held up for the take-off, and the prop ran fairly smooth, although the engine gained 200 rpm. It seems we had taken some pitch out in the straightening process. This cut our cruising speed considerably, but we finally arrived in Fairbanks, although I was exhausted from fighting the still-bent control surfaces.
It’s a wonder that my hair didn’t turn gray on that trip. I think I aged ten years. I had made temporary repairs to the main control rod to the elevators by clamping the broken ends together with two pieces of metal secured by an ordinary stove bolt. So long as I maintained forward pressure on the controls I was able to hold the plane’s nose down and the rod together. If at any time I had found it necessary to exert strong back pressure, the rod probably would have separated and we’d have plunged to earth. Is it any wonder I was exhausted?
Within two days we had a new ski, and a new propeller installed (it turned out there was a crack in one of the blades of the old prop). We made permanent repairs to the damaged controls, and were on our way to Nome. We arrived there after New Year’s day, about two weeks behind schedule, but the rousing welcome we received when we landed more than made up for the anxiety and hardships involved in getting there.
[Author] The Stinson Detroiter #2 C5262 with which Noel and Ralph Wien flew between Fairbanks and Nome through the winters of 1927-28 and 1928-29, was a key airplane in Alaska’s aviation history. That ancient-appearing cabin biplane made possible for the first time year-round commercial aviation for mainland Alaska. During those two winters, the two Wien brothers learned how to keep an airplane flying in deep cold, and many techniques of winter flying—information shared with others in Alaska’s infant aviation industry. This experience proved invaluable during the brutal winter of 1929-30 when Alaskan and Canadian pilots flew across the Bering Sea to search the desolate shores of Siberia for the lost plane of Ben Eielson.
On December 22, 1929, at Fairbanks, while Alaskan Airways mechanic Ed Moore was cleaning the engine of the Stinson Detroiter C5262 with gasoline, a spark set the gasoline and the plane afire. The fire spread. Three other planes in the hangar were yanked to safety, but the Stinson Detroiter #2 and the hangar were both lost to the flames.
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1 The United States lagged behind Europe in the production of cabin passenger airplanes. From 1920 to about 1925, Anthony Fokker, a Dutch builder, produced several models of large cabin planes. The German Dornier and Junker factories also produced multiple-passenger cabin planes; so did the French companies of Caudron and Bleriot; in England Handley Page and De Havilland cabin passenger planes were also being produced.
Scheduled passenger flights by KLM and other early companies with these various makes were common in Europe well before such flights were available in the U.S.
2 Roy F. Jones, a World War I military pilot, was the first to bring to Alaska an airplane with the intention of starting a commercial airline. His airplane, the Northbird, was a four-place open-cockpit Curtiss MF Seagull flying boat powered with a 180-horsepower Hisso engine. In July, 1922, Jones flew this plane from Seattle to Ketchikan, and during the summers of 1922 and 1923, based in Ketchikan, he hauled passengers on joy rides, and mine and cannery owners, fishermen, and others on business trips. The Northbird was wrecked beyond repair at Heckman Lake, north of Ketchikan in the fall of 1923. Jones and his passenger, George King, surfaced unharmed. During WWII, Jones flew for the U.S. Army Air Corps from Fairbanks’ Ladd Field. He died in 1974.
3. In May, 1928, Noel Wien and Russell Merrill with two planes on charter to Barrow ran into difficulties. The two pilots and three other men were missing, and an aerial search was needed. Bennett seemed pleased, even gleeful, that two of his competitors were missing. He demanded $5,000 to fly a search, and then found multiple excuses to postpone the needed flight. Merrill and two passengers nearly died before being found by locals. In the end, all survived, but Bennett lost the respect of many Alaskans.
Later, in Montana, Bennett entered into a business relationship with Bob Johnson, of the famous and highly respected Johnson Flying Service at Missoula. Johnson pulled out after three years, saying,
