Four Degrees Celsius (12 page)

Unaware of their colleagues' harrowing situation, Hollick-Kenyon and Brown arrived at Cambridge Bay without mishap. When the red flags flapping above the
Baymaud
came into view, both pilots lined up a landing path and came to stop adjacent to the Hudson's Bay Post. Once the engines were throttled down, men from everywhere, it seemed, rushed onto the ice to greet the long-awaited rescue pilots, their voices echoing over the pitted surface of the ice. It was then that Hollick-Kenyon noticed that Spence in 'CZ was missing.

The rescue planes 'SO and 'SL pull along side the Baymaud ready to load the Domex men for their flight south. The Fokker Super Universal could carry six passengers and two crewmembers, along with gear.
Courtesy of Western Canada Aviation Museum.

Finally Spence and Blanchet arrived. Spence, using his flying skills masterfully, had been able to land his plane just a few feet from the base of Colbourn Cliff. After taking some time to reassess his narrow escape from death and wait for the adrenaline to subside, Spence switched fuel tanks and took off again. He and Blanchet breathed a sigh of relief as Cambridge Bay came into view. This landing was much calmer. He taxied along the bumpy ice and cut his engine beside the
Baymaud.
Once out of the plane, Blanchet took control. He divided the eight Domex men into the waiting aircraft. Goodwin, whose feet were still too damaged to support him, was piggy-backed to the aircraft.

Before boarding, the men said their goodbyes to their Inuit friends with mixed feelings. One of them commented, “If we had been their own children, they could not have ‘mothered' us with greater care. When luxuries such as tobacco, tea, and sugar ran low, they shared their last with us. When rations ran out in our igloo at Kent Peninsula, they shared their meagre store with us. Even our lack of suitable clothing, a cause of grave discomfort, they did their best to supply.”
[5]
It was an emotional farewell, but the men were keen to start the flight back Outside to their loved ones and the lives they had left behind. Despite the rotten food, the primitive uncomfortable shelter, and the abuses of nature, it was a wrench to leave the Inuit behind. In all likelihood, the Domex men would never see their Inuit benefactors again.

Climbing aboard 'SO, 'SL, and 'CZ, they settled themselves and refocused on the next step in the journey. The pilots polished their skis and then taxied across the bumpy ice until they reached takeoff speed. Blanchet wrote in his log that he noticed the unmistakable signs of strain and privation on the faces of the men and that they were all suffering from a nervous reaction to their ordeal.
[6]

On the flight to Bathurst Inlet, Pearce wrote about the relief that was felt as the men took to the sky. Passing back over their route from Kent Peninsula, to Peechuck Point, to Dease Point in the distance, he couldn't help but be awestruck at the distance travelled over such difficult and harsh terrain.

Hollick-Kenyon with MacMillan, Boadway, and Milne arrived at Burnside River around 4:30 p.m. Brown and Spence, carrying MacAlpine, Pearce, Baker, Goodwin, and Thompson, stayed at Hood Trading Post for the night. The space was tight, yet once again food and genuine hospitality were expansive. Brown and his passengers had planned to head to Burnside but poor weather changed his mind, and he turned his plane around and joined the others at Hood Post. Banter took hold at the very small post, and the men wrote a poem to commemorate the events of the past few months.

“To the Flying Sourdoughs”

Oh, we came up from Winnipeg

Where the old Red River flows

We all came up to Bathurst

Because we love you so.

So if you're still at Cambridge

Just write and let us know

And we'll come up and get you

Because we love you so.

The stanzas continued in rhyme, giving the routes taken by the rescue team. The area searched was astounding: Dubawnt River, Baker Lake, Pelly, Bathurst, Ellice River, and, according to the poets, “from the north plum to the south.” Expounding on the harsh winter conditions, they suggested, none to kindly, a place where the Arctic Circle could go. They ended their poetic song with:

For we could not spot an igloo

From a good three thousand feet

It doesn't look like Portage Ave.

Or Winnipeg's main street.

Oh, eight men in a sod hut

Is not such easy meat

To attract a plane's attention

Get off your blasted seat.

According to the January 23, 1930, edition of
The Northern Miner
, very few verses could be printed without setting the presses on fire! The night continued with further poetic banter:

Far, far from Burnside I long to be

Where the northwester can't get at me:

Cold is my eiderdown, cold are my feet

Ten howling huskies to wail me to sleep.

The north wind's still blowing,

Our engines are cold:

All skis are frozen,

And we're getting old.

Small are my mukluks,

Swollen my feet;

Doc thinks it's scurvy.

And feeds us raw meat.

The second poem describes their ordeal in comic form once again. By the content, one might think that alcohol had taken effect. The “poets” expounded on the antics of the dog teams, the frozen components of the aircraft, and the wind — oh the wind! They carry on describing the physical affects and what “Doc” recommends. One can only hope that after their descriptive verse sung to an old-time melody, “Sing me to Sleep,” they fell into a deep slumber.

With space so crowded, there were two settings for meals, and to accommodate the sleepers on the floor, chairs and gear were piled on top of the stove and table. The following morning Roy Brown took off for Burnside River with Major Thompson, Major Baker, and Don Goodwin. Once the latter arrived his feet would be examined by Dr. Bruce. Goodwin's frostbitten feet were recovering, yet an amputation and the attendant risks of infection and gangrene were very real fears. It was imperative to get him back to Winnipeg as quickly as possible.

MacAlpine was making arrangements for the Hudson's Bay manager at the Bathurst Post to take care of their Inuit rescuers. He arranged for clothing, rifles, ammunition, tobacco, cigarettes, cigarette papers, and hand-sewing machines to be given to the group, and left several hundred dollars at the post for anything the Inuit might need at a later date. It was impossible to repay them, the colonel felt. A life cannot be measured in cash or in items from a trading post, but he wanted to make sure that these very special people would have everything they needed, but, reflecting the stereotypical thinking of the era, without “spoiling them, [or] keeping them from working for a few years, which would be the unkindest thing we could do.”
[7]
These people were their lifelines, and the Domex men could not do enough for them in appreciation for their having kept them alive.

Indeed, as Tommy Thompson said, “No account of our stay at Dease Point could be complete without an eulogy on the Eskimo. He is probably considered a heathen by the churches but personally I have never met truer Christians nor more truthful, honest, generous people.”
[8]
Thompson's appreciation of Inuit generosity was not reflected in his own behavior, however.

November 7, 1929

Andy Cruickshank's Diary, Burnside River

Spence and Brown returned this A.M. [They] had stayed over night at H.B. Post. Brought Thompson, Goodwin [and] Baker. Goodwin suffering from frozen feet. All others have a slight touch of scurvy. SQ engine almost finished. Siers and crew working from daylight till 9 P.M. Asked Thompson to let us take his elevators and rudder [from the SK at Dease Point] to Vance but he won't hear of it. [There have been] big arguments about route out. I am in favor of Reliance if we cannot take Vance any spares.

Cruickshank was not happy with the response from Thompson. The flight from Burnside River to Dease Point was within easy distance and parts from the stranded Fokker 'SK at Dease Point could repair the damaged Fokker 'RK at Baker Lake and allow Vance and Blasdale to return with the rescue planes. With Thompson's refusal, Vance and Blasdale would have to remain at Baker Lake for the winter until replacement parts could be sent from Winnipeg, and with the onset of winter this would not happen until breakup in the late spring. Cruickshank repeatedly tried to convince Thompson but failed. Even though Cruickshank had been given responsibility of the air search, he had to accept Thompson's refusal, as Thompson held a more senior position with Western Canada Airways. With nothing more to be accomplished on this topic, attention then turned to the flight out using the four remaining planes.

One route discussed was to cross the Barrens, continuing to Baker Lake, then on to Churchill, where the Domex men would board the train to Winnipeg. Weather was a definite concern with this route, although it would mean that Vance and Blasdale could be picked up, rather than being left for the winter. The second, and the shorter route, was to Fort Reliance, a Domex base at the east end of Great Slave Lake. From there they would fly on towards Stony Rapids, Cranberry Portage, and finally to Winnipeg.
[9]

Eventually, Cruickshank decided to take the shorter route, avoiding the Barrens and the challenging weather patterns over Hudson Bay. Jim Vance and B.C. Blasdale would have to mush out using a dog team and sled, which would take them months, or else wait until parts and tools could be sent in the spring. Wireless messages were sent to Winnipeg and Toronto notifying headquarters of their plans.

The estimated time of travel was four days. However, Cruickshank's premonition was correct, and the journey would be far longer.

Airborne to Fort Reliance

“Any news of the Fliers?” The anxious query has echoed and re-echoed in Canadian homes ever since the MacAlpine party was first reported missing. Their enterprise had caught and uplifted the national imagination, and as day followed day without any news of them, hope deferred cast its pall of gloom over the entire Dominion. Then came the wonderful news: “Fliers safe at Cambridge Bay!” It was a glorious climax to a great adventure — and now Canada testifies how keen was her anxiety in a spontaneous expression of relief and gratitude for their rescue. As she gives thanks for many material blessings, Canada adds with fervent voice: “Thank God the fliers are safe!”

The Manitoba Free Press
, November 11, 1929

An invisible bond between Canadians and their dauntless aviation heroes and adventurous explorers was strengthened even more. The spirit of resourcefulness, integrity, compassion for others, and resilience was the foundation of Canadian character, one that would be admired and respected and repeated through future generations. The rescue had all the hallmarks of this quality. Emotions ran high as people prepared to welcome their champions home.

Unaware of their status, the “champions” had completed repairs on 'SQ and flights home could begin. Siers and the black gang's work had been remarkably successful, and the test flight Cruickshank took left him feeling confident he could fly safely back to Winnipeg. Despite a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach about the return, he looked forward to the flight home. What this feeling did, however, was to make him more cautious with each decision. His RCMP training had ingrained in his character a thoroughness and discipline that would serve them well.

On November 11, all members of the Domex group and the additional passengers assembled at Burnside River, with the departure date set for the 12th. Within hours they would be embarking on a 2,000-mile flight in three “hops” to Winnipeg. On November 12, 1929,
The
Manitoba Free Press
reported the following: “[On] Andy Cruickshank rests the responsibility of the decision when engine fitness and weather conditions favor the resumption of the journey home. Cruickshank has charge of the flights.”

It was with great relief that the pilots, engineers, and passengers welcomed November 12. The day dawned with clear skies and a good wind for takeoff. Conditions could not be more favourable for Arctic flying. Cruickshank had discussed the flight path with the other pilots and suggested flying in formation. This would enable all the pilots and passengers to be on the lookout for potential hazards, such as incoming bad weather or open waterways.

Fort Reliance would be the first stop, and they would need to find a suitable place to land the four planes. At the fort, they would make any needed repairs to the planes and spend the night. But after flying for only two hours and five minutes they found that they could not continue.
[1]

November 12, 1929

Pearce's Diary, airborne to Fort Reliance

In the same aeroplane with the writer were three others of the Dease Point party and they spent most of the time singing, though their voices could hardly be distinguished above the noise of the engine. We passed over hills several hundred feet high and then picked up the Western River and followed it. It is a large stream, and cuts deeply into the country, in places widening into lakes several miles across.

Our course switched to the Backs [Back] River, another large Arctic waterway, and gradually climbed up to the height of land. Our good luck did not hold long. Fog settled down on us near Aylmer Lake, about half way between Burnside and Reliance, and we were forced down on a small lake called Muskox … The weather was 20 below as we got out of the planes and prepared to stay the night … There is every evidence of a storm brewing, as the barometer is dropping.

Yet another setback. Weather delays such as this would push the pilots further into the grasp of winter, making flying all the more treacherous or even impossible. The men were keenly disappointed. All hope of completing the first leg of the journey to Fort Reliance was shattered. Stolidly, they accepted their fate and set about making camp and cooking a meal on their Coleman stove. Still in the Barrens with no sheltering forests and thus no timber, they were unable to build any fires to ward off the cold. All they had were their tents and eiderdowns to buffer them from the freezing blasts. Despite cutting snow blocks and piling them around the outside walls of the silk tents to block the wind, it wasn't long before the Arctic temperature crept inside their shelter and prepared to stay there. It would be a long, uncomfortable night.

Bill Spence stands beside his shelter at Muskox Lake while. Snow is piled high against the tent in an attempt to keep what warmth could be generated inside and the Arctic blasts out.
Courtesy of Western Canada Aviation Museum.

The storm's rage intensified, and the men spent their time trying to keep warm in their tents as the wind heaped masses of snow against their fragile shelters and their planes. Their body heat combined with the moisture from their breath to form ice on the interior silk walls. When they used the stoves to make tea, the frozen droplets “rained” down on them. There was nothing they could do but wait out the blizzard. For hours snow continued to pile up around the planes and tents. The situation became increasingly tense — they might be immobilized by morning.

To ease the tension, Cruickshank and Semple joked about the necessity to leave the warmth of their tents for a “40 below and a crouch.” There were no outhouses or “long drops” at Muskox Lake, which meant taking a shovel, digging a hole in the snow, positioning the shovel for some sort of stability, and then leaning against it. Technique was important in this undertaking, as none of them wished to risk frostbite from coming into contact with the freezing metal, or worse, sticking to it. They attended to their needs with the utmost speed and care. There were no dogs around to help with cleanup. Around that time a story circulated about a newly-enlisted Hudson's Bay manager who, upon arriving at his post in the North, asked his predecessor where the toilets were. The response was a quickly ripped-out page from a catalogue and he was dramatically ushered to the door and shown a snowy landscape with wind blowing in temperatures of -40°C.

Late at night the wind softened and the skies finally cleared. The stars shone in a glittering lacework against the blackness, demonstrating once more the mercurial mood swings of Canada's North. The men drifted to sleep, awakening from time to time throughout the night, shivering with cold despite the body crush inside. Every tent was bulging. Spence's tent alone contained the packed together bodies of Colonel MacAlpine, Colonel Cornwall, Pearce, Blanchet, and Longley.
[2]

November 13 dawned with clear skies. Camp was struck early, with the engineers rising before the others in the morning darkness. To their chagrin, they encountered difficulty after difficulty. The snowdrifts caused by the blizzard created an incredible amount of work with the men having to manually dig the planes out of the snow. They worked at a steady pace to keep the sweat from freezing on their bodies. If that did happen, hypothermia would come on twice as fast, and that would be perilous.
[3]

During this strenuous workout, Cruickshank made sure each man remained hydrated to keep them warm. Snow had to be melted for this, either over the camp stove or in a canteen kept under their parkas, next to the skin. Eating snow would decrease the core body temperature too quickly and again induce hypothermia and possible shock. At the same time he kept a keen eye on the group for any signs of exposure.

The skis had frozen into the newly fallen snow and the planes had to be manoeuvered from side to side to release them. The men tied ropes to the tails of the planes, the pilots started the engines, and the men laboured in the frigid slipstream, tugging and pulling to try and loosen the skis. Once again, fingers were beyond feeling and their limbs ached from cold, strain, and the cramped, inadequate sleep. Finally, one by one, the planes were released from their icy grip and freed from the drifts. All breathed a sigh of relief when the pilots took their craft on a spin around the lake to polish up the skis. Camp was broken and the men clambered aboard the aircraft.

Hollick-Kenyon suggested that since the air speed indicator on 'SQ was not working, Cruickshank could follow him. When the correct speed for takeoff was reached in the 'SL, Hollick-Kenyon would take to the sky.
[4]
This suggestion worked, and soon both were airborne. Brown, not far behind, was heading into the Arctic air soon after. The three planes circled above the lake for about half an hour waiting for Bill Spence to take flight.

Once reaching proper speed, Spence eased the aircraft's nose skyward, but as he did so, he hit a hard drift and crashed heavily to the ground. The sound echoed over the flat landscape and the passengers were thrown about the cargo hold. After making sure there were no injuries, the pilot climbed out of his plane to assess the damage. The engine supports were broken and part of the fuselage was damaged.
[5]
A major blow.

The prospects of repairing Spence's plane, if at all possible, were dismal. Seeing the crash, the first three pilots circled back and landed to discuss the situation. All knew it was vital to take advantage of the good weather and fly out of the Barrens while they had the chance. It was decided that Spence and the mechanics, Tommy Siers and Graham Longley, would stay with 'CZ and do all repairs within their capability. If 'CZ was airworthy, and if they had enough fuel, Spence would then fly the men to Fort Reliance. If they didn't show up within two days, one of the other pilots would fly back from Reliance with tools, spare parts, and more fuel to assist in the repairs. Siers immediately set about determining what could be done to get 'CZ back into the air, while Spence set up the tent and Longley went out hunting. Siers took out his mechanic's kit and all the equipment they had — from cooking utensils and tools to mess kits — and laid them out in front of him. Whatever they had could potentially be useful. His gift was in being able to visualize each item, not in terms of how it was conventionally used, but in terms of how it
could
be used.

The air engineers assess the damage to 'CZ after the second crash into rock-hard drifts.
Courtesy of Daryl Goodwin.

The passengers were redistributed, and the three airworthy planes, now all carrying a heavier load of men, took off into the -30°C sky, heading towards Great Slave Lake and on to Reliance. Cruickshank's “old crock” was holding out under the diligent care of both pilot and mechanic, and 'SQ was carrying far more than the two-passenger limit that Siers had predicted. The increased weight, however, did impact on 'SQ's performance, hampered as it was by the shortened propeller blades and no functioning instruments.

One of their last views of the Barrens was a most amazing sight. It was the caribou. “We had a view of this migration at its flood tide, perhaps never seen before as we saw it from our altitude with a fifty mile horizon. The snow was marked by a lace-like pattern, black on white. These were bands of varying numbers in single file, hundreds of thousands — one of the last great migrations of wild-life across a wilderness still comparatively free of their enemies.”
[6]
All were awestruck by the vision from the air.

A few hours later they reached the treeline, something they had not seen in many weeks, and which had a strangely emotional impact on the men. First they spied just a few tiny trees scattered in a white wasteland, and then larger clumps dispersed in the hills, leading to stronger stands of spruce that climbed the hillsides and covered both valley and hilltop. “The sight of trees gave us a genuine feeling of relief.”
[7]
They had made it out of the Barrens and were truly bound for home.