Camera Data

Camera Model: Canon 10D

Lens: Canon EF 400 mm f/5.6L USM

Shutter Speed: 1/180 sec

Aperture: f/22

ISO Speed Rating: 400

Airborne - Little Nimmo Bay, British Columbia.  July, 2006

A great vacation can often be measured, in part, by the logistics. Our recent adventure into British Columbia and the Broughton Islands is a great example. For all practical purposes our trip began, after a two day drive, at Port McNeil on the north east end of Vancouver Island. In retrospect, Port McNeil was the jumping off point from the world as I know it, into a world I’d only imagined, or perhaps read about in Jack London’s White Fang. And I will tell you in advance this line of thought would come back to bite me in the ass later down the trail, but more on that in a future posting. 

Even though I’ve sailed in both the San Juan Islands and the Gulf Islands, there was nothing to prepare me for the Broughtons. It was, in so many ways, like going back into time – my favorite thing to do. And in this case, our time machine turned out to be nothing other than a DeHaviland Beaver float plane also known as an Alaska Bush Plane. 

Our plan was simple. We’d catch a float plane out of Port McNeil and join up with our good friends Tom and Nancy at Sullivan Bay on their 40-foot sailboat.  From there, we’d spend the next 5 days gunk holing in the Broughton Islands. But, as I’m sure you know, nothing is ever simple, especially when it comes to making connections by air. 

After arriving at Pacific Eagle Aviation around 8:30 am, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, our bags were weighed on an ancient triple-beam balance and told our flight was going to be delayed due to fog at Sullivan Bay. To add to the delay, the plane scheduled ahead of us was returning because the fog along Carter Passage was so thick landing was impossible. I wonder, when you touch down in water, do you really call it landing? 

In short, we were in a minor holding pattern until the fog lifted. The good news was that the weather at Port McNeil was great and we took the opportunity to walk the docks along the nearby marina. 

Finally, after a seemingly interminable wait, we loaded our bags into the Beaver along with two other passengers and began to taxi out into Cormorant Channel. I could write volumes about my first float plane trip, but to be brief… 

There was the ancient, grizzled, but skilled, I hope, pilot. Classic!

There was the First Nation tribal chief.  Intelligent, well read, enthusiastic, informative.

There was the young logger, one of nine kids, headed for a 5-day stint at some logging camp, emitting vapors from the previous night, trying to sleep.

There was the first landing at the logging camp, my first glimpse at the past, but amazingly, still the present. 

And there was the plane. Oh, my god, there was the plane, and the throttle, and the yoke, and the head phones, and the GPS, and the oil gauge at 45 psi – looks good, and the gas gauge at … looks like an 1/8^th of a tank… maybe they’re worried about weight, and the two skinny floats, and the single engine, and the dinky life jackets, and hey, if this guy has a stroke or a heart attack, could I fly it? 

I wonder. How cold is the water this time of year?

DouglasWalch@comcast.net