by Steven Swaks
“Oh, I’ve never been there,” Deborah said.
“Well, if you have any questions about the Delta, please, feel free to ask!” I replied.
She grinned.
“Hold on, while I am in here meeting people and working, you’re outside having all the fun! What is this all about?” Lydia joked.
“You know, this place is really not that bad,” I said.
“Not that bad? That’s not what you were saying earlier!” Lydia smiled.
“Yeah, well, let’s not get too excited,” I muttered.
“We are pretty much done here. Lydia mentioned that you would like to see the flight school?”
“I talked to the manager a few days ago. He said I could stop by if I was interested to see the school.”
“We always need people around here!” Deborah smiled.
“I wonder why…” I muttered again. Lydia elbowed me.
Flight School
January
The flight school was further down the highway. On the way, Deborah continued her job as a selling guide for the day. She was not trying to trick us; she was only doing her job in showing us Bethel and our potential life in town. There would have been no point in dragging us to Bethel only to quit a few months later, depressed, and unable to adjust to a life we were not expecting. She was only helping us make an appropriate decision while dearly hoping for a positive outcome. With this simple fact in mind, we could expect a slight bias.
“There’s Blueberry subdivision right there.” Deborah pointed at three streets passing by on the right. “They have very nice houses; well equipped, comfortable… some of them even have a heated garage, that’s not something you find here very often.” She made a conscious effort to appear nonchalant.
We drove down a short hill and turned towards the left. I had already driven on this road this morning, but I hadn’t really paid attention to my surroundings. I was talking with the medevac paramedics and the idea of a first Alaskan flight was overwhelming. We left the main highway and drove to a smaller road with multiple aviation hangars.
“Over there on the left, there’s Coastal Aviation, Norton Aviation, and some other smaller airlines.” Deborah was again pointing at buildings to highlight her description. Lydia and I looked as she explained. We pulled in front of a small blue hangar flanked with offices protruding on each side. Deborah parked the car. “Maybe we should let you go by yourself. You don’t want us to bother you.”
“She’s right, go by yourself,” Lydia said.
“All right, thanks, I won’t be long.” I exited the car. There was so much going on, Lydia was still trying to figure out her job and details pertaining to the clinic. Aside from the human resource aspect of the job, she was facing a whole new way of practicing medicine. She was used to scanners and MRIs available at will right on sight, specialists in the office next door or down the street. In Bethel, specialists and any advanced technology were four hundred miles away in Anchorage. How could she do this? The prospect was daunting.
I walked to the flight school entrance. I pushed the front door and entered a short and narrow corridor with flight school tee shirts for sale and a large poster of a Cessna 182 cockpit covering an office window. I walked to the end of the corridor. The floor was slightly cracking under my weight. The walls were covered with cut off tee shirt backs, hand drawn with a crude highlight of first solo flights, signed, and dated. It was an old tradition, whenever a student flew a plane alone for the first time, the instructor cut and signed the back end of the shirt upon return. I had been lucky for my own solo; my instructor had spared my back. I smiled; even here the tradition was intact. I looked on the right, there was nothing very interesting, a bathroom, a small office without anybody to talk to and an extra section of a corridor which most likely led into the hangar. The left side looked a lot more promising. The corridor ended into a classroom with several students studying at separate desks. A door on the left opened into a small office space. An employee was having a conversation on the phone.
“Can I help you?” Somebody was right behind me. I turned around surprised. An older Caucasian man was staring at me. His hair had not tried to be anything else other than white in a long time and his frame was the size of a lumberjack.
“I’m Steven, I called last week. I’m a flight instructor… I might move to Bethel in a few months.”
“Oh! You’re the Californian! I’m Douglas Brown, but you can call me Doug, nice to meet you son!” His large hand wrapped around mine for a firm grip.
“Nice to meet you, Doug.”
“Let me show you around.” Douglas walked past me and entered the classroom. A few students looked up and dove right down into their books.
A voice came from behind a six foot partition.
“What are you doing? You’re all over the sky! Pay attention! Check your heading! What did I tell you? 60 degrees intercept is way too much!” The voice was impartial and older.
Douglas stopped. “This is Jason Williamson, he’s teaching an instrument student on the simulator. His methods can be a little… coarse at times, but he’s a good instructor.” We walked around the wall.
Williamson was wearing an aviation headset and his physique only matched his voice. He looked up, quickly nodded, and resumed staring at a computer screen in front of him. “Jason can do whatever he wants from there; he can change the weather, fail instruments, shoot approaches* anywhere in the country. A Yupik student was working on a simulator with a realistic radio stack, flight and power controls, along with usable switches and knobs throughout the cockpit. Beads of sweat were pouring out of his forehead. He looked at me.
“Hey, young man, watch your instruments, don’t get distracted,” Williamson said.
“When you teach, you really have to find the right balance between real life tension and kindness. You don’t want to traumatize the student, but you also want to simulate realistic scenarios. It can get very bad in a hurry out there.” Douglas looked out. His eyes dimmed. “My son is a pilot. He wrecked once. That was not his fault, engine fire on a DC4, they crashed the plane four miles from the airport, but he made it… he was ok. We’ve lost a whole lot of good people up here. Why I am telling you this? You’ll be fine! Just be cautious and pay attention. So, when are you moving again?”
“Hum, there is nothing confirmed yet… it’s our first time in Alaska… and… we are still reviewing the options.”
“Well, that would be good if you’d come, we always need good people!” Douglas quickly smiled.
We walked back into the classroom. There were a few tables, desks, computers with ongoing review sessions, a turned down aviation radio, and a massive amount of books scattered throughout the room. We walked back into the corridor, past the hanging t-shirts and proceeded into the hangar. A four seater trainer Cessna 172 was in the middle of the room with the engine cowling removed.
“We have four planes, one 150, two 172s, and one 172RG. We use this hangar to protect the planes during the winter and for maintenance.”
“How do you protect the planes from the cold outside?”
“There’s an engine heater with an electrical outlet to plug into the plane, and we place a small body heater by the rudder pedals to keep the cockpit and all the hydraulic lines warm. We also have wing and horizontal stabilizer covers to avoid frost.”
One of the students walked through the hangar to enter a small back room.
“Students stay full time in the school?” I asked.
“Most of them do. High school students who graduated and have a clean background can be accepted here. They can get funding from different sponsors and we have housing for them. It takes about a year or so to go from the street to Commercial. It’s a big adjustment to go from the village life to Bethel. It can be very challenging, but it’s worth it. Some local airlines are willing to hire them right after their Commercial Certificate. They get a job on the right seat of a Caravan to build up time, and after a year, they can get their own plan
e. The local companies like the program because the native pilots want to stay here, they are used to the weather, and the culture. A lot of the lower 48 pilots just come to build up time and move on quickly to bigger and better. They don’t get involved with the community and take their income away from the Delta. They don’t even shop here, they bring their own food! The Yupik stay here and reinject their income into the local economy. That would be good if you could get involved with the program.”
“I appreciate it. It’s definitely a possibility.”
“It’s too bad you do not have time to go visit a village. Today might not be the best day for that. There’s a front coming in. The weather’s going to go down in a hurry! You wouldn’t want to get stuck in a village!” Doug laughed.
“Oh, I just came back from Emmonak.”
“You went to Emo? Today?”
“I went on a ride along with a medevac flight.”
“Boy, you’re not wasting any time! Who was the pilot?”
“Tom Bailey.”
“Oh, he’s a good guy, knows his stuff.”
“What do you mean to get stuck in a village?”
“Well, if the weather goes down in Bethel, the VFR* planes often fly to nearby villages and wait for the weather to improve. But you were in a Medevac Caravan so there was nothing much to worry about.”
“How long do they wait?” I shook my head in disbelief.
“Well, whatever it takes. It’s not uncommon to stay overnight!”
“Overnight? Where do they stay?”
“It all depends. The pilot can stay with a friend, the airline agent, or even at the school. The library can be very comfortable!”
“The whole night?”
“Sure, it’s Alaska, you have to be able to adapt! Back in the days, some airlines dropped off new pilots at a village and they’d come pick them up the next day just to get used to it!” Doug laughed.
“Well, that would be an experience.”
“Some pilots make a big deal out of it, but it’s really nothing, you just have to be resourceful. It’s that or freezing in the plane all night, take your pick!”
I wondered how I would handle the situation. I was all predictability and planning. I looked beside me, a large outboard motor hung anchored to a wooden support… in an airplane hangar, what a peculiar sight.
“I know, we need to take it out of there, but I still have a bit of work on it. By the way, if you decide to come to Betel, you need to get yourself a snow-go and a boat! Heck, you should even buy a plane! I have two! Jason has one, Henry has one. He’s our recruiter but he’s not in today.”
“I am sure my wife would like that!” I muttered. “Well, Doug, I don’t want to take any more of your time. My wife is waiting outside with her own recruiter!”
“Oh, you should have told me!”
“No, no, it’s ok, they didn’t want to intrude and they needed to talk anyway. I really appreciate your time.”
“Oh, it’s all right, you look like a good guy. If your wife takes that job come over here we’ll find you something to do. We can always use a good instructor.”
“Well, thank you so much. I’ll stay in touch and I’ll let you know our decision.”
“Good!”
Doug and I walked back to the corridor. I shook his hand with a last good bye and walked out under falling snow.
House Hunt
January
I sat in the car. The engine was still running to keep the interior warm.
“So?” Deborah asked.
“Well, it looks like it could be a good place to work for. I met the manager, Doug. He’s a nice man.”
“Doug? You mean, Douglas? That was quick! Are you boys going to meet for a beer tonight?” Deborah laughed. She was rejoicing. She was mastering her craft and we were becoming the final result of her work. She was playing with us like a cat with a yarn ball. Time and Alaska were working for her. The setting was already there. She only had to stand back and let nature run its course. “Since you’re here, you could take a peek at the houses for sale in Bethel, just to have an idea of course.”
“Of course.” I looked at her with a suspicious look.
“What neighborhood should we look at? What’s the price range?” Lydia asked.
“Well… I checked this morning… There are two houses for sale.”
“By the hospital?”
“No, in Bethel.”
“Two houses? Total? That’s it? I mean, for the entire town?” I asked confused.
“It’s a very small market,” Deborah confessed. “Um…” something else was coming.
She had the look of an elementary school kid about to present a bad report card to her parents. “Like I said, I saw the houses… one of them is… it’s not so good. But the other one is great! I’m sure you’re going to love it. We can go see it now if you want!”
Lydia and I looked at each other. We had nothing else to do for the next couple of hours. “Ah, sure, why not, it’s not like we are going to buy it,” Lydia said with a shrug.
“The owner, Sergei, is a very nice man. He’s a contractor. I think that’s one of the first houses he’s ever built.”
“That can’t be good!” I joked.
“Oh, you would be surprised. That house is his baby; he’s so proud of it.”
“Well, we’ll see. How far is it?” I asked.
“It’s Bethel! Nothing is very far, but this one is right down the street… it’s very convenient for somebody who works at the airport… hint, hint.”
“That was very smooth! Good job, Debby!” Lydia laughed.
“I know, I’m getting better every time!”
“Is it me or it’s not as cold as yesterday?” Lydia asked.
“No, it’s…” Deborah glanced at a small thermometer in her rear view mirror. “It’s 18°F. Hum, it’s almost 40 degrees warmer than yesterday.”
“Does the temperature change often like that?” Lydia asked.
“It depends, but usually when the sky is clear it is very cold, down to 15°F below, but when it’s snowing, it’s usually warmer.”
“How long is it that cold?” I asked.
“It’s below freezing roughly from early October to late April,” Deborah said without an afterthought. Lydia and I looked at each other; I shook my head in aversion.
“Here it is!” Deborah said with a bubbly voice as she drove onto a long driveway leading to a small wooden ramp and an elevated garage. The house was a beautiful two story property with a semicircular balcony on the first floor, and a tower like protuberance giving the house a grand look.
“Not bad…” I muttered.
“Not bad? Please, give me some credit!” Deborah joked. Lydia was along for the ride, overwhelmed by what was happening.
“Let’s not get excited, I am not buying a house in Alaska, especially here, this is too much,” Lydia muttered. Deborah was already at the front door knocking on it.
We walked out of the car. The engine was still running.
“Deborah! You don’t turn off the car?” I asked.
“No, it’s all right. The engine is going to stay warm.”
“Do that in L.A. and see what happens to your car,” Lydia commented. Deborah chuckled.
A lean and stocky man with short grizzly hair opened the door.
“Hi Deborah.” The man rapidly looked at us with an inquisitive look.
“Hi Sergei, this is Lydia and Steven, the young couple I told you about.”
We introduced ourselves. The situation was changing; it was becoming all too official, too hasty. What were we doing? Lydia was right; we were going way too fast. We were rushing through this. The house seemed beautiful, but we could always take our time, get a rental and test the waters. There was no need to rush.
We walked into the living room. The television was playing House Hunters on the real estate network; talk about a sign. An older woman wearing a long black dress and a headscarf was seated on the hard wood floor folding la
undry.
“This is my mother, Mira. Let me show you around.” Sergei said with a thick Albanian accent. We nodded and smiled, she waved back.
We walked through the vast living room attached to the kitchen, and a den. “I built this house myself, was my first one, very comfortable house. I tried to make it very efficient.” Sergei tapped an exterior wall. “See, I leave a layer of air between the insulation, so the house is warmer in the winter.” We walked into a small bathroom adjacent to the kitchen, and Sergei opened a cabinet with multiple red handles and water piping. “Each faucet is independent, if one is no good, we turn the circuit off here, and the rest of the house is still good. All the water hoses are flexible and in a single unit, if there’s a leak, it’s only at the beginning or at the end of the house, never in the middle or in the wall.” We walked into the single car garage. “Heated garage is very important in Bethel, you don’t need to warm up the car and there’s no ice on the windshield in the morning. Let me show you the boiler.” He opened a double door in a corner of the garage. A water heater was on the left of a large closet with two water pumps and a plethora of pipes and knobs. “I have two water pumps. In normal house, there’s only one. But here, I have two, so if one breaks, you push two switches and you use the other pump.” Sergei looked at us. “But I never have any problem, it doesn’t break, it’s just better, good backup.” We walked back in the living room. “Let me show you upstairs. There’s a large office space, a bathroom, two bedrooms, a master suite with a sewing room, and a large master bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub.”
“Do you have city water here?” I casually asked.
“Oh, noooooo, we have a thousand gallon water tank and fifteen hundred gallon sewer tank outside. Tank water is much better! The city water can be bad, rusty, no, no, tank is better.”
“Outside?” I asked.
“Don’t worry, it’s ok, it’s in a small heated shed. It does not freeze.” There was a hesitation. “It’s very rare, but sometimes the pipe can freeze between the tank and the house…” Sergei said visibly ashamed to admit a possible flaw. “But most of the time it freezes because the door was left opened. Then, it’s very easy to defreeze, I can show you. If you have problem with the house I can help you, I will move down the street.”
