Chapter Four
Jamison
Ifinish my preflight checks and announce my takeoff to air traffic control. I’ve got an easy run this time, but even so, there’s nothing that beats the rush of flying. I strap into my harness, and the engine purrs as I take off, leaving the small landing strip behind. Once I’m off the ground and gaining altitude, everything else fades away as the Alaskan wilderness takes me in.
I let go of the fact that Claire hasn’t written me back, or that every time I step into Thorne Air, I’m reminded of what I lost four years ago. How I couldn’t save my mother. That’s always a bitter reminder anytime I come into work. The things that keep me up at night staring into the bottom of an empty whiskey tumbler fade as my Piper Super Cub climbs in altitude.
This plane was a gift from my mother. Its small and rugged design allows for the rough and impossibly short landing strips that the Alaskan terrain requires. The controls are light and always makes for an easy escape from what is left for me on land. When I’m in the air, I feel lighter.
After forty minutes in the air, I circle around and land in Chechen’s rocky landing strip. Chechen is a small fishing village in northern Alaska, hidden deep in the Alaskan bush country. I make this trip once every few weeks to bring the village supplies. They honestly want for little this far north, but I still guarantee they have the essentials.
The moment my plane touches down on the sandbar, I cut the engine and meet up with Caldwell. He’s another old friend of Mom’s and loves to chat about things when I come by. The weight of my problems is back, so I give him a quick handshake and unload everything, allowing him to reminisce while I do so. My mother had flown most of these same flight patterns herself back then, and I’ve become a way to keep her memory alive.
I’m able to get back in the air an hour later, letting the weight disappear again with the altitude I gain. There’s a desperate need, an unmistakable desire to remain high above the world. To capture something few people have seen before me. To behold beauty and seek a never-ending adventure. Perhaps it’s because everything in life comes back into a glaringly clear focus when I’m grounded.
I fly past the Chugach Mountains and watch as the world stretches out ahead. The skies are clear blue today and back the sharp mountain peaks before me. The rich green of the Chugach National Forest stretches for hundreds of miles below me. There is nothing better than the view from ten thousand feet above. I should bring Claire up here. I wonder if she’s ever seen something so breathtaking herself. Her father is a fisherman, another adventurous Alaskan man like I am. Maybe he’s taken her to see the beauty Alaska has to offer.
She’ll have to actually write me back for me to confirm that. I’ll need some communication between us for me to dig deeper into knowing the woman who has stolen my thoughts. I’m losing my mind waiting for something in response to the letter I wrote three weeks ago. I’ll take a few words, a sign she’s interested in a friendship with me and that this interest isn’t entirely one-sided.
Once Thorne Air comes into view, I touch down on a strip of land near the hangar. That dreaded weight is back on my shoulders the moment the wheels connect with solid ground. I keep my head down, focused on the bush plane my mother gave me for my sixteenth birthday as a distraction from stepping inside Thorne Air. If I step inside, I’ll be reminded of when my mother worked with me, when she was in charge of us and made sure we were running the correct routes. My mother has left me so many things, all little tokens of her as daily reminders that she isn’t here anymore and that’s my fault. So, every damn time I’m in this town or working here, I’m remembering all my mistakes over and over again.
“Jamison.” Thorne, my boss—and for a once-used title, my stepdad—appears at my side. He’s in his fifties with graying hair. He wears a look of discontent, which is nothing new. I can’t keep my disregard toward him off my face either. Rylee reminds me of it daily when she sees us giving each other harsh looks. She also understands why.
“I need you for another flight tonight,” Thorne states.
“Sure,” I grind out, then glance at my watch. “What time?” I should find another job, but this has become part of my punishment.
“You need to go now. There’s a couple lost, and the troopers are organizing the search and rescue. They took a hiking trip into the Chugach Mountains, and the landing area will be rough up there. They’re radioing for our help.”
I nod, then look over my flight plan and the details of the couple’s itinerary. They’ve made trips before and are avid hikers. They even knew to have a personal locator beacon on them and went up prepared. Something big has happened to delay them this long, and they really need my help.
I map out a few landing places, but this far into the mountains, I won’t have the luxury of choice. It’s a risky rescue trip because there are too many unknown variables with the wind patterns today, and who knows what kept the couple from reaching their return point.
With a quick run through my preflight checks, I’m off the ground and flying toward the last place we picked up the couple’s GPS. I’m able to touch down on a small stretch of land on the south end of the mountain, but it will require some hiking to find them.
The moment I’m out of my plane, I’m hit with the harsh wind of the impending storm. I reach in and quickly grab my pack. I could be out here for hours or days, and I packed enough food and medic equipment to be prepared for anything that might come my way. My hiking boots are built for the long walk, and I added layers to keep the chill at bay.
With another harsh hit of the wind, I put a pair of gloves on, then cover my head. I secure my pack, heavy with supplies, and start off into the harsh Alaskan wilderness. I search with a clear mind and a calculating focus. I’ve done this many times before, but it never gets easier. I watch for movement, and with purpose, I observe the landscape before me. The snow-covered ground is undisturbed, and the trees whip harshly as the wind batters away at them. The storm is moving in quicker than expected, and I make the journey solo because there isn’t much choice. Any larger than my plane couldn’t have landed in such a small area with these wind speeds.
I keep my mind clear and my attention centered as I take a path higher and deeper into the mountains. There’s no life visible, but I don’t let that fool me into thinking I’m alone up here. The land can seem calm at times, then toss something at you unexpectedly. Hours go by as I continue my hike. The sun sets lower, but I’ve prepared for that as well. Spring has granted me all but five hours of light left, yet I won’t waste any of those hours, so I continue higher. Over three hours into my hike, I see a subtle yellow glow on the side of the mountain.
My pace increases as I head toward it. Their shadowy forms come into view. One rises and takes a stance in front of the other body remaining on the ground. I raise my hands in a surrendering gesture. He’s been lost up here for days. Everything would seem to be a threat, I’m certain.
“My name is Jamison. I’m here to help.”
“I’m Jason. And this is my wife, Sarah. She’s hurt badly. I’ve been trying to carry her down, but she hurts more every time I move her.” Jason’s voice breaks off. Tired and worn, the panic ebbs in and out as he tries to stay calm for her.
“I can help. I’ve got food, for starters. And I want to see how badly she’s hurt.”
I place my pack on the ground and pull out some protein bars and water. Sarah comes into view when Jason moves for the food, and I see how bad she’s hurt without her husband blocking her. I’ve seen a lot on rescue missions, but this one is bad.
“She fell when we were rock climbing. We’ve done it a million times, but something happened.” Jason grabs his wife’s hand and stares at her.
I crouch down and observe her leg. The denim of her jeans is soaked in her blood, the leg mangled and torn, likely from a sharp rock. Jason tried to stem the blood with what looks like a t-shirt and secured her wound in a tourniquet. But she can’t walk. There’s no way, and looking at how badly she broke it, it could be a while before she ever walks again.
“Sarah, can you hear me?” Her face is dirty, yet I can tell her husband cares deeply for her because he’s tried to clean it. There’s still blood caked on the side of her head.
Sarah’s eyes flutter open at my voice. They’re bloodshot and tired when they find my gaze.
I come closer and place a protein bar in her hand. “Can you eat this for me?”
Her weakness is evident when I have to force her fingers around the bar, but I have to get food into her. I also have to consider how we’re going to move her and get her the three-hour walk to my plane in the dark. With my medkit, I wrap up her leg with clean bandages and secure it as best as I can.
Jason helps Sarah eat, and they murmur to one another. He gives her reassuring words. Promises. He will get her home. His voice is gravelly yet laced in a promise that I swear he’ll keep on this mountaintop as the sun finds its way behind the peak.
“I love you, baby, so much,” Jason whispers as I tighten the last bandage. I do it as gently as my rough hands allow, yet Sarah’s cry echoes back to us. “I’m going to get you home.”
Jason looks at me. I nod. We will get them home.
After carrying her down that hill with her husband, I secure them on my plane and take off. I give radio control a heads-up to have a team ready to meet me in Ketchikan. The wind makes for a rough flight, but Sarah is quiet, having passed out from the pain. I touch down at the airstrip thirty minutes later. There’s an ambulance waiting to immediately take them to the hospital. We unload from the cockpit and assist the medics to get Sarah into the ambulance.
“Jamison, I owe you. I’ll never forget what you did for my wife and me,” Jason says before they close him into the ambulance.
It doesn’t take me long to inform air traffic control that I’m back in the air. I finish my trip, and it’s dark by the time I climb into my Jeep and head home. By the time I pull into the driveway, I’m ready to pass out from exhaustion.
Despite the long day and the moon hanging high in the sky, I make a stop by the mailbox just to see if there’s a letter. After the day I’ve had, I apparently need more torture.
I release the breath I’m holding the moment the red envelope is in my hand. The thick material and feminine script of my name and address has my pulse racing.
With all the restraint I have, I walk inside and toss my shit on the kitchen table before I tear into the letter. I flip the lamp on and plop down on my leather couch. I need to shower away the long day, but I want to read this letter from Claire. I need a bit of her in my life first.
The woman is impossible to get to know. I haven’t been able to figure out who she is outside of the things I’ve pulled from her father. The shell Claire wears has been damn near impenetrable over the last six months I’ve known her. But within this letter, I’ll get a piece of the woman who has me so tangled up.
◆◆◆
Dear Jamison,
I didn’t realize people still wrote letters. I don’t think I’ve written a letter since I passed notes in middle school to Jacob Young. And now we are skipping past all my younger years just like you did.
I’ve never been on a plane or seen Alaska that far north, but I’m sure it’s beautiful. Just listening to you describe it sounds perfect. Tell me more about your adventures. I’d love to know more about your mother too. Is she who taught you how to fly?
Your job sounds like it’s full of adventure, but I’m sure the search and rescue is the toughest part. I hope you don’t have to do that often.
I work in a deaf school. I spend my days in front of a whiteboard and teach a group of kids mathematics and history.
I’m sorry it has taken so long to write and actually send a letter back. I haven’t been sure of what to say.
Claire
PS. I tried to get Dad to tell me when we video chatted how you’re entertaining him, but he wouldn’t share. Secrets don’t make friends.
◆◆◆
I’m smiling by the time I read the last line. I lean back and run a tired hand down my face. Yeah, the smile is still there. I’m covered in the dirt and grime of the day, in desperate need of a shower, but I get up and wander into the kitchen. I write Claire a letter so she’ll hopefully get it before she heads up to visit her parents in a couple weeks.
I find that the words flow from me when I’m sitting alone in my kitchen at ten at night when it’s Claire I’m writing for. The windows are open, allowing the breeze to come inside. She’s opening up to me, and I jump on the opportunity to dig deeper into building this friendship with her.
The first time I saw Claire, I knew there was something about her I couldn’t shake. She had been standing on what was once my mother’s front porch with her head tilted back, the sunlight streaming down on her. The smile I’ll never forget was stretched across her face. I wanted to make her smile like that again. But I froze up before I could say hello. Eventually her father told me more about her, and I found out I needed to learn to communicate with her with something other than my voice. Since I’ve decided I need her as a friend, I pour more of who I am into the written word, and I’ll continue to learn the language she needs me to communicate in.
Once I finish the letter, I slip it into an envelope and walk it to the mailbox. The trek back to my home is slower, more measured. It was a long day, and it’s catching up to me as I step back into my quiet home.
I grab a beer from the refrigerator and glance around the kitchen. My cabin is a small space, empty of anything that’s not a necessity to survive. I grew up very minimalistic. Sometimes I thought it was because she didn’t have much money. I learned after she passed that wasn’t the case. She just hid her wealth well. Even from her husband and son.
The cap flies off when I slam the beer bottle on the countertop. Thoughts of my mother always sour my mood. Maybe I should have gone stronger than beer if I was going to dredge up memories of my past.
I walk outside, letting the door slam shut behind me. The strong desire to dig into my mother’s history hits me, but it’s always been shrouded with too much mystery to understand. I’ve passed a lot of her research over to Claire’s father to dig into so I won’t be tempted. I often wonder how she ended up with the hefty hidden nest egg she left me with.
I chug my beer and move my thoughts toward something lighter, something better. I think of Claire as my hands crudely practice her language.