FLYING THE ATLANTIC PART 2

By DELL ARTHUR

Following our overnight stay at Baffin Island it was wheels up for our non-stop flight to Iceland. We were blessed with clear weather and climbing to altitude the flight took on a routine atmosphere punctuated by incredible sights of icebergs and patches of deep blue sea. There wasn’t cloud in the sky and visibility stretched beyond the horizon. Approaching Greenland we tried to give a position report to Arctic Radio (compulsory) but wasn’t able to raise them. Broadcasting in the blind to “any aircraft,” we were able to make contact with a Lufthansa 747 who cheerfully forwarded our information.

            Looking down on Greenland it is easy to imagine that the population for the largest island in the world is under 57,000. Much of it is covered by year around ice and battered by winter storms. We were happy not to have to make a forced landing! Along the route we saw few villages and it was nice to finally see the island disappear in our rear view.

Passing Through Icelandic Customs

            Cruising across the placid ocean the time past swiftly. Finally our objective appeared in the far distance. Contacting center we were given permission to lower altitude and then turned over to the Reykjavik control tower who then cleared us for a straight in landing. The airport was nothing we could have imagined. It was huge with airliners from every nation including Canada, England, Germany, United States and many others including commercial and private aircraft parked all around the field. It is no wonder that Iceland is called “the gateway to Europe.” After parking the airplane we were directed to the immigration office for clearance. The Customs officer couldn’t have been more friendly or helpful—unlike some countries including the United States.

            Arrangements at a hotel had been made prior to our arrival so catching a taxi we headed for the city. I was amazed at the excellent four lane roads, buildings and activity. Everyone spoke excellent  English even though the native population’s language is Icelandic—a language that requires an astute knowledge of words that I’m not sure have really been invented yet! But no harm done. Even an obtuse foreigner as me couldn’t have been treated better.

            After checking in at the hotel we decided to meander downtown. On the main street businesses were booming and the restaurants were wonderful. Everyday seemed a gala event with the local population and I can honestly say I never ran into a rude person. It seems rudeness is practiced by visitors rather than Icelanders.

            The shops were busy and their products were mostly imported. However one of the chief industries of the country is sheep both for their wool and hardiness but also for breeding and food. The clothing was ideal for the claimant and the sweaters and coats were a work of art.

By evening time I was ready for bed and headed back to the hotel exhausted. Going to my second floor room which faced the outside I slid into a nice soft mattress, pulled up a warm blanket and started to fall asleep—at least I intended to.

It was about two o’clock in the morning and there was still brightness streaming through the window. No, it wasn’t a street lamp or any other artificial product. It was the sun! At the latitude we were at it was much like Alaska when during the summer months the sun never seems to set. In addition to this, pedestrians walking along the sidewalk carried on conversations as if it were in the middle of the afternoon. Getting to sleep proved nearly impossible. But after a long flight, some sightseeing and a marvelous dinner I finally drifted off.

Reykjavik is a world of its own. It is both sophisticated and ordinary. Anyone visiting can picture themselves in their own hometown. The stores carry every kind of goods and English is practiced by everyone. Yet there is the sense of big town adventure that a visiting traveler finds exciting. But, reluctantly, it was time for us to prepare to depart to more distant sights that only Iceland can provide.

The following morning we flew about a 100 miles north and then picked up a car rental. Driving on the two lane “super highway” north we finally came on a small village with a single hotel. During the entire drive I don’t think we saw more than eight cars. This was on June 3. Checking in we had the opportunity to freshen up, have dinner and then back to our room to turn in. We had a lot of sightseeing planned for the next day.

A Bucolic Paradise Amid the Lava Landscape

            Waking up at about 8 a.m. local time I found it difficult to get out of my warm, soft, comfortable bed. But with much to do I climbed out, went to the window, peeked out only to see snow falling! Here it was June 4, and all I saw was ground covered by snow. I couldn’t believe it! But by the time I showered, dressed and had breakfast the sun was out and all the white stuff was quickly melting.

            The area we were at was near a huge lake and the village harbored nothing more than a small restaurant and a few homes. If anyone was looking for a supermarket or a 7-11 convenience store they had to fly west a few thousand miles. The terrain was all lava and any form of agriculture was impossible. However I found the main industry here was sheep. Next to the hotel was a small farm with a large number of the wooly creatures munching on what grass was available. It was a beautiful sight and I couldn’t help but envy these hardy folks who make this island their home.

(to be continued)

FLYING THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

By DELL ARTHUR

For airline pilots flying across the Atlantic Ocean the trip is routine. Sitting in the cockpit aided by a co-pilot, automatic pilot, sophisticated radio and navigation gear, all the crew needs to do is make routine radio position reports, sip coffee and watch the blue placid sea below pass by. It’s a great job and all the pilots I know wouldn’t trade what they do for anything. The flights themselves are no particular adventure but the job enables the crew the privilege of visiting foreign lands, eat great food and meet interesting people. Rested after a couple of days they cram another hoard of people into their aluminum tube for the return trip home.

And they get paid for it!

            Theirs’ is a far cry from Charles Lindeberg’s flight in the “Spirit of Saint Louis,” that in 1926, took him 33 hours to reach Paris non-stop from New York. And for three of us making such a similar flight, the attraction was overwhelming. So on a bright sunny day we climbed aboard a 6 passenger Palatus P-12 airplane powered by a single Pratt-Whitney turboprop engine and headed for Europe. Most pilots I have talked with after the flight thought we were nuts flying across the expanse of the Atlantic in a single engine airplane.

            Our departure was from a small airport located at Boundary Bay, British Columbia, Canada, located just a few miles from the United States boarder in the farthest northwest corner of the continuous United States. The sky was clear and blue. We took off at around 10 a.m. and climbed to an altitude of 23,000 feet and headed east over the Canadian Rockies. The weather couldn’t have more beautiful—not a breath of turbulence. Once established at altitude the ground seemed to pass swiftly. Comparing our indicated airspeed we were astonished to calculate our actual ground speed of 300 m.p.h. We had entered the jet stream which gave us an incredible tail wind.

            The first leg of our adventure was serene and comfortable. It took a little over 5 hours to reach Churchill, Manitoba, where we landed to refuel for our next leg. Churchill, during World War II, was a major airbase for military aircraft. Settled at the edge of the Hudson Bay, it was a perfect location for long-range observation planes and housed several thousand military people. But now the area is nearly abandoned. The airport itself housed a small staff of airline employees who suffered from boredom and loneness. All were happy to see fresh faces even though we were there for only an hour.

            Once back in the air we continued towards Baffin Island, halfway between Canada and Greenland. We again climbed to 23,000 feet and headed towards the Arctic Circle. Peering down I could see hundreds of small islands and icebergs. My thoughts ran back at how Lindeburg must have felt when he looked down and saw the same sight. Here we were comfortably flying at high altitude in a pressurized metal airplane in shirtsleeves, clipping along  at nearly 300 m.p.h., while he covered  the sea at groundspeed of only a little above 100 m.p.h. Years earlier when I was visiting the Smithsonian National Aircraft Museum, at Washington, D.C., I recalled looking up at the small Ryan monoplane he flew. How, I wondered, did Lindeburg have the courage to fly a small fabric covered single engine airplane for 33 hours and make it all the way to France?

            Approaching Baffin Island we started our letdown. Again weather was with us and we could spot the airport miles away. When we touched down the tower directed us to park at the far end of the taxi area. “Why so far away from the terminal?” I wondered since there were virtually no other airplanes to be seen! Once parked, the airplane was secured and we started to trudge down the pavement to the terminal building. It was about a mile away! We got about 100 yards down the taxi strip dragging our gear when a God given automobile headed towards us. “Can I give you guys a lift?” the driver asked and we gladly consented to his invitation.

            After clearing customs we called for a taxi to take us to the “town.” It turns out that the only paved road in the area was the one form the airport to the hotel. By this time it was evening and after checking into our rooms we headed for the dining room only to find that the kitchen closed at 7 p.m. After begging for about 15 minutes the hotel managed to provide us with the worst hamburgers I have ever eaten in my life! The beer however, was good.

While we were eating one of the locals came over to our table and asked where we were from. Sitting in an unobtrusive manner he continued to chat and, with no permission, help himself to our French fries! Apparently neighboring on the island is a virtue. Actually we didn’t care. He was a decent guy and it was fun to learn something about his home and the folks that lived there. It turned out that there was only about 11,000 total population on the entire island and for the locals there wasn’t much to do on Friday nights but meet at the hotel and drink beer.

            According to the travel brochures Baffin Island is noted for its polar bear sights, the northern nights and kayaking among the ice flows. We didn’t do any of the above. It was only since that morning we had left Boundary Bay, flown across the entire length of Canada and now holed up in an obscure hotel in the middle of nowhere. It was time to hit the bed.

            Getting up early the next morning we collected our gear, called the taxi and headed out to the airport. The next stop, Reykjavik, Iceland

(To be continued)

"GOD BLESS AMERICA.WHY?"

By DELL ARTHUR

            Rummaging through my files a few days ago I came across an article I had put away and forgot about written by an unknown author that, for me at least, had an enormous jarring impact. It gave pause to reflect about has happened to our society as a nation and as a people. What has happened to our moral compass? Rereading the article made me reflect about and where we are heading.  The article sharpened the incredible difference between what had value before and the lack of value now. The piece is worth reprinting. It is simply titled “God Bless America. Why?”

            “We have ridiculed the absolute truth of God’s Word in the Bible and it called it moral pluralism;

“We have worshipped other gods and called it multiculturalism;

“We have endorsed perversions and called it alternative lifestyle;

“We have exploited the poor and called it lottery;

“We have neglected the needy and called it self-preservation;

“We have rewarded laziness and called it welfare;

“We have killed our unborn and called it choice;

“We have neglected to discipline our children and called it building esteem;

“We have abused power and called it political savvy;

“We have coveted our neighbor’s possessions and called it ambition;

“We have polluted the air with profanity and pornography and called it freedom of oppression;

“We have ridiculed the time-honored values of our forefathers and called it enlightenment.”

Why Should He Bless America?

The recent Supreme Court legalizing sodomy between homosexuals, (called Gay marriage), is an example of how indifferent we, as a people, have come. It all seemed to have come to fruit at the beginnings of the 1960’s when the “flower children” took over in San Francisco, California. I recall at the time when I was with a central California newspaper, the Merced Sun Star, covering the 1960 Chinese New Year festival. It had been some time since I had visited the Bay area and was astonished at how much it had changed.

Young people with flowers in their hair sat along the sidewalks and grass park areas asking passersby for donations, smoking marijuana and strumming guitars. I had taken my wife and children with me to enjoy the holiday when we passed a beautiful young girl who appeared to be in her late teens sitting on a door stile. Her expression was of a despondent, unhappy child who had no home, no family and no hope. As we passed, with my little five-year old daughter Beth’s hand in mine, this child of nowhere looked and gave a mournful smile at my little girl. I wonder what has ever happened to this broken child that someone somewhere must have suffered their own hurt at her disappearance.

At the time the most common expression of the “hippie” movement was, “If it feels good do it!” This included everything from “sexual liberation” to the use of narcotics.

Where has all this led us?

The blame for this degeneration can’t be easily explained, but there are some reasons that may afford an answer. And the start is the unknown authors’ piece on “Why Should God Bless America.”

For the atheists their answer is simple. There is no God therefore man has the right and opportunity to forge their life anyway they wish. There are no set values or laws or boundaries’ so every person, according to their individual belief, has their own right to practice whatever they want. But the catch is everyone must believe as they do.

As an example the atheists have proven successful in the removal of the Ten Commandments from public property, praying in school, celebrating religious holidays by school children as Christmas or anything that taints of religious significance. They pretend that all of the above is an affront to the people and should be prohibited. And so it has become. And we have now reaped what we have sown.

The atheist’s position is interesting to say the least. They say, “…prove there IS a God!” The answer is simple. “Prove there is NO God!” At this the secularist and atheist usually will cite everything from the “big bang theory,” to how the mixture of chemicals miraculously came together and formed life and how the earth has been around for billions of years and so on and so on.

A primary question is; can something be created from nothing? The big bang theory is exactly that; a theory. As for the combining of chemicals to form life this position is also illogical. All of these chemicals are a physical property therefore requiring creation.

Nothing can be created from nothing.

Consequently, if something requires creation than who is the Creator? Regardless of any argument it must be admitted that there must be a first cause of all things.

So it seems that since we, as a people believe that our own animal instincts and desires come first above any Creator, that, as Cole Porter composed with his famous song of the 1940’s, “Anything Goes.”

And today we live with the results.

GEN. GEORGE PICKETT'S NORTHWEST ADVENTURE

By DELL ARTHUR

            Bellingham, a community located some 25 miles south of the Canadian border overlooking Bellingham Bay, located at the far northwest region of Washington State, has grown mightily since first settled in the early 1880’s. Now a booming city it has no resemblance of the small town that relied on fishing, coal mining and a paper mill. Today all of these industries are gone. Today the city is home to Western Washington State University, an international airport and many manufacturing companies. But Bellingham is also noted for several famous personalities whose roots began here such as Edward R. Marrow and national radio talk host Glen Beck. But prior to the towns formal establishment the community was known only as Fort Bellingham, yet little is known of the local history of one of its most famous residents—Civil War Confederate General George Edward Pickett and his impact on the area.

            Pickett, following his graduation from West Point was a man of ability and courage even though he graduated 59^th at the very bottom of his classmates. Obviously he wasn’t considered much of a scholar but maintained grades just good enough to ensure his graduation and commission as a second lieutenant. He was popular both with staff and fellow cadets; enjoyed fun and activities outside studies and many believe this is the reason for his poor scholastic achievement.

After receiving his commission Pickett fought in the Mexican-American War at the siege of Vera Cruz and later served in the southwest part of the United States including Texas and his home state of Virginia before being transferred to the Northwest Territory where he faced down the Canadian army of about 1000 soldiers with only his small garrison as the result of the famous “Pig War.” During those times he distinguished himself winning honors for bravery and leadership.

            His military career continued to flourish and by 1849 he achieved the rank of captain. In 1851 he met and married Sally Harrison Minge of Virginia. Not too long after their marriage the couple settled down and started a family. This was when Pickett suffered the first horrific tragedy confronted in his short life. Sally died in childbirth.

            Following his wife’s death the Army transferred Pickett to what was known as the Washington Territory. In 1856 he was in command of a small garrison named Fort Bellingham which is now the City of Bellingham.

           

Pickett’s primary responsibility was the construction of the fort and it was at this time he constructed his wood frame house. Today the “Pickett house” still stands in its finest form. The house is located on a bluff overlooking the Bellingham Bay and is the oldest house in Bellingham. It sits on its original foundation and is maintained in perfect condition by the Bellingham Museum.         

The garrison he commanded was small. Only about 65 soldiers were stationed at the fort and besides this number a few white families, mostly timber men, miners and trappers who also inhabited the area. The larger population consisted of a number of friendly Indian tribes. A lonely man, Pickett met and married an Indian maiden named Morning Mist. And it is at this time he suffered another tragedy.

The couple had a son James, nicknamed “Jimmy.” Soon after the boy was born Morning Star died. And as a military man Pickett, unable care for his son. As a result he placed the boy with a local white couple who raised the child.

By 1861 it was evident that a bitter war, between the states was unavoidable. Being a southerner Pickett resigned his Union Army commission and joined the ranks of the Confederacy. Leaving his son it is reported that he continued to try to keep contact and met full financial responsibility for the boys care. But time and distance took its toll and when Pickett left for the east it was the last time he would ever see his son.

When the War Between the States (misnomered as the “Civil War”) started, Pickett was given  command of two divisions by his close friend Major General James Longstreet where he served with distinction and which finally led to the infamous rout at Gettysburg named, “Pickett’s Charge.”

It was the third and final day of the battle when the failed charge was ordered. Longstreet had grave reservations and tried to persuade Lee to cancel the charge. He saw the handwriting on the wall but Lee however, persisted that Pickett lead the charge and the rest is history.

Prior to Gettysburg Pickett met and married a Virginia teenager, LaSalle Corbell. He was 38 years of age and she was still in her late teens. Following their marriage the couple had two sons Edward Pickett, Jr., and David Corbell Pickett. David died at the age of 11 of measles.

In Bellingham James Pickett, a sensitive and artistic young man sought out a career as a newspaper artist. Unfortunately he never enjoyed good health. His works were highly acclaimed and he continued to successfully draw for several newspapers. Apparently he never communicated with his father nor did he have any relationship with his relatives in Virginia nor did they seem interested in knowing anything about him.

Jimmy never married and he finally relocated at Oregon, working for a newspaper where he died as a young man.

As for his father; following the war Pickett hid in Canada for about a year fearing the retribution of the Union Army. Finally, following an act of Congress, he was granted a full pardon and he returned to his home state Virginia where he was employed as an insurance salesman. He died in Norfolk, Virginia, July 30, 1875. He was 50 years old.

Today his home in Bellingham stands vacant except for curious visitors and haunted only by memories.