News Photo by William Kelley The Anchorage, Alaska home of Alan and Suzie Scheen is seen in July 1971. Alan Scheen grew up around the corner from the author’s folk’s farm in Northeast Michigan and the author stayed with the Scheens while in Anchorage.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The following is the 35th in a series of stories adapted from William Kelley’s unpublished book, “Wind Socks, Grass Strips, and Tail-Draggers.” Last week, Kelley got his first glimpse of Mount McKinley.

Some guy at the hotel asked me which way we were going to take off.

I told him the winds favored going over the hotel. He loaded his family into their station wagon and drove part way down the runway to watch us hit the hotel. He had made the comment that we wouldn’t be able to get enough altitude.

Some people sure know how to make you feel good.

The takeoff was good. By the time we reached the hotel, the plane was a hundred feet in the air. As we flew over the town, I snapped a picture for memory’s sake. The November 1971 issue of Alaska magazine sported that identical picture on its cover.

Rick and Kathy lived toward Mount McKinley from Talkeetna. We flew over the river and trees and made a turn to the south over the road. The landing was smooth. We taxied up to the car and shut down.

It was still a nice day, but, before the day was out, it would rain. Alaska summers are made for rain.

We made last-minute promises about another visit. Rick gave me the name and number of his brother in Fairbanks. If the weather held, the plan was to see Fairbanks on my trip out of Alaska.

We shared well-wishes, handshakes, and hugs, and I took off.

That was one of the highlights of my Alaska trip. The visit to such a lonely spot, serene in its simple way, with such lovely people, trustful and special, rounded off that perfect time. I circled them, where they stood near the car, dipped my wings and headed for Anchorage.

The road was paved in that section the day after I left them. Later in the month, heavy rains caused floods that washed out several sections of the road near Fairbanks. However, their stretch was left unharmed.

Sunshine mixed with high clouds made ceilings and visibility good for the trip back to Anchorage. There was surely not the excitement experienced two days before.

For the last time, I parked in the transient lot and registered the plane.

The folks in Anchorage had run quite a bit for me, and I began to feel guilty, but, once more, I called them to come get me. By that time, they knew the best route to Merrill Field.

That evening, we sat around and visited about Michigan. His folks still lived around the corner from my folks. She talked about her mother. We relived some of the good days from high school, and wondered where some of those kids were. The evening ended with their experiences in Fairbanks and Anchorage, and their association with Rick and Kathy.

Next morning, I readied my gear to depart Anchorage. He got ready for work. She fed me breakfast and helped us load the car. He dropped me at the airport on his way to work.

As I loaded the plane and checked it out, I thought, again, of my grandfather. Many of the Alaska Sportsman magazines he read had been given to me. Most of those I still saved. It would have been so much fun to share that flight with him.

The flight plan was filed and I was several miles from Anchorage when I had another experience.

The trip up the Susitna River was relaxing. In the distance, I saw Mount McKinley, long before I reached Talkeetna. When I looked down where they built the cabin, Rick and Kathy waved from their home site. At the same time, there was the feeling Grandfather rode with me.

Grandpa and Grandma did not have electricity or running water in their home. In the 76 years Grandpa lived, the only time he had those amenities was when he stayed with my folks. He didn’t see a need for those “hot” wires to run through the walls of his home. He and Grandma had a pitcher pump in the kitchen sink. What other needs could they possibly have?

They had wood heat. There was a kitchen wood range on which to cook, and a heating stove in the living room.

Life was good.

The folks below me had no electricity or running water, either, but for the stream.

Those notes I made while in the vicinity of Mount McKinley could have easily been influenced by the presence of my grandfather riding shotgun with me.

The Susitna River was wide and made a good navigational aid, so I followed it for several miles. When the river turned east, I turned left and headed for Chulitna Pass. It was not until I had gone about 10 miles past it, though, that I recognized I was on the wrong side of the mountain. I had to backtrack.

When I had proper bearings once more, I followed the railroad track. There were fewer of those than rivers and passes, so it was easier.

Snow piles stood in ditches and gullies or any place the sun couldn’t directly shine on it. And that was July. There wasn’t enough heat in a glancing shot to melt it. At first, the temperature didn’t seem that cold, but, as I climbed higher into the mountains, the temperature dropped decidedly. A moose walked nonchalantly down the middle of the new road, just below me. Construction crews worked along the road at many places, but neither that nor the piled snow seemed to bother the moose.

Check The News next week for the next installment. William Kelley was a teacher for 32 years and has been a pilot since 1966. He lives in Herron on the family farm where he was born and raised.