In the summer of 1954, I was the Commander of “A” Flight, 521st Aviation Company, part of the 30th Engineer Topographic Battalion. The Fight was based at an old Air Force flight strip across the Kuskokwim River from Bethel, Alaska. Our mission was to map all of Alaska over a five year period. My job was to provide aviation support to the Engineer Company assigned to survey an area running generally from the Kuskokwim River to the Bering Sea. My Flight was assigned 21 Hiller H-23 D light helicopters, one L-19 and three L-20 (DeHavilland DHC-2 Beaver) fixed wing aircraft.
By then I had accumulated about 2,500 hours of flying time, 1,500 of it in helicopters with the rest spread over a variety of light Army aircraft. During my earlier 13 months in Korea, I had evacuated over 1,200 injured soldiers in day and night missions using Bell H-13 D helicopters. I was instrument rated and well trained by the Army. While I had only started flying the Beaver the year before, I felt comfortable flying it and thought it was a great airplane.
The original concept of a light bush transport aircraft was developed by DeHavilland during the Second World War. However, the Canadian company did not start working on the idea until 1946. Their final design, which first flew in August of 1947 using a 450 horsepower Pratt & Whitney Wasp Junior radial engine, included several unique features such as a hatch in the floor, a side door big enough to allow 55 gallon drums to be rolled into the cabin, and the ability to add oil to the engine in flight. However, the best aspect of my all-metal Beaver was the fact that it could fly at speeds as slow as 40 knots and take off using less than 400 feet of runway; important STOL (Short Take Off and Landing) capabilities for our work in Alaska. Our L-20 Beavers were configured with wheels, skies, or floats as needed.
One Afternoon in late August, I received a radio call from the Air/Sea Rescue unit stationed at Kodiak. They stated that a 19-year-old Cup’ig tribe girl on Nunivak Island had been in labor for several days and was near death. The family had tried to charter a commercial aircraft to evacuate her to the hospital at Bethel but the flight had been refused. As a last resort, they called Air/ Sea Rescue; however the large Grumman seaplanes used by that unit drew too much water to land in the shallow waters off Mekoryuk, the largest settlement on the Island. Consequently, they asked me if I would use one of my float Beavers to pick up the girl. I replied that I would be happy to do so and would bring an Army doctor assigned to our unit but living at the Bethel Hospital where he assisted their medical staff as well as tending to the medical needs of the Army units.
Mekoryuk was located at the mouth of Shoal Bay on the north shore of Nunivak Island and situated about 30 miles off the coast of Alaska. Even today, the village has little more than 200 inhabitants. My destination was about 149 air miles from Bethel and unfortunately in an area where fog and bad weather were commonplace. I ordered the L-20 to be topped off with fuel, loaded with extra gasoline cans for refueling at Mekoryuk, and also had two of the seats removed to make room for a litter. I then called the doctor, an Army Captain, and told him to pack the necessary medical gear and prepare for the flight. After some delay, He agreed to accompany me on the mission.
Having resolved the medical assistance problem, I started planning the flight to Nunivak. Unfortunately, what would have been a comparatively simple daylight flight had become more complicated with the approaching darkness. At the time, there were no electronic navigational aids in the area and navigation was by dead-reckoning; i.e., drawing a line on a map and following it by watching for checkpoints on the ground. Granted, we did have a radio beacon at the base. But it was so weak that the only time we could receive it was in the traffic pattern. In addition, while our Beavers were fitted with radios, they were only good for communicating with control towers and enroute navigation facilities. Overall, a pilot had to be well acquainted with pilotage to navigate in Alaska’s endless expanse of tundra. One of my favorite navigational checkpoints was a bleached Caribou skull of all things. We also flew our Beavers up to 700 lbs. over maximum gross weight on a regular basis; we judged when a plane was overloaded by whether or not it was sinking on its floats. If it didn’t sink, it would fly. Finally, weather information was non-existent or too generalized to be useful. Except for the Beaver, none of our aircraft were equipped for instrument flying.
I selected a readily identifiable checkpoint where my line crossed the coastline of the Bering Sea enroute to the Island. I knew that shortly after leaving Bethel I would have few available checkpoints on my route due to the darkness and lack of distinctive ground features and would have to fly time/distance to the coast before I could determine my exact position. To avoid the right turn/left turn dilemma at my coastline checkpoint, I deliberately set a course to the right of my intended flight path and planned to turn left along the coast until I reached my intended position. I also said a little prayer that the coastal fog would not have moved in by the time I got there.
The flight to the coast was uneventful enough with scattered high clouds and some moon and starlight. On reaching the coastline, I turned left, as planned, until I hit my checkpoint, a large easily identifiable bay that reflected well in the available light; however, the thick fog had moved in and was lying just off shore. This situation forced another decision: whether to proceed on course above the fog, hoping that the island would be in the clear when I arrived, or fly on the deck, under the fog layer, hoping to be able to see the island before I literally ran into it. I had little interest in having a close encounter with the side of Nunivak Island. The other possibility of flying on top and descending on instruments where I thought the island to be, without navigational or approach aids, was not an appealing option. I decided to fly under the fog.
Initially the ceiling under the fog layer was probably 75 to 100 feet, plenty of room for the Beaver. However, with the loss of the starlight and moonlight, except where the fog thinned a little, it was so dark that I turned on the plane’s landing light to see the water. This worked well except where patches of fog actually touched the water causing a reflection of the landing light that was quite blinding. It was like trying to thread the airplane through the eye of a very dangerous needle; on one side, I had the freezing Bearing Sea; on the other, I had a fog layer that could easily hide a wall of rock and dirt. At this point, I considered making an open water landing and either taxing to the island or waiting until the fog cleared. However, the fog lifted a little and I was able to continue. After a little while, I could see the island and the lights of Mekoryuk dead ahead; as if by the hand of God, a hole opened up in the dense fog exposing the island of Nunivak.
With the available light, I was able to land in the bay and taxi to the floatplane dock, now well illuminated by the island inhabitants. The only real hazard in the landing was the possibility of hitting a floating log or other invisible obstruction. As a result, I didn’t take a really deep breath until the plane came to a complete stop at the dock.
The entire village seemed to be waiting on shore. Many helping hands made quick work of mooring the aircraft and the doctor and his gear were quickly loaded into a jeep and hustled off to the infirmary where his patient was waiting. I stayed with the Beaver making sure that everything was secured properly and then followed the doctor. On the way, I was told that the girl had started to give birth
.When I arrived at the infirmary, the baby was just emerging from the birth canal and the doctor, assisted by an Eskimo midwife, was attempting to ease the transition. It was obvious that the baby (a girl) and her new mother were both in trouble due to the extended labor. The mother appeared completely exhausted and the baby was totally blue from lack of oxygen. Everything was a bloody mess. Once the baby was born, she was cleaned up, wrapped in a towel and handed back to the mother. At that point, I thought that while the mother might survive, the baby might not; at the least, I was afraid that there would be brain damage from the long ordeal and oxygen deprivation.
However, immediately following the birth, the doctor asked me to try to find an oxygen supply. I found the girl’s husband nervously pacing outside the room and together, we discovered a tank of welder’s oxygen and quickly wheeled it into the room. The doctor attached a rubber hose to the tank, opened the valve, and held the tube under the baby’s nose. After a short while, there was an amazing transformation: the baby’s coloring changed from sky blue to a healthy pink and she started to cry. The doctor had done an excellent job of caring for his patients under very difficult conditions, probably saved the mother’s life, and had given the baby a fighting chance of survival.
While the doctor was performing some necessary post-delivery surgery on his patients, I flopped on a cot in the next room and attempted to get some sleep before the return flight to Bethel the next morning. Although I probably dozed off a few times, I think I flew that Beaver over the Bearing Sea all night.
Early the next morning and after gassing up the plane, I loaded the doctor and his two weak patients into the Beaver and headed back to Bethel. The flight was uneventful with scattered high clouds and unlimited visibility. The floatplane dock at Bethel was directly on the Kuskokwim River on the opposite side from my home base. I landed the plane and taxied to the dock. Even though the swift current tried to sweep the aircraft a ways downstream, we managed to moor the plane. I had radioed ahead giving our estimated time of arrival and an ambulance was waiting to take the doctor and patients to the hospital.
While waiting for the medical attendants to offload my passengers, I was approached by one of a group of local bush pilots standing in the area. He accused me of taking the bread from their children’s mouths by making this emergency flight. I kept my cool and considered his statement for a moment, replying that the girl’s family had tried unsuccessfully, for five days to hire a plane to take the woman to the hospital. I told him that I made the flight because no one else could, or would; Air Sea Rescue couldn't make it due to equipment limitations and the commercial pilots wouldn't make it for whatever reason. I was quite forceful in my remarks. The irritated pilot walked away without further comment. I untied my Beaver , flew back to my home base and went to bed.
While a lot happened to me in the 49 years since this flight, I sometimes wondered what became of this family and baby linked to me by fate. By then I had served two tours in Vietnam and had many assignments all over the world. In 2003, with the assistance of Robert Drozda, Cultural Consultant to the Village of Mekoryuk, I was reunited via the Internet with Ms. Rose David of Anchorage, Alaska, who was the struggling baby we helped deliver in 1954.. Rose and I became great pen palls on the internet.
Over the years, Rose had became a teacher with a Masters Degree in education. She, also, became a member of her tribal council and a respected member of her community on Nunivak. Rose married and raised three children, all girls. One of her daughters was murdered at Mekoryuk. She was later divorced. By the time Rose and I got together, she had developed breast cancer which had spread to other internal organs. She was able to visit Colorado Springs in the summer of 2005. This link will lead you to pictures taken during her visit. LINK. Rose died a few months later and is buried in Merkoryuk. She was a great lady and I miss her.
Col. E. Newport (USA Retired)
Note: This is essentially the same story published in the March, 2004 issue of "Air and Space" magazine under the title "Leave it to the Beaver" before editing by the author, Curt Newport, and the magazine.
