Part 5 in the Alaska Series. Click here to start at the very beginning - Part 1: Above the Arctic Circle.
I was going to call this post Planes from the Outside World, but then I realised you don't get any more outside than inside the Arctic Circle. If you follow my drift. Planes come from towns and cities where people tend to spend more time inside than outside.
It's amazing how seemingly random sounds can provoke strong emotional responses from us. I grew up in an area that was not quite urban, not quite country; lots of farmland and orchards around my home town. So it was a fairly common occurrence to hear a prop-plane off in the distance, mostly crop-dusting but sometimes recreational. So while I'm not the world's most enthusiastic flyer, the sound of a prop plane has a special place in my heart and brings back memories of hot summer days. I even wrote a poem about it:
I was going to call this post Planes from the Outside World, but then I realised you don't get any more outside than inside the Arctic Circle. If you follow my drift. Planes come from towns and cities where people tend to spend more time inside than outside.
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| The airstrip at camp - marked by moose antlers. |
It's amazing how seemingly random sounds can provoke strong emotional responses from us. I grew up in an area that was not quite urban, not quite country; lots of farmland and orchards around my home town. So it was a fairly common occurrence to hear a prop-plane off in the distance, mostly crop-dusting but sometimes recreational. So while I'm not the world's most enthusiastic flyer, the sound of a prop plane has a special place in my heart and brings back memories of hot summer days. I even wrote a poem about it:
Tiger Moth
A distant plane drones
And memory strings
Stir in harmonic hum,
Long ago days and
Slow summer haze.
Time was a cat
Stretching languidly
As we lay on our backs
On sun-warmed grass,
Cobalt sky reflected in
Blackberry-flavoured lips.
We sweetened the hours
With lethargic dreams while
Time mocked our laughter,
Slinking unnoticed
On small padded feet.
And the days and the years
Walked unmarked, except by
Dusty lines on our faces
And sepia memories
Revived by the sound
Of a fading plane.
Got an A for that one - yay me! (Which reminds me, I need to enroll for next semester soon...)
Anyhow, back to Alaska. Apart from a satellite phone for emergencies, the only contact we had with the rest of the world was via the bush pilots. We were a world away from Fantasy Island but the sound of an approaching plane brought Tattoo's cry "De plane! De plane!" to mind more than once. Everyone in camp at the time would head out to the 'airstrip' to greet the pilot and help unload the goodies.
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| Helping unload and load the plane. |
And seeing as it wasn't a quick jaunt to the supermarket, planes usually also meant the arrival or departure of hunters. The first team we said goodbye to was Jerry and Lisa and it was a sad farewell - they are a great couple and brought a lot of laughter to camp. The joint cook-tent-crossword-solving effort was an epic event and I'll never look at a crossword puzzle again without giggling. Jerry's such a good sport.
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| Jerry & Lisa on their last day in camp. |
So now, along with memories of the long, hot, dry summers of my youth, the distant sound of a prop plane also brings to mind a colder, utterly wild part of the world. Two different hemispheres; the bottom and the top of the world, two different times separated by 'several' years, but still the same 'Great Outdoors', good friends and good times.
Next up: Bow Hunting in Alaska
Next up: Bow Hunting in Alaska
