By Don
So we leave Meridian for the island of Adak. Its location is 1300 miles southwest of Anchorage, Alaska along the Aleutian Islands. At the end of the chain are Attu and Kiska, which were invaded and occupied by the Japanese in 1942. I visited a few of their graves. With my many hours of seaplane time in the tropical setting of Bermuda, naturally, it was proper for those in D.C. to send us to Adak. Their logic was that the plane I would fly at Adak was the Grumman made HU-16 Albatross. It was an amphibian, which is a boat hull with retractable wheels, made for land or water. In Vietnam, many pilots were plucked from the South China Sea by the Grumman Albatross. In Adak, you’d be dead in 10 minutes due to water temperature.
The plane was built mainly for search and rescue, of which the Aleutians Islands provide an abundance. While at Adak I made four water landings in a bay to requalify and landed once on a lake at another island on a search and rescue of a sick native Aleut Indian. So much for water landings and D.C. logic.
Family housing on Adak was not available at the time so after flying into Seattle, Doris set up in an apartment with Jennifer and Christian doggie and I flew to Adak to live in the BOQ. We were concerned that the housing would not become available before Doris’ pregnancy would restrict her from joining me.
At Adak, I learned that I would be in charge of the air terminal, the photo shop, man the search and rescue room, monitor the many earthquakes and possible tsunamis, and fly missions in the Albatross. The first task after the VW arrived was to modify the car doors so that they only opened 2/3 of the way. This was done so that the frequent 60-80 mph gusts would not tear off the doors or break the hinge or your arm.
The Aleutians were known as the birthplace of the wind and home of daily fog. Any morning that dawned in the clear meant that holiday routine would be declared and most did not go to work. It happened twice in the 18 month tour on the island.
The weather was always foggy, drippy, cold, sometimes snowy, and windy to the point of 60 to 100 mph gusts and at least weekly moderate earthquakes. The weather was the enemy at Adak, just like it was in 1942 to 1945 when Adak was an important base to stop the Japanese from invading the Alaska mainland.
The weather was also the common denominator that bonded everyone on the island. The people were fun, humorous, and friendly. I say people instead of military because there were many civilians whose jobs were to work certain positions. The telephone system was a 1930s plug-in switchboard. A woman named Marge worked that job for many years and was still there when we left. We learned that on Adak there was the right way, the wrong way, the Navy way, and the Aleutian Solution. You adapted, improvised, and endured, knowing everyone was doing the same thing and mostly with a smile. The major exercise was called tundra stomping, Aleut for hiking in wet grass with no sun and no trees. Trout fishing in a large freshwater lake was excellent.
Then, as some other family left the rock as some called it, family housing became available. I was in the control tower in October 1964 when a very pregnant Doris, Jennifer, and Christian doggie appeared out of the fog at 200 feet altitude flying sideways to stay on the glide path for runway 23 (230 degrees) in a 4 engined DC-6. The wind indicator was at 180 degrees at 60 knots, gusting higher and the DC-6 was at that altitude to stay on a required course guided by the Radar ground controller.
I was aghast and was told by the tower chief that it would be okay, that the Bob Reeves of Bush pilot fame and his Reeve Aleutian aircraft and its pilots were superb. I remained concerned as it was the worst crosswind I had ever seen. Runway 18 (180 degrees) had 60 mph wind straight down the runway but it did not have an instrument approach to guide A/C. I watched, wondering how the plane could land in such conditions. I saw the big plane fly partially sideways at about 60 feet altitude halfway down the runway and expected the pilot to take it around.
Instead when he got to the runway intersection with runway 18, he lowered the left wing even further, stood on the left rudder pedal and expertly pinwheeled the big plane in the air, to point down runway 18 and landed quite smoothly. The tower chief said, “I told you it would be okay.” To this day it was the greatest landing that I’ve ever witnessed. I learned that Reeve Aleutian had fantastic pilots and a fantastic stew called Big June who was known through the Aleutians and Anchorage.
I again breathed normally and drove my family to our latest quarters and married life began anew...and before wifi or internet. As such, the one channel TV, the Armed Forces Radio or AFRS, and outdated magazines and newspapers were our main source of news. Jennifer went to a day school, Kent was born, and I attended.
Then there were the ships that went aground and became a situation for me at the search and rescue room. It was so sad talking to men by radio who are aground in horrible weather. Weather so bad that death was inevitable. Weather so bad that no aircraft could fly. One Captain of an aground ship pleaded with me to send helicopters or they would all die. They all did and all I could do was go on a Helo after the storm passed and go to the wreck.
The Helo landed and we moved the three naked bodies we found to the Helo and took them back to Adak. Their clothes were ripped off by the wind and waves. I later flew a Chaplain to the scene where it was so foggy, our position was at best accurate within 5 miles. But Father Biddle threw out a wreath, said a few words and reported to the US State Department that a ceremony was performed.
During another SAR, I talked with the captain of a US Fleet Tug towing a freighter through another storm. He would say about six words, then about 8-10 seconds of silence, then the rest of his sentence. He later explained to me that the sea was so rough, when the tug rolled, he had to drop the mike and hold on, finishing his sentence when the tug rolled back upright.
1919 over Adak
After one strong earthquake, it was my voice over Adak AFRS (radio) announcing a tsunami warning and instructing everyone on the island to get the hell to high ground immediately. Everyone always had AFRS on for information and emergencies. One woman heard my voice while in the Commissary, came to me and said, “I heard you while fishing at Lake Andrew. What was I supposed to do?” I answered, ”What bait were you using?”
Doris, Jennifer, and I once got the VW to the top of a gravel road on a steep hill. Cars had yet to make it to the top. Father Biddle had a red VW, saw us and come down. He then made it to the top. Next thing we read in the island paper was that it was named Mt Biddle. I protested to him on behalf of all non-Catholics.
The flying was challenging to say the least. One flight got me mentioned in a two page article in a naval safety magazine. In all my 20 years of flying, there were about five serious issues like shutting down an engine. In only 18 months at Adak, I was scared just short of terror three times. It is interesting that even then, your hands, feet, and brain still function and you are able to fly. The Adak experience taught me the difference between apprehension and pure fright and that knowledge was invaluable for the rest of my flying career and maybe my life. There are some scary things from which one cannot run.
In July, we left Christian with a neighbor and went on a ten day trip touring the Alaskan mainland. We flew free (space available) on government contract A/C to Anchorage and return. We rented a cab over camper for Doris’ first ever camping trip. Two days into the trip our camper’s windshield got hit with a shower of stones from a passing truck. We patched it up with adhesive tape. We went all over the state including Anchorage, Homer, Seward, Talkeetna, Tok Junction, Fairbanks, and the great Mountain of Denali and the National park.
The daily family humor at Adak was great and I will leave it to Doris to tell such things as Kent in a mail order baby carriage loose in a high wind, going down the street. Oh and I got promoted to LCDR which helped pay bills…but where would they next send us?
We got orders to a Transport Squadron at the Naval Air Station (now closed) at Alameda, California. Hello Bay Area. But seeing the need for additional transportation and Doris having seen photos of a new VW model, we wrote a VW dealer in Seattle and ordered a new 1966 VW Squareback with the old Bug for trade. Doris and I took the front with Jennifer and Kent in the back along with five suitcases and of course, Christian doggie, and drove to Alameda. We found an apartment that would accept “small dogs” (we vouched for Chris being better trained than Kent), moved in, and began searching for a house to rent. This led us to another Don, another Kent and our lifelong friendship with artist Don Stivers and his wife Bev. So began late February 1966.