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Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Air Cargo CowboysThere is an old book called "Six Horse Hitch" in which the author, Janice Holt Giles, spins a fictional yarn of adventure and romance set against the operations of the not-so-fictional Ben Holladay's Overland Stage Company.
Woven into the story is an interesting history lesson on how efficient the stage operations really were as they transported freight throughout the frontier. The narrative discusses how the drivers knew every shortcut along the route and every trick necessary to keep the team running on time, and how they did so with remarkable reliability given the harsh environment in which they worked.
I spent a number of years flying old freighters to many of the small, otherwise inaccessible coastal towns of southeast Alaska, and I just recently realized that I was engaged in, more or less, the same operation as Starr Fowler, the fictional stage driver in "Six Horse Hitch".
The similarities are striking. In the book, a new horseman and team would be waiting at a given station to relieve the inbound man who would approach at the near full-tilt gate he had maintained all day. The driver coming off duty would relay information to the fresh driver concerning ...well, anything that he deemed important. The team would be swapped out by handlers who would ensure the rig was ready to roll, the new driver would mount up, take up his reigns and be off. The whole exchange would last no more than a few minutes thus enabling the shipping lines to run 24/7 with no breaks in service.
One hundred and sixty plus years later this same event is still being played out at freight stations all over the country, sometimes during the day, other times in the middle of the night. Of course, as a modern day Starr Fowler I drove a 4,000 horse hitch and crossed stretches of water and impassable terrain to deliver the load, but the choreography was darn-near identical.
The first officer (for all intense and purposes, the F/O rides shotgun) and I would arrive about an hour early to make sure the "team" was ready for the outbound leg. The mechanics would have our 4,000 horses fed with 4 1/2 tons of Jet-A, and shod appropriately for the night ahead.
By the time our airplane was loaded the inbound crew, tired from a day on the trail would be arriving. The same information exchange would take occur, only tales of swollen streams and washed out trails would be replaced with warnings of inflight icing and severe turbulence.
As the weary inbounders made their way to the layover, we would saddle up, crack the whip on our team and head north to the wilds of Alaska. High adventure was certain, but, like our stage driver fore-fathers, we knew all the ins and outs of flying in the Alaskan panhandle. We knew how to get out of the ice, how to avoid the headwinds and, like the seasoned horseman lacing the reigns in his fingers, we knew how to caress and cajole the airplane on low, rainy night approaches.
It's funny how traditions remain. Though I have left freight world for the comfort of jet passenger service where adventure is minimal, I am proud to say I was once an air cargo cowboy, riding heard on an airborne six-horse hitch into the last great frontier.
Departing Ketchikan, Alaska at dusk.
Woven into the story is an interesting history lesson on how efficient the stage operations really were as they transported freight throughout the frontier. The narrative discusses how the drivers knew every shortcut along the route and every trick necessary to keep the team running on time, and how they did so with remarkable reliability given the harsh environment in which they worked.
I spent a number of years flying old freighters to many of the small, otherwise inaccessible coastal towns of southeast Alaska, and I just recently realized that I was engaged in, more or less, the same operation as Starr Fowler, the fictional stage driver in "Six Horse Hitch".
The similarities are striking. In the book, a new horseman and team would be waiting at a given station to relieve the inbound man who would approach at the near full-tilt gate he had maintained all day. The driver coming off duty would relay information to the fresh driver concerning ...well, anything that he deemed important. The team would be swapped out by handlers who would ensure the rig was ready to roll, the new driver would mount up, take up his reigns and be off. The whole exchange would last no more than a few minutes thus enabling the shipping lines to run 24/7 with no breaks in service.
One hundred and sixty plus years later this same event is still being played out at freight stations all over the country, sometimes during the day, other times in the middle of the night. Of course, as a modern day Starr Fowler I drove a 4,000 horse hitch and crossed stretches of water and impassable terrain to deliver the load, but the choreography was darn-near identical.
The first officer (for all intense and purposes, the F/O rides shotgun) and I would arrive about an hour early to make sure the "team" was ready for the outbound leg. The mechanics would have our 4,000 horses fed with 4 1/2 tons of Jet-A, and shod appropriately for the night ahead.
By the time our airplane was loaded the inbound crew, tired from a day on the trail would be arriving. The same information exchange would take occur, only tales of swollen streams and washed out trails would be replaced with warnings of inflight icing and severe turbulence.
As the weary inbounders made their way to the layover, we would saddle up, crack the whip on our team and head north to the wilds of Alaska. High adventure was certain, but, like our stage driver fore-fathers, we knew all the ins and outs of flying in the Alaskan panhandle. We knew how to get out of the ice, how to avoid the headwinds and, like the seasoned horseman lacing the reigns in his fingers, we knew how to caress and cajole the airplane on low, rainy night approaches.
It's funny how traditions remain. Though I have left freight world for the comfort of jet passenger service where adventure is minimal, I am proud to say I was once an air cargo cowboy, riding heard on an airborne six-horse hitch into the last great frontier.
Departing Ketchikan, Alaska at dusk.
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