Earlier this week, Lithus had two days off. His schedule is he works for 12 days, then gets 2 off. By Monday night, we were in Fairbanks (never underestimate the joy of really, really clean sheets, a bathroom you don't have to share, or a tub). By Thursday, we were heading back to Galena. The BLM had him back here by about 11:30. By noon, he was back up in the air, taking a crew out to the tundra for a fire. While he wasn't 100% sure he'd get back that evening, they were confident enough he would that his mechanic was told to stay here.
It's now 17:00 on Saturday and I haven't seen him since. Before anyone asks, no, I'm not the least bit worried about him. Here in Alaska, flight crew checks in with dispatch via radio or satellite phone every 30 minutes. The place is too big and things can go too bad too quickly. So, I know he's fine. It's a small base. Word would've gotten around. Nope, he's just stuck on the fire, out in the tundra.
Today, the mechanic insisted that either a) Lithus and the aircraft come back to Galena or b) the mechanic be flown up to the aircraft. There is, after all, a reason each helicopter travels with its own mechanic. The BLM has sent the mechanic to the tundra, the helicopter, and Lithus. This doesn't bode well for a return this evening. Or tomorrow evening, for that matter.
It did, however, give me a chance to put together a care package:
- toilet paper (shit tickets, as it's called in the field)
- bug spray (bug dope)
- nicotine lozenges (he's quitting smoking and they frown on pilots committing homicide)
- toothpaste
- a change of clothes
- a book
- allergy meds
- alcohol wipes
- snacks
- baby powder
- love letter
Note: the photo is of Dave, our mechanic, with the care package under his bag in the basket.
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