Flying On Instinct (5 page)

This time, MacAlpine planned a three-week sweep of the Northwest Territories to the Arctic Ocean, but the group ran into bad luck and challenging weather. At the start, one plane was lost at Port Churchill when a high tide in Hudson Bay swept it away. The replacement arrived a week later, but the delay proved costly. When they finally got underway, their compasses were affected by the north magnetic pole; seriously off course, they hit bad weather, ran out of fuel and made an emergency landing at Dease Point, in what is now Nunavut. Stranded over 100 miles (160 kilometres) inside the Arctic Circle, they hunkered down beside their float planes and figured out where they were.

At this time, planes were not radio-equipped, and there were only six radio stations in operation across the territories, so no one knew of their predicament. The group decided to sit tight until freeze-up, then walk out over the ice. They figured correctly that the nearest white settlement was at Cambridge Bay, where the Hudson's Bay Company
(HBC) had a post on Victoria Island off the northern mainland. To reach Cambridge Bay, they would have to walk 60 miles (97 kilometres) west along the coast, then traverse 25 miles (40 kilometres) of still-open ocean to Cambridge Bay. But first they had to wait for the water to freeze. They settled in beside an Inuit hunting camp where they constructed a 4-foot-high by 12-foot-long (1.2 by 3.7-metre) shelter of stone, mud and moss roofed with canvas from a tent that kept blowing off in the strong winds. Food and ammunition were strictly rationed. Each person got two meals a day. Hunting parties amassed a stockpile of ptarmigan and ground squirrels, while gathering teams collected moss and willow twigs for fuel. The Inuit supplied them with 55 dried whitefish (which the stranded explorers ungraciously deemed “awful greasy”) and 2 dried salmon. On October 15, the temperature dropped well below zero, and the Inuit at the camp indicated that they could walk out soon.

On October 21, they struck out northwest along the coast. With Inuit guides and three sled-dog teams they climbed over rough pack ice, weaving in and out of coastal ice floes in -25°C (-13°F) temperatures. The Inuit built snow igloos each night, and they dined inside on boiled trout and salmon supplemented with bacon and sugar from their dwindling emergency rations. Seven days later, they started across the frozen Victoria Strait. A quarter of the way across they were stopped by open water. There was
nothing to do but go back. Six days passed, and only dog food remained. The men began to fight among themselves. One of the expedition's pilots, Stan McMillan, wrote, “It has often been said that even among the most enlightened peoples of this earth, the veneer of civilized behaviour is thin. We didn't suffer any conspicuous peeling of this veneer, but incidents did occur where one might say fractures developed.”

The Inuit had left to resupply the group and returned on November 1 with caribou, fish, flour, sugar and tobacco. The next day, the MacAlpine group set out again, threading a course across ice floes. Sled travel was difficult as they had to shove the sleds over huge hummocks of ice without losing their footing. When they hit areas of thin ice the Inuit tested it with their spears. If it withstood a sharp throw, the chances were that it would hold a man, at least for a short time. November 3 was the final and most fearsome day of their trek. In a -27°C (-17°F) wind chill, they fanned out across undulating sheets of ice, running fast and avoiding darker patches that indicated very thin ice or open water. As they ran, they could hear the crack and groan of moving ice sheets, but they all made it across and staggered into the HBC post on November 4. All they wanted were clean clothes, dry footwear and food. The post manager used old wireless equipment on board the ship
Bay Maud
to send the message “all well” down south. The men were amazed that they were now in better physical condition than when they
flew out on their expedition. There was only one permanent injury among them; one man had three toes amputated because of frostbite. They all agreed that without the help of the Inuit they would have died on the tundra.

Had all gone well, the MacAlpine expedition would have been back home by September 20. When they had failed to show up at Bathurst Inlet on the Arctic Ocean, 360 miles (580 kilometres) northeast of Yellowknife, by September 24, one of the few northern radio stations sent out word that the group, due 12 days earlier, still had not arrived. An aerial search started that day. For eight weeks, bush pilots flew over 30,000 square miles (77,700 square kilometres) of Arctic Barrens, battling fog, mist, rain and snow, navigating by the sun or the seat of their pants when their compasses were disturbed by the nearby north magnetic pole. The rescuers also became stranded at remote locations when fuel was low, food scarce or equipment broke. It was one of the largest aerial searches in Canadian history to that date.

The world press was fascinated and, according to MacAlpine's grandson, “gobbled up every detail of the search” for the missing prospectors. Finally, the search was called off when word came that the MacAlpine expedition was safe. Lieutenant Colonel MacAlpine and his mining associates footed the cost of the search, which was almost $400,000. During their ordeal, the stock market crash of 1929 happened, and a journalist noted, “Such investors as
were on board the two aircraft who had left a buoyant, albeit nervous, stock market situation encountered glum news indeed on their return to civilization.” The members of the expedition were reunited with their planes, but many lost their fortunes.

The functional Fokker Universal was also the bush plane flown by Walter Edwin Gilbert, another Western Canada Airways (later to become Canadian Airways) pilot. Gilbert had enlisted in the RFC in the First World War and by 1918 was in France as a front-line fighter pilot. Back in Canada after the war, he flew forestry patrols and mapping missions across northern Manitoba and Saskatchewan. In 1929, when stationed in British Columbia, Gilbert had been instrumental in saving the life of H.C. Hughes, superintendent at the Emerald Mine in the West Kootenays. Hughes had been mauled by a grizzly bear and lost a lot of blood. Infection had set in, and he urgently needed to be flown out for treatment to save his life. Gilbert, under contract with the mine's owner, Consolidated Mining and Smelting Company, got the call. An experienced pilot was needed to pick up the patient and deliver him to a critical-care hospital as quickly as possible. Gilbert took on the mission. He flew 280 miles (450 kilometres) from Stewart to Burns Lake to pick up Hughes in a mere 2 hours and 10 minutes. The next morning, he ferried the wounded man and an attendant 520 miles (835 kilometres) to Vancouver via Quesnel and Bridge River. Hughes survived thanks to Gilbert's flying skill and stamina.

Bush pilot Walter Gilbert was made a fellow of the Royal Geographical Society in recognition of his contribution to mapping the Arctic. He is shown here at The Pas, Manitoba, in 1929.
LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA PA-102345

This was only the beginning of Gilbert's phenomenal bush-flying career. He was transferred by WCA to Fort McMurray, Alberta, accompanied by his wife Jeanne, who flew with him so often that she logged more miles than any other woman in Canada prior to the Second World War.
They first stayed at the Franklin Hotel, then bought a tiny “wooden shack” just behind it. First World War flying ace, bush pilot and explorer Punch Dickins, also flying with WCA, was already stationed there.

In July 1930, Gilbert, his engineer Stan Knight, pilot Buck Buchanan and Major Lauchie (L.T.) Burwash of the federal Department of the Interior left on a government-sponsored aerial exploratory trip with three objectives: find the remains of members of the ill-fated Franklin Expedition, who had departed England in 1845 and perished after abandoning their ships while searching for the Northwest Passage; take aerial photos of northern coastlines; and record magnetic properties near King William Island in an attempt to verify the location of the north magnetic pole. Gilbert flew up the Boothia Peninsula, his plane outfitted with an aerial camera and a portable radio, a new device that allowed him to communicate with headquarters back in the Mackenzie River District. Arriving in the settlement at Coppermine, Northwest Territories, he proceeded to methodically map a large part of the Arctic coastline and the area of the North Pole.

The other pilot on the expedition, Buck Buchanan, had come along to retrieve the WCA (now CA for Canadian Airways) plane left behind by the MacAlpine party the year before. Designated “SK,” she had been sitting outside at Queen Maud Bay, entrusted to a group of Inuit camped nearby. With time to spare before the supply ship
arrived with their gear for the Franklin search, Gilbert and Buchanan retraced the MacAlpine flight path; looking down, they saw the plane moored right where she had been left. They touched down and checked her out. Other than a few rusty cables, SK appeared airworthy. Pushing their luck some more, they topped up her oil and poured in some gas. The engine caught first time. It was getting dark, so they set up camp for the night. After tossing back food rations, Gilbert noticed some Inuit approaching the campfire. He invited them to join him and Buchanan, but they declined. One man held out a closed fist. When he opened it, Gilbert saw the key to the plane's cabin in his palm. MacAlpine had left it with him for safekeeping, and he was now returning it to the plane's rescuers. Gilbert was touched by the Inuits' honesty. When he and Buchanan had pried open the cabin door earlier, everything inside was as it had been left. Returning to Coppermine the next morning in separate planes, Buchanan refuelled and waved as he flew off in Fokker Universal G-CASK, leaving Gilbert, Knight and Burwash to start their hunt for Franklin.

The many 19th- and 20th-century searches for clues to Franklin's fate had expanded knowledge of the islands and waterways of the Arctic Archipelago, but many questions remained about the expedition's tragic end. The Inuit had brought some medals to show authorities, but this time Burwash also had a map from an anonymous old sailor that purported to shown the location of Franklin's grave
on King William Island. The three men lifted off into a clear sky, but then smoke billowed out of the engine. They returned to the airstrip. The diagnosis was a blown piston, and the correct part could only be installed by CA in Winnipeg. He needed a replacement plane. Now his aircraft radio would not work. Gilbert remembered there was a radio on board the supply ship
Bay Chimo
, which was about to depart. He leaped on board just in time and made the call.

The next morning, Gilbert was rousted out of bed by the roar of an engine low overhead. Running outside, he came face to face with a laughing Buck Buchanan and SK, newly outfitted and with a full tank of gas. The threesome threw their gear into the refurbished Fokker and took off. With Coppermine behind them, they ran into a blizzard and were forced down at Bernard Harbour, southwest of Sutton Island, for seven days and nights. Burwash was convinced the mission was cursed. Overflying more of the Arctic coast, Gilbert continued aerial mapping until they landed at Cambridge Bay for supplies. From there, he proceeded to the rocky, ice-strewn coast of King William Island and put down on the southern tip. They refuelled from a cache that had been left for them and picked up Dick Finnie, another Department of the Interior employee, who was making a film about the North. As they flew on to Victory Point, the compass needle became erratic and began spinning in circles. Gilbert was well aware of the effect magnetism had on compasses and pointed at Knight, who began operating the
aerial camera as rapidly as possible. Then he gave Gilbert a thumbs-up. They had just been the first to fly over and photograph the north magnetic pole.

Reaching Victory Point, they set down on an ice-free inlet and rushed ashore. Burwash and Finnie took off to search, while Gilbert and Knight made camp. The next morning, the four men gingerly picked their way over sharp rocks that cut into the soles of their boots. Then Burwash sighted something. It looked like an abandoned campsite. Scattered around were food tins, a bit of dark-blue cloth and some metal fragments but nothing else—certainly no bones. The camp had remained undiscovered until then, but the few artifacts Burwash collected yielded no clues to the eventual fate of the campers. The next day, Gilbert flew around the island, Knight photographed its coastline and they flew back to Coppermine in silence.

They had been gone for three weeks and now set out for Fort Smith and its radio link to the outside world. Gilbert was surprised to learn the press had speculated that they too had been stranded at the mercy of the elements or died in an Arctic crash. He immediately sent word to Jeanne that he was very much alive and flew on to meet her at Fort McMurray, where the aerial explorers were greeted as heroes.

A year after Gilbert's party failed to find any remains of Franklin's crew, William Gibson of the HBC searched the south coast of King William Island and discovered a number of skeletons and artifacts from the Franklin
expedition. In 1981 and 1982, anthropologists from the University of Alberta discovered the scattered remains of seven unidentified Franklin expedition crew members on King William Island.