When a Scenic Flight Became a Race Against Time
As a commercial pilot in Southeast Alaska, I've seen my fair share of breathtaking scenery. Flying tourists through the Misty Fjords National Monument is a privilege, a chance to share the raw beauty of this incredible corner of the world. Our fleet consists of trusty Dehavilland Beavers and Otters, workhorses of the Alaskan skies, perfectly suited for navigating the rugged terrain and pristine waterways. The Beavers comfortably seat five passengers each, while my ride for this particular summer day, an Otter, could carry nine passengers plus our fantastic narrator.
The morning started like any other. Twelve of our aircraft were scheduled for the Misty Fjords run, a popular trip that takes visitors deep into the heart of this natural wonder. We pilots went through our pre-flight checks with meticulous care, the hum of activity filling the Ketchikan harbor. We briefed on the day's conditions, coordinated with our narrators who would bring the landscape to life for our passengers, and then welcomed our eager guests aboard.
My Otter filled up quickly with nine excited faces, headsets already on, ready to soak in the narration. We taxied out smoothly, joining the line of other aircraft preparing for takeoff. The familiar roar of the engine filled the cabin as we lifted off the water, the vibrant colors of Ketchikan shrinking below.
We headed east, following our usual route towards the Misty Fjords. Rounding Mountain Point, I began our climb to 1,500 feet, with the intention of reaching our cruising altitude of 3,000 feet. My narrator was already hard at work, her voice a soothing presence in the passengers' headsets, pointing out landmarks and sharing stories of the area. We passed over the tranquil waters of George Inlet, steadily gaining altitude, Ella Lake our next checkpoint about twenty minutes into the flight.
Everything was going according to plan, the scenery unfolding in its majestic glory. Then, the unexpected happened.
One of the passengers came rushing forward, his face etched with concern. He spoke urgently to the narrator, explaining that a passenger in the back was having trouble breathing. My heart immediately skipped a beat. I glanced back and saw the passenger slumped in their seat at the very rear of the cabin.
Without hesitation, I initiated a sharp turn, banking the Otter back towards Ketchikan. Every second counted. I grabbed the radio and relayed a message to our dispatch, informing them of the situation – a passenger in distress, requesting an ambulance to be standing by upon our arrival.
By this time, our narrator had moved to the back, her voice now filled with concern as she assessed the passenger's condition. They were clearly not doing well at all. Just then, a passenger in the front row, sitting right behind the bulkhead, caught my eye. He gestured, a silent question in his expression: Should I go help?
"Yes, absolutely," I responded instantly. He didn't hesitate. He moved quickly to the back, and a moment later, the gravity of the situation became terrifyingly clear. The passenger in distress had collapsed onto the floor. And then, I saw it – the passenger who had offered help was kneeling beside them, performing CPR.
My narrator, her face pale but composed, returned to her seat beside me in the cockpit. I relayed the rapidly unfolding events to dispatch, my voice tight with urgency. Time seemed to warp, each minute stretching into an eternity.
As we approached Ketchikan airspace, I contacted the tower, my message clear and concise: "This is a medevac flight. Requesting priority and cleared airspace ahead." The response was immediate. The tower understood the urgency and efficiently cleared our path.
We rounded Mountain Point once more, this time heading straight for the harbor. My focus was absolute, every movement precise as I brought the Otter down smoothly, landing as close to the dock as I dared. The moment we touched the water, I could see the flurry of activity on the ground. The ambulance crew was there, lights flashing, and the dock hands were ready, their faces reflecting the seriousness of the situation. We all had one mission: save this passenger.
The moment the plane was secured, the team sprang into action. They carefully transferred the passenger onto a stretcher, the rhythmic compressions of CPR continuing. Right there on the dock, they hooked him up to an EKG, the machine whirring as it took its vital readings.
And then, a collective sigh of relief. They got a pulse back. The passenger was alive. He was quickly transferred into the ambulance and sped off to the hospital.
Later, as the adrenaline began to subside, the incredible truth of what had happened began to sink in. The passenger who had so bravely and expertly performed CPR on a complete stranger? He was a medical doctor. A cardiologist, on his vacation, taking our scenic tour.
What are the odds? In that moment of crisis, the exact right person was there, ready and able to help. I have no doubt in my mind that this passenger, this unassuming cardiologist on a summer vacation, saved another person's life that day. It was a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the incredible capacity for human kindness and courage. It's a day I will never forget, a testament to the quick thinking of everyone involved and the truly remarkable coincidence that unfolded high above the Misty Fjords.
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