cfdr - 3/4/2020 17:11

Best small bush plane I ever flew in. The piston beavers and single otters, of course (de Havilland) were the absolute best, but they were quite a bit bigger. Many of all of these planes are still flying. Back in the days when I took that picture, the pilots would not pay much attention to the rated capacity of the small bush planes - whatever could be lifted off the ground went. In the case of the piston beaver, that pretty much meant whatever would fit in the cargo bay.

A story that perfectly illustrates this is when my wife and I took a commuter flight into Arctic Village. We walked on and made out way down the aisles through a plane full of tourists going to look at the small village. Each of us carried a high powered rifle - Judy a .25-06 for hunting and I carried a .458 for protection. We got lots of really funny looks, since neither gun was in a case. A friend in a doggy 180 on floats landed on the river to pick us up. It was a hot day, and we absolutely filled the airplane, since we were going into the mountains for over a month. After taxiing aways, "Shakey" Shanahan, the pilot (well over 4000 hours on floats alone) tried to lift off. He would get one float off the water and try to slap the water with it and lift the second on off, but we were too heavy and, like i said, it was a very hot day with poor lift. We would approach a bend or two in the river, and he would let it settle back down until we got another straight stretch - and try it again. This went on for miles - until, I'm sure, we burned off enough avgas so that we were light enough to jerk that second float off the water. We finally remained airborne and barely had height enough to clear the riverbank. Being such a hot day, we relaxed. Now, all of his flying was in the central arctic, and we were in the eastern arctic, and we found ourselves lost. He would fly and I would study the map. Then, I would take over flying and he would study it. We were flying into blind canyons, and when we turned around the stall buzzer was going constantly. We finally went back to the river, got our bearings, and found the pass through the mountains. We never did get enough elevation to fly above the peaks - just too heavy. The landing was uneventful - that was good since the lake was surrounded by mountains on three sides, and it was one way in and one way out. We took the cargo door off, and while Judy remained at the lake, Shakey and I flew downriver and I threw boxed supplies (well packed) out of the door down to where we would spend the next month. He would hit me on the shoulder and I would throw boxes like mad until he hit me again, then he would go around and we would do it again. Then back to the lake. The next day Judy and I started the five day hike down to and along the river to our supplies. Truly, this was "just another trip into the Alaskan bush."

It was a fabulous place for a young man.