The Fur and Feathers Journals, Ch. 2, The One with the Bullet Holes

Showers, rain, clouds, and fog drift through Lake Hood as we wait, sometimes we're in the waiting room, sometimes we're wandering around outside.  Our luggage is stashed under the wing of  a Piper Super Cub tied down nearby.

Finally, mid-afternoon, it is decided that an attempt to fly to Silver Salmon is a go.   There are two airplanes—a Cessna 180 that holds the pilot and two passengers—and a DeHavilland Beaver that holds six passengers, the pilot, and lots of gear.

The Beaver

Beavers are the workhorses that built Alaska, some claim.  They have a large payload and perform well on short takeoffs and landings, a particularly beneficial trait for landing on gravel bars, beaches, and small strips.   They can be equipped with wheels or floats or wheel-skis, making much of Alaska accessible to the Beaver.

Many of the famed Alaskan bush pilots flew Beavers or Grumman Widgeons, the amphibian rival for best bush plane.

We have a choice.  I volunteer for the 180 because I’ve never been in one before.  “Over there, the one with the bullet holes in it,” someone says.    I smile, because I think I know what's up....but there's always the chance some angry Sourdough somewhere objected to planes flying over his property and fired off some shots.   It's happened before.

The bullet hole in Tim's airplane.   (It's a decal.)

Tim's Cessna 180.

Tim at left, pilot of the Cessna 180, making one last weather check.   Next is Jacob, pilot of the Beaver, the owner of Sportsman's Air whose name I didn't catch but is a former NFL linebacker, and Ron Niebrugge, leader of our group.

Kate and I climb into the 180 after Tim the pilot stowed a bunch of luggage and gear.   He fires it up, checks with the tower, and away we go into the scudding gray clouds.  Tim flies slightly north until he reaches a point where the upper arm of Cook Inlet is the narrowest, crosses over, and shortly we are on the other side of the inlet and headed southeast.

Fascinating colors in the mud flats along the water.

Behind us, the rest of the gang gets into the Beaver and pilot Jacob does the same thing.

The ceiling is low, really low, worrisome for a pilot who needs altitude in the event of an emergency, but ideal for me taking photos out the side windows.  There's a strong head wind that slows our flight.

We pass Redoubt almost hidden in the clouds, an active volcano that erupted in March of 2009, spewing ash into the air and causing Anchorage’s international airport to shut down for 20 hours.   Lahars, a mixture of hot rock and water (melted snow) flowed down Drift River like wet concrete, threatening the Drift River oil tank farm.

"If (the weather) doesn't get any better soon, I'm going home," says Tim, adjusting the plane's altitude to take advantage of "clearer" spots.  One good thing about it is that we're hugging the shoreline, in case of emergency.

I listen through headphones to the chatter of pilots up and down Cook Inlet.  They check in with other, advise their positions, and let traffic control know where they are.

Some of the oil rigs in the Inlet.

Eventually, we are close to Silver Salmon Creek and Tim steers the airplane through a notch in the coastal Chigmit mountains, a subrange of the Aleutian Range.  

On the other side, he passes over the lodge, letting everyone there know to fetch us after we land at the beach.   I've been scanning the land, but can see no bears.

Landing on the beach.

And we are there.  

“The pizza was good,” says one of the outgoing guests and I laugh.   “We had pizza, too,” I say.

There is no sign of the Beaver, which is a slower plane than the 180.   It had experienced a rough engine while crossing the upper inlet and returned without incident to Lake Hood.   Everyone switched to another Beaver and took off again.

 Kate and I, along with all the gear the plane had brought, get into a trailer behind a four-wheeler, or ATV, and are transported a short distance to Silver Salmon Creek Lodge, set back across a field from the coastline.

“You’re with Ron?   He’s one of our favorite guides,” says a woman I later learn is an owner along with her husband.

While we wait for the Beaver and the others in our group, lodge staff hurry to make up our rooms.   That gives me time to explore the premises.

The Fur and Feathers Journals, Ch. 1,

Chapter 1

This is what I know about photography:

   1.       Point and shoot cameras are just fine, except the photos aren’t real sharp.

   2.      With a Digital Single Lens Reflex (DSLR) camera, set the camera on “A” for automatic.        Depress the shutter release half way to focus.   Fully depress the same button to take the photo.

   3.      All that f stop, aperture, and other stuff is Greek.

   4.       Tripods have three legs and the camera goes on top.  Other than that, diddly squat.

   5.      If you have a big, heavy lens, the camera mounts to the lens and the lens mounts to the tripod.

The arsenal.  Top:   Sunland "Ultra Pro" 423 tripod;  L-R, Nikon D40 entry-level DSLR with 55-200mm lens, Tamron 150-600mm lens, Nikon L120 Coolpix point and shoot; Bottom row: my favorite Nikon Coolpix S8000 point and shoot, and a Nikon 18-55 mm lens.   The Tamron lens is the only decent piece I own.

  6.      When composing a photo, don’t let the horizon cut the photo in half.  There’s also that thing about thirds.

     7.      You can “fix” photos in a photo editing program, like straightening the horizon.   A touch of  shadow give depth to the photo, and “sharpen” cleans up the edges of objects.  Other than that, diddly squat.

     8.      Copying to file from Picasa results in some softening or blurring of the image.  Not nice.

So what the heck was I thinking when I signed up for a bear and puffin photo tour with professional photographer Ron Niebrugge of Seward?  I wasn’t, obviously.

I just wanted to go across Cook Inlet to one of the places where real photographers take phenomenal pictures of brown bears, so when Ron posted a notice on Facebook that an opening had occurred in his August tour when a participant broke an ankle and had to cancel, I jumped on it.   His tours usually are full years in advance.

And that’s why I was in Anchorage at Sportsmen's Air on Lake Hood seaplane base, the largest of its kind in the world, early on Sunday morning, Aug. 9.  I had a duffle bag (easier to pack into a small plane) and a rucksack camera bag.  Their combined weight for four and a half days was more than I pack for almost 30 days on a trip on the other side of the world. 

Most of the weight came from toys—cameras, tripod, lenses, small laptop, Kindle, and all the cords and accoutrements—and a pair of knee-high rubber boots.  I could have carried my clothing in a reusable grocery bag.   Oh, there was that bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from CAVU Cellars, my nephew’s winery…

L-R:  unknown man with other group, Kate, Lynda, Ron, Ken standing at right and Andy seated at left.

Kate was already there and soon the others in the group arrived.   We were on a weather delay.  The whole inlet was socked in with rain and low clouds.  I settled into a wait mode and thought about all the times I’ve spent waiting for bush planes, sitting on the side of a dirt runway, listening hopefully for the drone of an airplane, where after several hours even buzzing mosquitoes sound like airplanes.

 

Gary selecting a piece of pizza.

As the morning wore on, Ron called his wife Janine, and she showed up with two pizzas from Costco.  Little did we know then that the folks who were waiting to fly out of Silver Salmon Creek—our destination and the people we would replace in the lodge accommodations—were having pizza for lunch at the lodge.  I started to think they might sleep in “our” beds that night, too!

Finally, mid-afternoon, it was a go.   Or an attempt at a go, anyway.  Load up!