Touching the Ancient One: A True Story of Tragedy and Reunion
Rupert Pratt
Paperback, 6x9 in, 392 pages, Bibliography
Wheatmark, April 2006
ISBN: 1587365812
Description
On February 5, 1954, an Air Force C-47 broke apart over the Susitna Valley of South Central Alaska and fell onto Kesugi Ridge. Six miraculously escaped, survived bone-chilling cold, and were rescued through the efforts of pilots Cliff Hudson and Don Sheldon. Unacquainted with one another before the accident, the Air Force men bonded in the hospital. Forty-two years later, the survivors and their families, the families of the victims, and rescuers came together for a reunion in Dayton, Ohio. It was a meeting that would change their lives.
This is a true story, told by one of the survivors. Rupert Pratt's book celebrates life and friendship—themes set appropriately against the backdrop of Kesugi, "The Ancient One."
About the author
Rupert Pratt grew up in Salt Rock, West Virginia. Educated at Marshall College, he was a teacher for thirty-six years in Schenectady, New York. He and his wife, Millie, have two sons, Gregory and Jonathan, and two grandchildren, Elizabeth and Nathan.
Excerpt
The cockpit door was open. I could see the copilot from where I was sitting. A series of routine procedures were, no doubt, being performed. Official records would later establish what some of those procedures were.33
The flight had been routine, with no unusual weather expected. We had taken off at 12:35 pm, climbed out of the Cook Inlet area, and set a course almost due north. The anticipated flight path would take us up the Susitna River Valley. We would then climb to higher elevations over the Alaska Range, passing over Summit and Healey. Near Nenana, we would drop to five thousand feet and turn northeast toward Fairbanks. Radar outposts lined the entire route. Talkeetna, at the junction of three rivers, was one of the first major checkpoints. Summit, on the Chilitna River, would follow.
At 1:04 pm, a Talkeetna radio check took place, with the pilots reporting an altitude of eleven thousand feet, ground speed of one hundred seventy-four knots, and an estimated 1:26 pm arrival over Summit.
Talkeetna gave them an updated weather report.
"At twelve-thirty: ten thousand overcast, thirty miles visibility, wind six knots. Summit has three thousand overcast, visibility fifteen miles in light rain, wind at sixteen knots."
They would have been able to see the ground on occasion. The Alaska Railroad parallels the south-flowing Susitna River. The daily passenger train from Anchorage to Fairbanks was in the vicinity at the time and perhaps visible to the pilots. It isn't known whether they knew that light rime was starting to form on the surface of the airplane.
* * *
Cliff Hudson, in his little Aeronica Chief, had just landed at the Talkeetna town airstrip after making a delivery in the Talkeetna Mountains. He had wanted to return in time to meet the passenger train from Anchorage. Hudson's struggling airfreight business needed all the customers it could get, and unexpected business sometimes arrived by rail. Unfortunately, the train had already come and gone. Before settling into his landing pattern, he had spotted the blue and gold cars five miles to the north, stretched out like a snake along the river. He was a patient man; there would be other trains.
Hudson was a man of many talents. Growing up on a farm in Granger, Washington, had given him a good start in self-sufficiency. In 1948, after a hitch in the United States Army and an adventure in Mexico, he followed his older brother, Glen, to Talkeetna. Glen had been there since 1937, when he had started an air service business. Cliff went to work for the Alaska Railroad, first as a section hand, then in the roundhouse, and later as a crane operator in the power plant.
It wasn't long before he decided Alaska without wings was difficult, so he went to Seattle with a friend and bought a Sky Ranger, his first of many airplanes.
Then tragically, in August 1951, Glen Hudson was killed when his PA 20 crashed at Disappointment Creek. His widow sold the air service to Cliff.
It was a difficult time. The loss of his brother had left him despondent. He flew some freight and took non-flying jobs to make ends meet. He drove a truck, and trapped. Some days, without a job, he would just fly around, scouting the territory, landing on glaciers, or marking future landing sites. Finally, he got his commercial flying license and got down to the business of flying freight and people.
It wasn't easy. In a small community like Talkeetna, many people survived by taking on small jobs as they came along. Hudson was no exception. He was determined to make Hudson Air Service a thriving business, but still jumped at income opportunities of every kind.
Now, as he refueled his small aircraft, fine-grained snow was bouncing off the wings. The wind was definitely picking up. He had needed to apply lots of rudder on landing. His weather eye was keen, honed by flying experience. One more run today would have been profitable, but he decided to stay on the ground. A front seemed to be moving in from the southwest. Hudson was a careful man in all areas of his life, but especially as a pilot. It would be an afternoon to catch up on some hangar work.34
* * *
Lt. Betscher, the pilot, had invited Col. West-Watson to sit forward in the radio operator's seat. West-Watson had to keep adjusting the radio dials to keep the music clear of static. It had been fine when they were closer to Anchorage, but now, as they entered the mountain ranges farther north, the signal kept breaking up. Airman Ed Olson, a couple of seats away, had kindly tuned in the station for him not long after taking off.
* * *
I was drowsy and having trouble concentrating on my book. Looking around at the other men, I could see several with closed eyes. One man stood and loosened the chute straps around his legs. Good idea, I thought. My straps were so tight they were beginning to cut off circulation. I immediately felt better after letting them out a few inches. As I was sitting down again, we hit a downdraft and the airplane dropped a hundred feet or more, but then popped right back up, causing a peculiar sensation in my stomach. I thought about putting on my seat belt but saw no one else doing so. I decided I couldn't read any longer and put my book and glasses in my bag. An Air Force man up front had moved over to sit on a duffel bag.
Then things got rough. It felt like riding in a truck, on a rutted road at excessive speed. It was normal, I assured myself. It would stop in a little while. However, I reached for my seat belt.
I never got it fastened. I gasped as the bottom seemed to drop out of the sky. All I could do was grip my seat straps and hold on. We plummeted hundreds of feet, still in a horizontal position. Just as quickly, I was pressed back into my seat with great force as we were tossed skyward again. We seemed to be under full power, but even so, the airplane began to shudder and shake as if it were going to fall apart. The engines changed pitch, first shrill, then normal. Then, just as quickly as it had started, we leveled off.
That was temporary, for suddenly we went into a steep dive. It seemed to me that we were in a nearly vertical position. Objects in the cabin were flying around. The man who had been sitting on the duffel bags was now up on the ceiling. I tried to hold on. The engines were screaming. I could feel, more than see, the men on either side of me grasping at their seat webbing. We're going down, I thought. I felt completely helpless.
The engine noise was deafening. Then there was a loud "bang" and a bright flash from the left side of the airplane. I held on with all my strength.
In a surreal, slow-motion moment, I saw the top of the cabin coming apart. There was a screeching noise as a large section of roof disappeared. The air rushed onto my face and body with a force that threatened to crush me; I could no longer see or breathe. The combination of sounds became one continuous roar. Then I felt myself being pulled from my seat. Something struck my face, and I lost consciousness.
