Broken Wings: Aviation Disasters in Alaska

By Gregory Liefer

BROKEN WINGS reveals the tragedy of Alaska civil aviation from early bush pilots to modern jetliners, providing a unique perspective on the technology and human factors involved in aircraft mishaps. Written with expert analysis of aircraft operations, pilot procedures, weather phenomenon and aviation systems, the thirty stories detail major flying disasters in The Last Frontier, including some of the deadliest air crashes in United States history.

Nowhere have civil aircraft accidents been as prevalent as in Alaska. The progression of unfortunate events and often unforeseen consequences not only offers a historical perspective on the development of aviation, but is an enduring example of the failure of even the best designed aircraft and the experienced pilots who fly them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publication Consultants
• Release date: Sep 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781594334733

Gregory Liefer

Gregory Liefer is a retired military and civilian pilot with more than thirty years flying experience. He holds an Airline Transport Pilot certificate and is a graduate of the State University of New York. Liefer is the author of Aviation Mysteries of the North, detailing major aircraft disappearances in Alaska and Canada. An article, “Missing in Alaska,” was previously featured in Logbook magazine. He currently resides in Idaho with his wife, where he continues researching and writing aviation history.

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life.

Dauntless Spirit

Russel Merrill, Travel Air 7000

September 16, 1929

The arrival of aviation in Alaska provided the means to unlock vast and previously inaccessible territory. Pioneer aviators led the way with fragile, open cockpit biplanes, often flying into uncharted wilderness with only the thrill of adventure to guide them. They blazed overland routes through rugged mountain ranges and across wide stretches of tundra. Each flight was a risk. There were no radios for communication, no navigational aids to guide them at night or through adverse weather, and no weather facilities for forecasting en route conditions. Navigation was by dead reckoning alone, in every extreme of weather, through even the coldest months of winter. Their daring exploits exposed the frontier to the outside world, bringing people, mail and supplies in a matter of hours and days, instead of weeks and months. Alaska was changed forever.

Russel Merrill, an Iowa native, began his flying career as a Naval Aviator in 1918, only to have his new profession abruptly cut short by the end of World War One. Never giving up on his dream of becoming a full-time pilot, he joined the Naval Reserve Flying Corps after being discharged from active service. He continued honing his aviation skills on a part-time basis, earning a degree from Cornell University until the opportunity for a flying career was eventually provided in Alaska.

By the mid 1920s, the expansion of aviation in Alaska was at an accelerated pace. Flying operations, although primitive by modern standards, were springing up in interior and coastal communities. Aircraft and pilots were in demand, and Merrill intended to be one of them.

In May 1925, Merrill and his business partner, Roy Davis, purchased a used Curtiss F Flying Boat in Oregon, intending to start a flying business in Seward, Alaska. They arrived on August 3rd, travelling via the inland coastal route through the Southeast Panhandle. They quickly established business operations in the local area and conducted the first flight to Anchorage on August 20th. Davis and Merrill’s arrival with passenger Frank Murphy was big news. A crowd quickly formed after the plane touched down on Cook Inlet and taxied to the city dock.

A week later, Merrill and passenger Gus Gelles made the first civilian flight across the Gulf of Alaska, becoming the first aircraft to land at Kodiak.¹ Unfortunately, on the return the plane was destroyed in a storm after landing at East Chugach Island. Their first business venture ended as quickly as it began.

Still determined to establish a flying service, partners Merrill and Davis returned to the States for another aircraft. The flew back to Alaska in July 1926 with an Aeromarine 40 Flying Boat, travelling as far as Ketchikan before damaging the engine. By the time a new engine arrived from Seattle, the fishing season was over, ending flying operations between Bristol Bay and Seward for the year, and effectively dissolving the brief partnership.

Merrill’s goal of flying in Alaska seemed to be delayed indefinitely. He was in the process of leaving the territory again, when another opportunity suddenly materialized. Anchorage Air Transport, a new flying service in Anchorage, was in desperate need of another pilot and inquired if he was available.

He accepted and hired on as chief pilot, joining pilot Ed Young in flying the company’s two Travel Air biplanes the next summer. The largest, a model 7000, had an open cockpit for the pilot and enclosed cabin for up to four passengers. The other, a model 4000, had open cockpits for the pilot and two passengers. Each aircraft was powered by a 200 HP, Wright Whirlwind J-4 engine, and the landing gear could be configured for floats, wheels or skis, depending on the conditions.

Merrill quickly gained a reputation as a skilled and reliable aviator. He was the first to fly in many areas of Alaska and helped establish a routine flying service to the Kuskokwim River region. A quicker route into the Interior was needed, and he discovered a faster route through the mountains of the Alaska Range on the opposite side of Cook Inlet. The pass still bears his name today.

One of his most notable flights occurred at night, transporting a critically injured passenger from a distant village. The flight was one of the first air medical evacuations in Alaska and was the first flight of any kind to land at Anchorage in the dark.

By August of 1929, many of the aviation companies in Alaska were struggling for business. Some had already scaled back operations or given up entirely. Instead of fighting each other for a profit, Anchorage Air Transport, the Rodebaugh Company in Fairbanks and Wien Alaska Airways in Nome, incorporated under the Alaska Airways name, maximizing their potential.

Curtiss F Flying Boat in 1916

Friends of Beacon Filed Airport-photographer Robert C. Ashley

US Navy Aeromarine 40, similar in appearance and performance to the Curtiss F Flying Boat, alongside the USS Hannibal.

USN

Merrill in the Travel Air 4000 at Nome, April 1927. Mechanic Lon Cope is standing by the engine.

Library of Congress

Travel Air 7000 in which Merrill disappeared.

Kay Kennedy Collection, UAF-1991-98-31, Archives, University of Alaska Fairbanks

Alaska Airways soon became the largest flying service in the territory. Famous Alaskan aviator Carl Ben Eielson headed the company, with pioneer aviators such as Joe Crosson, Ed Young, Frank Dorbandt, S.E. Robbins, Matt Nieminem and of course Russel Merrill, joining the list of pilots. Other, lesser known pilots of the time, like Harold Gillam, would later earn praise and fame of their own.

Not much changed in day to day operations under the new management of Alaska Airways. Merrill remained in Anchorage as the only pilot, flying the same planes over the same routes, although with more frequency. His days became more hectic, often with him flying as often as daylight and weather permitted. There were no complaints. He flew because he loved it. Long hours and daily risks were part of the experience.

On many occasions he was forced to overnight at a remote trapper’s cabin or native village, waiting for weather conditions to improve. Occasionally, he even spent the night alone on some remote lake or river, with only the wind for company. That, too, was part of the routine. Like all pilots in Alaska, he had become accustomed to surviving on his own and always carried extra provisions in case of emergency. He also knew other bush pilots would not hesitate in searching or providing assistance, should he become stranded. A bond of brotherhood existed between bush pilots, even those from competing companies.

Darkness still prevailed when he awoke at three o’clock in the morning on September 16th, 1929. Merrill ate a hearty breakfast with his wife before departing; assuring her he would be back in a couple of days, as long as the weather cooperated. He had two scheduled flights that morning, then a long cross-country flight in the afternoon to a mining camp in western Alaska. The last leg required spending the night somewhere en route, probably along the Kuskokwim River, but he didn’t mind. There were plenty of trappers and natives along the way who would welcome him into their homes, eagerly inquiring of news he brought from outside.

After thoroughly checking the float equipped Travel Air 7000, Merrill loaded his mechanic, Gus Gelles, and hunting guide Tom O’Dale for a short flight south of Anchorage. They departed at 5:30, just as the sun began breaking over the horizon. A light breeze was blowing inland off the waters of Turnagain Arm, providing a slight headwind as they climbed. Broken clouds dotted the sky and the distant shoreline soon became visible in a flat line across the inlet. The high, snow-capped Kenai Mountains stretched the length of the peninsula ahead, with the foothills reaching toward their destination, Tustumena Lake, somewhere in the distance.

Numerous lakes dotted the flat expanse flowing away from the mountains. Tustumena Lake was easily the largest, encompassing over sixty square miles and situated on the southern half of the peninsula. The region was a prime hunting area, well known for its abundance of wildlife. The hunting guide accompanying Merrill planned on preparing for the arrival of some high paying clients. His camp was situated in remote territory, yet only seventy miles from Anchorage, allowing a short flight when the need arose.

They reached the lake, circled the camp and touched down before taxiing into shore. The unloading went quickly. With more missions to fly, a short delay and cup of coffee were all they had time for. The trees and brush were vivid with fall colors on the return, brightened by the rays of the morning sun.

Merrill and Gelles touched down in Anchorage at 9:00, stopping the engine only long enough to load more supplies and guide George Neal for the next trip to a hunting camp near Rainy Pass. Located northwest of Anchorage in the Alaska Range, the pass was a major air and land route heading into the interior of Alaska.

Gelles went along again to help with the cargo. Merrill was grateful for the company and another quick turnaround had them back in Anchorage around mid afternoon, ready for a well deserved rest and hot meal. Since the last flight of the day was the longest, he wanted a break before departing again. He intended to fly for about three hours, then land and spend the night before continuing the next morning.

He debated delaying the flight until the following day, but because of the distance involved, he would still end up spending the night somewhere en route. Keeping everyone waiting while he was perfectly capable of flying just didn’t seem right to Merrill. The weather was good, so he decided to go.

Nyac mining camp, located on Bear Creek sixty-five miles from Bethel, was the destination. The mine had already ceased operations until a new compressor could be delivered. In addition, he carried fifty pounds of mail that needed delivery. There was also a cargo of live foxes waiting to be picked-up in Bethel, requiring transport to a fur farm on the Kuskokwim River. He would take care of the foxes on the return leg.

With the aircraft freshly serviced and loaded with the heavy compressor, Merrill lifted off the water at 4:10 in the afternoon, flying alone, west over Cook Inlet toward the mountains of the Alaska Range. As he crossed over the open stretch of water, the tide was near maximum, but he only glanced briefly at the surface. His eyes were already focused on the cloud formations surrounding the distant peaks, studying their movement for any indication of dangerous winds.

He intended on flying up the Chakachatna River, then through the mountain pass he discovered years before, into the southern Kuskokwim River region on the other side of the Alaska Range. The weather in the area was always a concern, but he knew he could always land on the large lake below the pass and wait until conditions improved.

Russel Merrill and the Travel Air 7000 disappeared that evening, never to be found. No one suspected he was missing until the 18th, and even then, most of his friends assumed he experienced a mechanical problem, forcing him down for repairs. His family was worried, but understood delays were not uncommon. Everyone was confident he would be located once a search was initiated.

Since Merrill was the only pilot flying out of Anchorage at the time, Alaska Airways sent pilots from other locations to look for him. Ben Eielson, being the head of the company, decided to fly down from Fairbanks in a Waco 10. He arrived in Anchorage on the 19th and began a search the following day, flying Merrill’s assumed route to the village of Sleetmute, a little over half the distance to Bethel on the Kuskokwim River. Eielson took along mechanic Lon Cope as an extra set of eyes and to assist with possible repairs, but they didn’t see any sign of Merrill or the plane. The village residents had no news of him, either.

Joe Crosson and Harvey Barnhill arrived on the 21st; Crosson from the States and Barnhill in a New Standard biplane, recently assembled at the Alaska Airways hangar in Fairbanks. By then, Merrill had only been missing for five days and they were confident he was safe and waiting to be found. Merrill carried emergency supplies for two weeks, and as long as he wasn’t injured, there was little to worry about.

Travel Air 4000 used by Crosson in Merrill search.

Kay Kennedy Collection, UAF-1991-98-27, Archives, University of Alaska Fairbanks

The only other plane available in Anchorage was the smaller Travel Air 4000, primarily used for landing on short fields and sand bars. Crosson took that for himself. He had the wheels quickly replaced with floats before he and Barnhill branched off on different routes, enabling them to cover more territory.

Over the next few days, the search covered every conceivable route Merrill might have taken. No evidence of his aircraft was found. The primary route through Merrill Pass, between Anchorage and the Kuskokwim River, was flown four times, and the shoreline on both sides of Cook Inlet several times. When those flights proved unsuccessful, they expanded the search north from Anchorage into the Susitna Valley, past Skwentna and into Rainy Pass. They even dropped notes to hunting parties and remote cabins, asking if anyone had seen or heard Merrill’s plane on the 16th. No one had.

By the 26th, the search crews were becoming concerned and began extending their flights farther away from Anchorage. They hoped Merrill had somehow made it farther inland, without being seen or heard by residents along the route to Bethel. Crosson flew all the way to the mining camp at Nyac, with no luck. He then tried an area farther east, where Merrill kept several caches of gasoline. There was no sign of him.

Frank Dorbandt, another Alaska Airways pilot stationed in Nome, arrived in Anchorage on October 4th with two passengers. He was flying a Stinson Standard and assisted with the search the following day, before returning to Nome.

The western shore of Cook Inlet seemed the most likely location Merrill would be found, and the search intensified in that area. Spirits were uplifted when villagers at Tyonek, a village forty miles west of Anchorage on the opposite shore of the inlet, signaled a positive response to one of the search aircraft. After the pilot dropped a note asking about Merrill, a message was written on the ground, indicating an aircraft was seen drifting in the inlet the day Merrill disappeared. However, a boat sent to investigate returned with news the natives probably hadn’t seen an aircraft at all, but only natural debris floating with the current.

The message might not have been as easily dismissed if a report hadn’t arrived from Seward about the same time, claiming a ship captain spotted signal rockets off Cape Resurrection, on the other side of the Kenai Peninsula. Speculation arose that Merrill might have diverted south along the inlet, where he was forced to land due to a mechanical problem. The wind and tides could then have carried the plane east around the peninsula, from where he could have attempted a signal.

Several search vessels soon combed the area around Cape Resurrection and a general alert was issued for all ships to be on the lookout for any sign of the missing plane. The Territorial Governor even dispatched a Coast Guard cutter to assist in the search on October 7th. No evidence was ever found of Merrill or anyone in distress in the vicinity of Cape Resurrection.

While attention shifted around Seward, Alaska Airways pilots continued searching for their lost comrade. Eventually, other people came forward claiming wreckage resembling a small plane was seen drifting in Cook Inlet on the day of Merrill’s disappearance. Search flights over the inlet were intensified, with the pilots expanding their coverage further south along the Alaska Peninsula. Most of the flights concentrated on the western side of Cook Inlet, since outgoing tides primarily moved in that direction and his flight would have initially followed the shoreline.

There was also a possibility Merrill could have tried walking for help if he was forced down on the east side of Merrill Pass. A well used trail existed between Chakachamna Lake and Trading Bay, one he could easily have covered by foot if uninjured. Subsequent searches along the trail and coastline, however, didn’t find anything.

Finally, in late October, there was confirmation of Merrill’s fate. A local trapper near Tyonek had found a large piece of fabric from the missing plane weeks earlier. At the time, he was unaware of the significance and continued hunting until returning to the village on the 20th. When he mentioned the discovery to others, they immediately notified Alaska Airways in Anchorage.

The next day, Harvey Barnhill landed in front of the village to inquire about the fabric and the previously reported sightings. Upon seeing his plane as a comparison on the beach, the natives became convinced the object they saw floating in the inlet the day Merrill disappeared was an airplane.

The fabric was later positively identified by a mechanic who had stitched and painted the material the week before Merrill vanished. The piece appeared to have been cut from the tail section of the aircraft, leading to speculation Merrill used the material as a makeshift sail to try and reach shore.

Pilots involved in the search concluded Merrill must have landed on Cook Inlet after experiencing some sort of difficulty, but was unable to reach shore. A storm sweeping through the area that night probably destroyed the plane, taking whatever wreckage remained to the bottom, or out to sea. Surviving the cold waters of the inlet would have been impossible.

The search continued for Merrill’s body for another week, but there was no longer any hope he survived. At the end of October, the operation was finally halted. His friends and family reluctantly admitted it was over.

Russel Merrill left a legacy of dedication and personal service to the people of Alaska. The Anchorage Municipal Airport was renamed Merrill Field in his honor in 1930. A plaque bearing his name is still mounted at the base of the control tower.

1Four U.S. Army Air Service Douglas World Cruisers accomplished the first flight across the Gulf of Alaska on April 15, 1924, flying from Seward to Chignik on the Alaska Peninsula.

Legend of the Arctic

Carl Ben Eielson, Hamilton H-45

November 9, 1929

During the early years of aviation in Alaska, no aviator was as well known or as well respected as Carl Ben Eielson. His exploits helped open the vast northern regions of the Arctic and made him an international hero. In a time when little was known about cold weather flying, Eielson forged the way for a new era in aviation, leading the pack of great pilots who followed.

He first earned his wings in the Army Air Corps in 1919, only to be released from active duty due to the end of war force reductions. A change of career seemed to be in order, and after attending college and receiving a teaching degree, he headed north for Alaska.

Upon arriving in Fairbanks in September 1922, he soon realized teaching would never fill his void for adventure. The lure of flight was too strong, enticing him away from school with dreams of founding his own flying service.

Eielson’s engaging and persuasive personality soon had local businessmen financing a flying service in Fairbanks. The Farthest-North Airplane Company was born, beginning with the purchase of a Curtiss biplane in 1923 and Eielson serving as chief pilot.

He made the first commercial flight in the region that summer. Early the next year, he accomplished the first mail delivery flight between Fairbanks and McGrath, and later started the first official airmail service in Alaska. Eielson successfully demonstrated the practical side of aviation, all but ending dog sleds as the primary means of winter transportation.

Aviation continued expanding in Alaska, and Eielson’s flying service merged with the Alaska Aerial Transport Company in 1925, becoming the Fairbanks Airplane Company. The following year he became the first pilot to land at Barrow, on the North Slope, and was the first to fly an aircraft over the Arctic ice pack. Accompanied by the famous explorer Sir Hubert Wilkins, they flew 120 miles over the desolate ice pack in an attempt at crossing the Arctic Ocean. The flights were financed by the Detroit News and called the Detroit Arctic Expedition.

Fokker F.VII, Alaskan, used by Eielson and Wilkins at Barrow, April 1926.

Library of Congress

During a second attempt a year later, Eielson and Wilkins crash landed on the sea ice and spent eighteen days walking back to Barrow. In the spring of 1928, during a well publicized third attempt, they became the first pilots to successfully fly from North America to Europe across the Arctic Ocean. President Herbert Hoover awarded Eielson the Distinguished Flying Cross for the achievement. On an expedition to the South Pole later the same year, Eielson also became the first aviator to fly over the Antarctic.

By the winter of 1929, Eielson was the general manager and vice president of Alaska Airways, a new airline formed from several smaller air services in the territory. One of the first major contracts involved the American fur ship Nanuk, trapped in the sea ice off the coast of Siberia. The $50,000 contract required his airline to deliver supplies to fifteen stranded passengers and transport the ship’s valuable cargo of fur back to Alaska. The lucrative terms would provide the success his company desperately needed.

The Nanuk was located almost 400 miles northwest of the Seward Peninsula; over 1,100 miles from Fairbanks near the North Cape of Siberia. Flights would have to proceed across a narrow stretch of the Bering Strait separating Alaska from Asia, where weather patterns were notoriously unpredictable. Fog, icing conditions and severe storms were common. Temperatures could reach minus fifty degrees or less, with winds gusting over sixty miles per hour and limited flying hours during the winter. The sun would soon disappear over the horizon until late January, providing only a few hours of twilight each day.

The Hamilton H-45 Metalplane flown by Eielson and Borland.

George Lounsbury Collection, UAF-2006-102-30, Archives, University of Alaska Fairbanks

Eielson initially decided on sending two airplanes in relief of the Nanuk. He flew the larger of the two, a Hamilton H-45 Metalplane, accompanied by a young, but extremely experienced mechanic named Earl Borland. The second plane, a Stinson, was flown by pilot Frank Dorbandt, along with mechanic Bud Bassett. Flight operations were based out of the coastal settlement of Teller on the Alaska side of the Bering Strait, 350 miles from the stranded vessel.

The first relief flight reached the Nanuk on October 26th. Dorbandt and Bassett arrived to a grateful ship’s crew and waited there for the other aircraft, which had been delayed for repairs on the flight from Fairbanks. Eielson and Borland arrived two days later in the Hamilton, carrying a load of gasoline for the return trip and groceries for the stranded crew. A warm welcome ensued in anticipation of a return to civilization.

The next morning, both pilots preheated the engines and removed the seats for extra room. Large bales of white fox, packed in advance and the most valuable of all the furs, went out on the first flight. Six passengers and a small amount of personal baggage were loaded as well, stuffed in the remaining space atop the bales.

Both pilots departed within fifteen minutes of each other back across the Bering Strait. Visual references and a simple compass were the only guides. Maps were crude at best, drawn by hand without scale or detail. No weather forecasts were available and anticipating the changing conditions from one area to another, or one hour to the next, was almost impossible.

More than anyone, Eielson knew flying in the Arctic, especially in the winter, required good judgment and instinct. Having the proper attitude was often the difference between arriving safely, or not at all. It wasn’t uncommon for a pilot to set