Where the Water Was the Runway and Alaska Was the Destination

From the Flight Deck — Notes from Alex

There are some moments in life you never forget.

For me, some of those moments happened sitting behind the controls of a De Havilland Beaver, tied to a wooden dock somewhere in Southeast Alaska, with the smell of aviation fuel in the air and the mountains rising all around me.

It had taken a long time to get there.

Becoming a commercial seaplane pilot in Southeast Alaska wasn’t something that happened overnight. It was a journey filled with training, long hours, checklists, studying weather, learning the aircraft, and learning—perhaps most importantly—how to respect the environment you were flying in.

I remember some of my first flights like they happened yesterday.

One of my early Beaver “tails” was N17597.

That airplane became part of my story.

On this particular morning, the weather was beautiful. For Southeast Alaska, you learned not to take a beautiful day for granted. You looked at the forecast, studied the route, checked the winds, and made your flight plan.

This was going to be a short-haul mail run.

Before anything else, there was the preflight.

And in Alaska, you didn’t rush a preflight.

I walked around the Beaver, checking the floats, the control surfaces, the propeller, the, the struts, the fuel, the oil, and everything else that needed attention. The floats were empty. I checked the oil level. I drained the fuel sumps. I checked the fuel quantity and went over the airplane from nose to tail.

You developed a rhythm.

Walk around.

Look.

Touch.

Check.

Double-check.

Then check it again.

Once everything looked right, I climbed into the cockpit.

The Beaver was still tied securely to the dock.

I started the engine and let her warm up.

There is something about the sound of a radial engine coming to life that gets into your soul.

The engine would cough, turn over, and then suddenly—

ROAR!

That unmistakable sound filled the morning air.

I sat there listening to the engine, watching the gauges, letting everything come up to operating temperature.

Then came the mail.

We loaded the bags aboard, secured everything, and prepared for departure.

Eventually, I was turned loose to taxi.

I untied the airplane, climbed back into the cockpit, and brought the Beaver around.

Beacon on.

Headset on.

Radio checked.

I listened to the weather and traffic, then switched over to the tower frequency.

“Tower, Beaver N17597, ready for departure, southeast departure.”

And there I was.

Sitting in the cockpit of a De Havilland Beaver, floats underneath me, mail in the back, mountains surrounding me, and Southeast Alaska stretching out ahead.

At that moment, it hit me.

You know what?

You’re a dag-gummed Alaska seaplane bush pilot.

And you’re about to go flying across some of the most beautiful—and unforgiving—country on Earth.

The Beaver began to accelerate across the water.

The spray came off the floats.

The shoreline slowly began to disappear behind me.

Then the airplane lifted from the water.

Just like that, the dock, the town, and everything on the ground became smaller.

Ahead were mountains, islands, waterways, glaciers, forests, and endless blue.

I was flying the mail, but to me, it was much more than a mail run.

It was freedom.

It was responsibility.

It was adventure.

And it was Alaska.

Those early flights taught me something that stayed with me throughout my aviation career: flying isn’t just about getting from one place to another.

It’s about the preparation.

It’s about respecting the airplane.

It’s about respecting the weather.

It’s about knowing the country beneath you.

And sometimes, it’s about looking out the windshield at the wild Alaska wilderness and realizing just how fortunate you are to be there.

I have flown many different airplanes and spent many years in aviation since those early days.

But I will always remember N17597.

That Beaver was part of the beginning.

And whenever I think back to those mornings on the dock, listening to that radial engine roar to life, I can still feel the excitement.

The smell of the fuel.

The sound of the engine.

The splash of the floats.

The mountains in the distance.

The radio crackling in my headset.

And that feeling as the Beaver lifted off the water.

I was right where I wanted to be.

Flying the skies of wild Alaska.

— Alex Atkinson Jr.
Notes from Alex — From the Flight Deck