Leaving Japan, I had to fly over part of Russia and then on to Adak. This leg nearly killed the whole trip. I just didn’t have the range for any other way across the Pacific. First, I had to get permission from the Russian consulate to overfly Russia. Talk about paperwork. Finally, I took one of the vice-consuls out to dinner in San Francisco to a fancy place and lo and behold, the permission came through the next week.
The other problem is that Adak was exactly 1,606 nautical miles from Naka Shibetsu. Technically, it was beyond my ferry range of 1,600 nautical miles. I wouldn’t have the minimum reserve by 16 seconds at normal cruise. But I knew that if I carefully topped off all of the tanks and lovingly flew at max endurance, and with the mixture leaned out I could get there and still have a reserve. I also didn't want to take a dip in 30 degree water either so I flew cross country before committing to this trip and had a good reserve of fuel at the end of 1,600 miles. It wasn’t like Adak would have so much traffic that I’d have to circle for hours.
The other thing I knew is that published range of planes in WWII era was way too conservative since it didn’t include the reserve gas tank nor did it include the wing tanks. That was another hour of flying between those tanks right there. I had researched the various aircraft of the World War II, partially to get a feel for what they could do and just curiosity since I now owned one. It was amazing how much mis-information there was, even on ‘reliable’ sites. For example, I had found figures for the P-38 range from 500 miles to a ferry range of 3,300 miles. That’s quite a bit of difference, like flying from LA to San Francisco or LA to New York.
I got up early and headed to the airport. Weather was acceptable; that is the fog was supposed to burn off around ten and not come back till the evening. I checked again after a quick breakfast at the airport. Everything was still a go. I hurried to the plane. As I climbed out on takeoff, I quickly left Japan behind. Just miles ahead was the first of the islands that Russia stole from Japan after World War II. You see, the Russians never declared war on Japan during World War II since they had their hands full with Germany. But once they saw the war was over, they "declared" war on Japan to get in on the spoils. Frankly, FDR and Churchill gave away the store to Stalin just because we were tired of fighting.
I followed the island chain north before I headed out across the North Pacific. That is lonely flying. I knew that the water was so cold that it could kill a man in minutes. I definitely didn’t want to go down out there.
I was flying along when up pulled two planes with red stars on the tail, one on each side. I couldn’t tell if they were MIG 29’s or Sukoi 27s since both planes were modeled after the same US plane, the F-15. Neither was carrying missiles, a good sign. They had to drop flaps to slow down enough to keep pace with me. I waved, which one pilot returned. They flew along with me for a couple minutes, then the same pilot waved, the flaps went up and they were gone. I can only assume they saw me on radar coming close to Vladivostok and got curious enough to investigate. I’m sure I didn’t look like a threat.
I was still two hours out from Adak when I checked weather at Adak. The fog had started to clear, as forecast, then rolled back in unexpectedly. The weather had gone from unlimited to zero - zero. I called Adak on the radio and they recommended diverting to Attu. They handed me off to the Coast Guard control at Attu who recommended turning back. Now I was in trouble. It only took a few minutes of hysterical screaming to convince them I didn’t have the range to turn back to Japan.
Attu has one runway, 5,800 feet, but it is owned by the Coast Guard and wasn’t open to commercial traffic. They did allow occasional traffic, like bird watching tours, but those were always pre-approved flights. Luckily, my original track almost over flew Attu so I was right on course. The flight in was a little hairy as the fog had rolled in. Luckily, the ceiling was still 500 feet and I was able to land.
Although it was an unauthorized landing, the emergency made it acceptable per regulations. I wasn’t a terrorist. They also were interested in my Corsair, most of the base coming out to have a look. The Coasties were glad to have a visitor other than the birds and I was invited, really hustled over to the dining hall/recreation building where I became the center of attention. It does get boring in the middle of nowhere.
One of the chiefs found me a bunk in the chief’s quarters. The next morning, the fog was so thick I couldn’t see twenty feet in front of me. The chief told me this was typical Attu weather. The fog started to lift in the afternoon, but it was late and I didn’t want to take off that late in the day. Another evening of old movies, swapping sea stories, aka lies bold and humorous, and playing cards with the chiefs as they cleaned me out. I had to promise to send a check since I needed to have some cash.
I rose early the morning of the third day and went down to the ‘airport’ building. One of the chiefs had ‘found’ some spare avgas and they had helped me fuel the bird. Even though the gas was free, it was the most expensive refueling of the entire trip. Those chiefs were cut-throat poker players.
They did have a weather station, I was surprised to see. The weather in Anchorage was beautiful, clear skies and sixty degrees. But, between Attu and the coast of Alaska there was nothing but clouds. The summer fog had rolled in and blanketed the entire Gulf of Alaska, not unusual at any time of the year. It looked like it topped out at 3,500 feet so I’d be above it, but it was a little disconcerting to me, the idea of not being able to see what was below me for a thousand miles. One of the guys offered to send in my flight plan and I thanked him. That would save me a bunch of time. It was funny, since I was flying from US territory now, I had never had to file an entrance request to US airspace. I just popped up in the system. I took a deep breath and headed out the door shouting goodbyes to the staff.
The fog was lowering even as I prepped the plane. I hurried to get her ready. By the time I was at the end of the runway, the ceiling was almost down to a hundred feet and if I didn’t hurry I’d be stuck again. The only good thing is I didn’t have to worry about any other traffic. I advanced the throttle and hurtled down the runway. As soon as I lifted off, the world became a grey monotony, all else gone. I left the engine in military power running the blower in high. My baby clawed through the clouds. At 3,600 feet we burst through the fog and into blinding sunlight. It was so bright it hurt my eyes. After five minutes in blower I set it to neutral, throttled back to max cruise, and set the mixture to Auto Lean. Below me, the clouds seemed to stretch to the ends of the world.
A few of the taller Aleutian Islands peaks broke through the sea of white, but those quickly disappeared behind me. Thank God for satellites. When this plane was built the only way to get where you were going was dead reckoning with instruments that weren’t all that accurate. I might have wound up 100 miles from where I was trying to get to in those days. Now, with satellites providing navigation information you could fly a plane without ever needing to look outside except to land. And the new generation of satellite nav systems were making that optional. Below me was a solid layer of white. But as long as I kept the plane going along that little red line where the computer said it should, I would wind up exactly where I wanted to be.
To keep myself occupied, there was nothing to look at certainly, I made a game of following the exact course and keeping track of the miles traveled and miles to go as a percentage of the total distance. When that got old I also started keeping track of land fall.
You remember that poem from high school, “Water, water everywhere…” Well, for me, it was clouds, clouds everywhere…
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