Backcountry Pilot

It was early June 1966 and Andy and I had my trusty Luscombe 8A loaded by the break of dawn and headed for the Idaho Primitive Area. We were on our way to Thomas Creek to chase the Salmon that were making their way up the Middle Fork of the Salmon River. We taxied out on the ramp and waited for the light signals from the tower; we had no radio as the 8A has no electrical system. We get a flashing green and taxi to the runway where the tower then gives us a steady green light clearing us for departure.

After a couple hours of flying we are passing between the Twin Peaks just west of Challis.  I must have flown between those peeks a hundred times in the past 20 years of flying my Luscombe into the Middle Fork. It is a thrilling experience to fly in the Idaho backcountry. I begin my decent to Thomas Creek and ease into the canyon to circle the runway. After assessing the strip I line up for the same approach I have made many times before and make an uneventful landing.

We unload the plane with excitement and prepare to catch some big fish. Few people have the opportunity to fish these waters as the only access is by raft, plane, or many hours, even days on pack trails. The morning is spent in anticipation that the salmon would soon start biting, but we were sorely disappointed as time passed and we had caught nothing. The run must have moved upstream, and if we were going to have any luck we would have to follow.

It was approaching noon when we loaded our gear to head upstream to either Pistol or Indian Creek. I knew flying during the middle of the day was not recommended but it wasn't too hot and there was a nice downstream breeze. The downstream wind was strong enough to require an upstream takeoff which I had done several times before.

I apply power and the plane bounds down the runway. We liftoff and I pitch to gain altitude as quickly as possible to climb over the ridge at the end of the strip. As we pass over the river we encounter a strong downdraft and the plane begins to settle towards the ground. Gaining altitude quickly becomes secondary to airspeed. We hadn't yet climbed above the treetops and I am forced to shoot the gap between the pine trees that are directly ahead. The wingtips are well below the treetops as I split the difference.

Our airspeed is increasing and the plane is no longer settling but I'm unable to make the turn upstream. I have two options: stall the plane into the trees on the steep mountainside, or attempt a tight turn downstream. I quickly make a decision and roll the plane left for a tight left turn. As the plane turns the downstream wind becomes a tailwind and our airspeed drops. I attempt to ease the turn as we are clearing the terrain and need to gain speed but it is too late; the left wing strikes the ground and the plane cartwheels.

The next thing I remember is hearing someone calling for Andy, I then realized it is me calling for him. I can feel dried blood on my face as I struggle to read my watch; it is 12 minutes after one. I had been unconscious for about an hour.

Andy Wheeler's crashed Luscombe 8A in Idaho, 1966

 "Andy are you okay?"

"My back hurts" he groans. "Are you hurt?"

"Yeah my ankles are broke"

I notice a small stream that is within reach and I get a handful of water to wash the blood out of my eyes and off my face. The slightest movement of my legs shot pain though my body.

"Andy, are you bleeding badly?" I ask.

"No, I don't think so"

"Listen Andy, you stay put and I'll try to get you some help." I tell him.

Middle Fork Lodge was across the meadow and down the hill from where we had crashed. I assumed no one was there or they would have heard the crash and come to help. While I was looking in the direction of the lodge I saw two fishermen on the far side of the river walking up the trail. I pulled out my .22 pistol and fired three shots. There was no indication that they had heard the shots so I fired three more time, again nothing.

I was going to have to find some help. I lifted my left leg and could feel the grating of the bones but I managed to get my foot outside what was left of the plane. I then lifted my right leg, as I did so my foot twisted and pointed backwards. It felt mushy like a partially melted bag of ice cubes.

Feeling that time was of the utmost importance I didn't take the time to splint my legs. I headed towards the lodge to find a radio. The least painful way of moving was to crawl with my knees bent so my feet would be in the air. No matter how carefully I crawled I couldn't keep my feet from flopping. I struggled for what seemed like miles but when I looked back I realized I had gone a mere 75 yards. I was greatly concerned about Andy so I mustered all my strength and tried to crawl faster. At times I felt I would pass out because of the pain.

Photo: Andy Wheeler

It took most of the afternoon to cross the meadow and reach the slope down to the lodge. I tried in vain to arouse someone but there was no answer, I would have to find a way down the slope. I maneuvered into a sitting position and scooted my feet over the edge. Great pain shot though my legs and I decide going feet first would not work. I shuffled around and laid on my back with my feet uphill. I rocked over the edge and slid down the slope. I began sliding too fast so I grabbed at the passing vegetation to slow my decent. It seemed less painful to slide headfirst down the hill than it did to crawl and it was encouraging to see the ground moving by so fast. I reached the bottom much too soon, now I would have to rollover and start crawling again.

Once I reached the lodge would there be someone to help me? Was there a radio? How would we get help? I had to rest after crawling only short distances, and I was spending more time resting than I was crawling. I finally reached the lodge and knocked on the door, no one answered. I opened the door and made my way inside. I searched all the rooms I could but I found no phone or radio.

Andy had lain still for nearly 5 hours while I made my way to the lodge. His wounds had become more noticeable but the pain in his back dominated his thoughts. He also thought of my injuries and the large cut over my ear that would take many stitches to sew up. He wondered if I had found help, had I reached the lodge, and did I need help? As the sun slipped behind the mountains he decided he could not stay out all night, he needed to get to some shelter. He grabbed a wing strut and used it to get to his feet. After experimenting with walking he found he could only take baby steps but he headed towards the lodge anyway.

Midway across the meadow Andy heard a plane and tried to wave his jacket. He could only lift his arm to shoulder level. Out of desperation he shouted at the passing plane. I was no use they couldn't hear him so continued to make his way to the lodge.

Photo: Andy WheelerAndy reached the lodge and called "hello, anybody home?"

"Hey, Andy, come on in. It's me" I responded.

"Couldn't you find a phone?"

"No, I just barely made it here" I said.

Andy looked around and found an old crank phone in the pantry. He found it nearly impossible to turn the crank because of the pain in his back but he got the job done. Amid the static he heard a voice over the phone. He quickly related that there was a plane crash at Thomas Creek and help was badly needed. The guy on the phone said he would get help as soon as possible. Andy and I made ourselves comfortable as possible while we waited for help to arrive.

The caretaker of the lodge came wandering up the trail with his fishing pole in hand. He had tried to catch some salmon but had been skunked also. He was unaware of his new visitors he had acquired during his absence but we quickly made him aware of all that had taken place. Shortly after his arrival a woman from Pistol Creek arrived with her daughter and began to make us as comfortable as possible. She had received a call that there was a crash and some people needed some help so she jumped in her plane and came to do what she could.

It was dark out and we weren't going anywhere until morning. I had spent some long nights before but this night surpassed all, it seemed as though dawn would never come. The one thing that made it bearable was the ladies caring for us checked in every 30 minutes.

Several long hours after the sun had come up a plane arrived with a doctor aboard. He quickly checked us out and gave us some meds to ease the pain. We learned that the Idaho Aeronautics Director demanded that no one take us to a hospital until a doctor from Boise was flown in to make sure we were okay to fly. Soon after the doc checked us out Andy was placed on a stretcher and loaded in a C-205 bound for Idaho Falls and I was close behind in a C-180.

We arrived at the hospital 24 hours after the accident. We were weary, broken, in pain, and glad to be alive.

After many surgeries the docs were able to save my questionable right foot. Had I made it to the hospital sooner they might have been able to fix the ankle rather than fusing it. Andy had a broken back but with stitches, casts, and braces we were both held together and on our road to recovery.