Snowed In: Matt and Jens

“Damn!”

I blinked and squinted my eyes. I had no sunglasses and the glare of the sun was right in my eyes. The brilliant white of the snow didn’t help either, but I couldn’t close my eyes—I hadto see. With no charts, and only the compass to guide me, the only map of my environment was the rather hazy one in my memory. I had headed south-west from the mine, toward Kugluktuk, at first. But nowI was flying due south, straight into the rays of the sun. It being early February and my position being north of the Arctic Circle, the sun was close to the horizon, and would disappear below it in another two hours or so.

I clenched my jaw. Memories of the sound of those shots hitting the side of the plane as I had roared past the buildings during my take-off, flooded back. They had been deafening. High-powered rifle for sure. Luckily, I hadn’t been hit. So, despite my not having full parka or suitable foot-gear—or sunglasses for this damned sun—I was alive and therefore, by definition, “lucky.”

Not toolucky, though. It was cold in the cockpit with just my jacket, and only several minutes ago I had decided that yes, the indicator needle wasindeed drifting—slowly but inexorably—toward the “E” on the fuel gauge. The fuel tank or feeder hose must have been hit, and now it was closer to “E” than I liked.

So, I had abandoned my course, and turned due south, along the shoreline of Victoria Island where I knew there were several abandoned airports. I had had some bad moments over this, but after reminding myself that the landing gear on the plane included skis around the wheels, there was at least some hope of a successful landing. I could send no Mayday signal; the radio had been disengaged somehow.

But the lightwas something fierce, and my eyes had become quite painful, squint as I would. I needed to watch carefully, to see what landmarks there might be, some structure, possibly boxes of storage, a radio aerial.

Looking back at the fuel gauge, I saw that the needle was just at the edge of the “E,” and I found myself listening for the sound of engine coughing that would indicate low fuel flow, when I cried out and rose slightly in my seat.

Was it?I stared, despite my burning eyes. A moment later I cried out again. Yes! Yes!And I fell back in my seat and began to ease the plane down. I had seen an aerial, a tattered flag—bits of half-buried tubular structures that must be the building, and even the vague outline of a landing strip.

I took hold of myself. I didn’t actually have a pilot’s licence, but I had learned by watching the pilots who had taken me around the Arctic, even had several lessons with the pilot sitting next to me. I knew what I was doing. I could land this thing, if only the fuel held out.

I glanced down at the gauge, but could hardly make it out. I leaned forward and stared at it…and saw that the needle was resting squarely over the “E.”

“Damn!”

But the drone of the plane’s engine continued as I made my final approach. I felt an affection for that sound. It had been a stroke of luck, I knew, finding the Cessna sitting, ready to go, when I had fled the site. It might well have been the big ATR transport, which required a crew of two. That would have cooked my goose for sure.

I was lucky, I reminded myself. And there was no way I couldn’t land this little plane.

Perversely, the lower I got the more my eyes hurt, but I gritted my teeth and held on until I felt the plane judder as the skis hit the snowy surface. I pulled back on the throttle. A moment later the plane lurched and I was thrown forward against my straps while the machine tilted forward dangerously. It seemed we would do a somersault, but then, after a moment’s poise, the plane righted itself and the cabin coming to rest with a thud that would have thrown me from my seat if I hadn’t been strapped in.

I cut the engine and looked out of the windscreen. There was a cloud of whiteness, snow thrown up by my passage. But this gradually descended, some landing on the windscreen until everything was featureless and opaque.

In the motionless stillness I became aware of two things: that I was cold, and that my eyes were killing me. I groaned softly as I gathered my nerve. Then, without opening my eyes, I reached for the door handle, turned it, and pushed open the door.