Diomede, yup, Diomede
What a process. . . strange and seemingly haphazard. . here is the story...
I was scheduled to fly out to Diomede on Wednesday, on their weekly scheduled helicopter ride to the island from the small village of Wales. Unfortunately the company failed to tell me and my travel guy, that due to the Monday holiday, they wouldn't actually be flying until Thursday, to allow for mail to get to Wales. See the helicopter is actually out there to do the mail runs- bringing goods out to the island from the mainland once a week; weather permitting of course. So there I was in Wales, pizzas from Nome in tow, at a school that was not expecting a visitor, let alone an overnight stay. So due to their gracious hospitality, and friendly help, I was giving the spacious and comfortable ECE room to stay in for the night, awaiting my flight out the next day. I hoped.
Thursday came, and the weather was looking good- I had all my fingers and toes crossed that it would stay that way for the afternoon trip over the Bering Sea. But I had to make it to the afternoon first. Sitting in the staff lounge I passed the time doing work, reading for my thesis and generally wasting my time :) The chopper normally arrives around the 1 o'clock hour, and it was quickly approaching. I packed my backpack, gathered my treats for the island and prepared myself for the call. I waited, I waited some more, and then I got worried. It was nearing 1:30. . . had they forgotten me? Not possible, I called the poor agent three times to make sure she knew where I was, and on top of that, I made the secretary call a couple of times- just to cross my T's and dot my I's. I didn't want to miss the chopper. Then the secretary talked to the clinic- the new health aide had already made it to the island! WHAT?!? The chopper had been here and left?!?! Oh crap! I told the principal and he thought it best I get out to the pad as soon as possible. Tommy took me out at 2 o'clock.
A small, relatively flat surface that didn't look like anything special behind the big equipment building acted as the helicopter pad. On arriving, Tommy took me to the back, where luggage and boxes were piled high, and people were milling around. He proceeded to tell me NOT to approach the chopper. DON'T APPROACH THE CHOPPER UNLESS TOLD TO. "Okay." Then he repeated it two more times as I nodded continuously. "I guess that is really important, huh?" He said it again. Okay, I got the picture.
On this particular day, there were nearly 18 others trying to get back to the island after attending the recent dance festival. . . you should have seen the baggage, the boxes, and the amount of mail that needed to get to the island. . . little did I know what that meant for me.
So, doing as I was told, after waiting an hour, I stood back as the chopper landed for the first time. I stood back. I remember someone recently telling me something about not approaching the chopper; I did as I was told. No problem, it gave me the chance to stand back and just see the process to follow. . . not sure it was so much a process, as a random, self-promoting system.
After exiting the chopper, the pilot stood there and pointed at me and the other white lady standing there, assumed to be the health aide that had already made it over. hmmmm....?? But never mind that now. I just wanted to make sure I got over. Hopeful that his pointing and talking was a good sign, I stayed firmly in my spot thinking to myself, DON'T APPROACH THE CHOPPER.
Finally, after the chopper was loaded with mail and boxes, and with the solo passenger being a man with a kid, he came over and asked our names. He asked me twice if I was with UAF - I confirmed, and said I wasn't sure the protocol with so many people waiting to get on the flight. . . His response, "There are three type of flyers, those on recreation, those providing a service to the community, and those with their own reasons for going out. Those providing a service are the number one priority." I blinked, and realized I had no idea where I ranked on that list... So, I watched the helicopter come and go 4 more times with elders, people with babies and a nurse . . . this over the course of 4 hours standing outside in 37F temps and winds.
As the flights kept coming and going, and still not sure where I ranked, I certainly did not approach the chopper even once... After his fourth trip, he asked where my bags were, and this is where he shook his head at me. . . telling me I should really mail things out, he doesn't have room for all of this stuff. Let me explain something here- I had one small tub, a backpack and a soft-sided shoulder bag - oh, and don't forget the two-day old pizzas. Everyone else I had watched get on the chopper over the last four hours had at least 4-7 boxes, EACH. Big, heavy boxes. Whatever. He said he'd take me next.
With an elder, and three more moms with kids waiting to go, I'm still not sure how he prioritizes his passengers. . . but I wasn't going to argue. It was now 6:20, and I had been out there since 2, my toes and fingers were eager to warm up. After hearing that I was going next, I had a mom approach me and asked if I would carry her 9 month old over with me. . . "Sure- why not." She handed me the cute baby with big eyes, and waited for the chopper. "Hey, by the way, who should I hand the kid to when I get there?" After the chopper was filled with more mail, and my grotesquely over sized bags, I approached the chopper for the first time- wanting to get the baby out of the wind. Of course, the pilot says NO. Ummm. . . okay... turns out he needs to fuel up one more time. So I stand there in the cold wind with this half dresed baby, thinking. . . god, what a crazy adventure.
When he finishes, I wait for the signal to approach the chopper, at this point terrified of coming an inch closer without the okay, and then the girl who gave me her baby says, "Wait. . . ummmm. . . ." Standing there in the wind, ready to go, I stand so close to my chance at the chopper, my ticket out of Wales and onto Diomede. . . The pilot is loosing his patience, and I'm nervous he is going to bump me off for someone else. . . "Come on. We gotta go." The mom takes the baby. . . and then into the chopper I climb. I let out a breath of relief.
I thought I was good to go. . . but no. Now the crazy pilot had to give me the New Yorker speed version of the safety features of his baby. Did I understand a word of it, not really. I just smiled a lot, and nodded my head. He was okay with that until I apparently fastened the seatbelt wrong after he just explained it, "NO, I said blah blah blah..." Ok. Sure. Smile again and nod.
Finally he closed the door, got in himself, and proceeded to talk to me like we were friends. Being friendly and telling me about the area. . . weird. What a strange duck this man is.
So I decided this pilot is the king of his domain, and can do and be whatever he so wishes. . . I just smile and nod, and get off the chopper on the other end of an otherwise uneventful ride.
posted by Carrie @ 12:21 PM
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