The Commute

The Office - Weather Station

For two days, we sit in the lobby of a small airport and wait for a salubrious sky. On the afternoon of the third day we board a Cessna Conquest II and fly up into the sunny stratosphere. One hundred eighty-nine miles northwest of Anchorage, we unload the plane and head up to the radar site to begin two weeks of Surface Weather Observation Training.

With METAR Encoding Certificate in hand, I board another Cessna Conquest to fly a 120 miles northeast to a different site. The pilot requests I sit in the copilot seat so I happily settle in up front. He secures the plane, climbs in next to me and begins pushing buttons and pulling at toggles and knobs while I dig for my camera.

After pushing and pulling and tapping and checking with no response from the engine, the pilot informs he believes there’s something wrong with the starter. He reaches for the manual and reads. He closes the book, tucks it under his seat and makes another attempt, to no avail. He then disembarks and I watch while he circles the plane as he inspects the landing gear. The Station Technician, who waits on the Apron until our departure, slowly drives up to and consults with the pilot. 

We all load up back into the truck and return to the radar site to wait for another Conquest to fly in a Mechanic who’ll assess and resolve the issue. Hours later, we drive back down to the airstrip, transfer our gear from the disabled Cessna to the one that just landed and once again I settle into the copilot seat next to the pilot who pulls at knobs and toggles and pushes buttons. The engines roars, the propellers whir and we climb the airwaves toward our destination.  
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At the end of another two weeks, the day of my departure, we await the arrival of various aircraft. The Weather Station is open and ready for dissemination. And as I pack and clean at the house, we hear over the GAG, a pilot call requesting an update on weather conditions. The Station Technician responds with clarity, but there is no reply from the plane. After some moments, the pilot calls with the same request and the Station Technician communicates as before, again with no response in return. After a third unsuccessful attempt, the Station Technician calls from the Weather Station and informs that the radio signal may be stronger at the house and advises me, “You'll have to disseminate observations off the AWOS.” So . . . I pick up the radio and relay my first weather observation with clarity of voice and trepidation of heart to a man thousands of feet above the earth who crackles back, “Repeat?” I take a deep breath, exhale slowly and communicate - with successful transmission to the pilot of a DC6.

The Station Chief and I climb into the truck, drive down to the airstrip and watch, what looks to me like, a plane from a Mad Max movie as it throws up a snowy rooster tail in its wake as it lands. From the warmth of the cab of the pickup, I listen to the McGrath radio station and observe the activity on the Apron. A Cessna soon pulls up next to the DC6; which looks like a VW Bug alongside a Semi. Colleagues from Sparrevohn disembark and everyone gathers next to the Conquest to chat in the wintery air. 

On our way back to town, we fly over the Kuskokwim River, past Mount McKinley and along side Sleeping Lady. Light reflects off scattered clouds and snow covered mountains and the glistening expanse of the inlet below. We land in Anchorage and taxi up to a glass door that leads back into the waiting room of the small airport I’d flown out of just weeks before. I walk to the parking lot and shovel the past months worth of snow from off of my car. I sit behind the wheel, place the transmission into drive and head off with grateful heart that life is good. 
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