My Air Force tour in Alaska in 1958 to 1960 was a source ...



My Alaska Air Force tour began in the summer of 1958 in the Territory of Alaska and ended in the State of Alaska in the summer of 1960. Alaska was a source of fascinating tales about people and events: the Alaska gold rush of 1897 to 1899, which actually was in the Yukon; a genuine celebrated bush pilot; and a true story of a less than successful dog sled trip into the frozen north by the participant.

TURNING BEEF INTO GOLD, ALASKA STYLE

One of the most interesting people I have ever met, in my 73 years, was involved in that gold rush and many other endeavors. He was about eighty years old then. He had a ruddy complexion and the composition that accompanied it. He had the make-up and the personality of a survivor.

As a young man he ventured to supply the Fairbanks area with meat, beef in particular, which was almost non-existent there at that time. So, how do you accomplish something of such magnitude? Bob Broome, our hero, and some other men came up with an answer. Ah, yes, winter! It is the giant freezer nature supplies that doesn’t require electricity.

They purchased cattle in Washington State, loaded them on a ship, and headed for Alaska. Upon arrival, they slaughtered their herd and packed the beef onto oxen they also brought along and proceeded inland to Fairbanks. Picture this scene, four men driving a couple dozen oxen loaded with frozen beef in 20 to 30 degree below zero weather. Their trek was not over the Chisholm Trail or the like. No, it was over hundreds of miles of snow and ice. They survived the unbearable cold thanks to 20-foot long wolf fur blankets. Each man would lie down on the ground and roll up in his.

Night after night for months until they reached their destination, that was the routine. Finally they made Fairbanks. Over the next couple of months, they proceeded to sell their precious cargo. But, all good things must come to an end; the beef was gone, sold! But the demand for meat had not diminished. The oxen were slaughtered and sales went on until that commodity had been exhausted. Remembering the amount of hardship they had to endure getting there, they didn’t do a repeat performance. This was the beginning of Bob’s Alaska adventures.

Gold! Gold! The precious yellow metal was discovered in the Klondike area of the Yukon Territory. The rush was on! Bob was not about to miss out on this possible bonanza. However, the thought of breaking his back panning for gold just did not appeal to him. How was he to take advantage of the situation? From his share of the meat sale profits, he was able to open a general store in the Yukon. He supplied miners and prospectors with the wares they required to survive their harsh bitter ordeal in search of riches.

One Friday afternoon, the banks, which purchased the gold dust and nuggets, had already closed. One of Bob’s regular customers, whom he described to me as a “rather large Swede” (many nationalities were represented in the rush) came in with a couple of pokes of gold dust. Bob suggested that he would advance him money on the dust and then Bob would take it to the bank on Monday. The Swede agreed. He was anxious to “relax” before returning to his dig.

Monday morning Bob took the pokes of gold to the bank and he left them there to be assayed and evaluated. He would return later for the money. When he went back to the bank, he was informed that there was quite a bit of impurities mixed in with the gold. Impurities! I would not call platinum an impurity! But there it was, more valuable than gold at that time, but not as well known or searched for.

The Swedish gentleman returned to Bob’s emporium the next Friday to get paid for his dust. “Say Swede, the bank told me there was a lot of that other stuff mixed with your gold.” “Ya, dat damn stuff is a real pain in the neck! We separate it best we can.” “What do you do with it after that?” Bob asked. “We just throw it into the fireplace.” “Look, tell you what I’ll do. You gather up as much of it as you have and I will pay you $10.00 per ounce for it.” “Dat sounds great to me!” The following Friday Bob was the recipient of several ounces of platinum. I don’t remember if he told me how many ounces were brought in, but I do remember him telling me that the current price for platinum was $30.00 per ounce. Everybody was happy!

Bob went on to many other enterprises including silent motion pictures and real estate. He eventually owned a great deal of land in the Fairbanks area. The person who introduced me to Bob was Ralph Gray.

WHOA, HUSKIES WHOA!!!

Ralph Gray was involved in the fur trade. I say it that way because his small family business performed all the steps along the way, except trapping, to end up with the finished product, a beautiful fur coat. (Fur was not looked down upon then as much as now). Ralph would make his annual pilgrimage to the small isolated Eskimo communities in northern Alaska. These indigenous people had for centuries trapped fur bearing animals, that’s how they survived. Their small villages were spread out. They had to be, since there was only so much wild life to go around. This made perfect sense, for them, not for Ralph or anyone wanting to obtain these fur pelts from the Eskimos. What to do?

You traveled from one to the next. There were no ATVs or other motorized conveyances to negotiate that type of terrain in the 1950’s. So, that’s right, dog sled. Mush. The first thing to do was to get to your “jumping-off” place. The best way was by air. Enter our bush pilot. Ron Milton was a very experienced flyer. Ralph had absolute confidence in Ron’s flying skill. This form of aviation was not exactly the most conventional. More times than not, landings were not made on runways but some hopefully flat spot somewhere.

At this juncture Ralph would rent the dogs and the sled. Perhaps from “Economy Rent a Team.” Just kidding, he never told me the name of the source of the team and sled. Keep in mind that at this point Ralph was in or approaching the Arctic Circle. I should mention, by the way, he was not a kid anymore. No, Ralph was in his mid to late 50’s. Bundled up against the below-freezing temperature and the almost constant wind, he took off for his first stop. All went well. He purchased a quantity of mink pelts, made some small talk and proceeded to his next destination. So it went for the next several legs of his journey. The day was wearing down and so was Ralph. His mind wandered for a moment, and the next thing he knew, he slipped off the runners. This was a very dangerous predicament he found himself in. Being an experienced sled driver, he knew one thing. Do Not let go of the reins!

He tried to command the dogs to stop. The wind drowned out his voice. The old expression, hang on for dear life, must have been playing in his head. The dogs ran and ran, exactly how many miles I do not believe he knew. His best guess was he was dragged between 10 and 20 miles over snow and ice. I very clearly remember him telling me, “If I had let go of the reins I would have been a goner”. That was the last dog sled trip for Ralph. From then on, his son made those buying trips.

CAREFUL WITH THAT RIFLE, SENATOR!

I had mentioned Ron Milton before, he is our bush pilot. I met him when he came to town to talk to Ralph. I happened to be there on a day off. Mrs. Gray was an excellent cook and hospitable to guys in the service. Ron was having a conversation with the Gray’s son, Barry. As I listened I was somewhat fascinated by some of the tales Ron was relating.

I considered myself capable of being able to readily determine if someone was inebriated. (Since I was in the Air Police that was a handy trait.) When Ron left, I ask, “Barry, was Ron drunk?” His response surprises me to this day. “No, he never takes a drop.” Barry knew Ron for many years and I’m sure he knew what he was talking about.

It occurred to me that that type of high key personality was necessary for that sort of work. For example, he related the story of a United States senator who was on a hunting trip. Ron was to fly him up north to an area where the animals he was after were most prevalent. The flight was uneventful until the rifle that was perched between the senator’s legs went off. Needless to say, the explosion shocked the heck out of both pilot and passenger. It didn’t do much for the floor of the airplane, either. It was very fortunate that the blast didn’t destroy any control cables. Before boarding the aircraft Ron made it a practice to instruct would-be hunters how to handle their firearms aboard the plane. Some even listened.

Sometime after I left Alaska, Ron was involved in a well publicized and daring rescue off the side of Mount McKinley. Mountain climbers were in trouble, big trouble. Their plight was desperate! The rescue at best would be hazardous. Ron got it done and returned the party to safety. I think this sort of mission points up why his type of personality was a prerequisite for that type of work.

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