News Photo by William Kelley The Kenai Peninsula and Tustumena Lake is seen about 30 miles north of Homer, Alaska in this July 1971 photo.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The following is the 36th in a series of stories adapted from William Kelley’s unpublished book, “Wind Socks, Grass Strips, and Tail-Draggers.” Last week, Kelley said farewell to his friends in Anchorage and took off for Fairbanks.

Summit was one of my last check points before Windy Pass.

Those places had names like that for good reason.

The train had several sidings there, and the airport was of considerable size, so Summit served as a good place to make sure of my position.

From Summit, I made sure to follow the correct trail. The railroad track and road served as my main heading indicators. A wrong turn would have resulted in flight over some very desolate country.

Monahan Flat was the point where several glaciers merged, and there were no noted cabins or settlements depicted on the chart. It was quite desolate. The train track ran right through Windy Pass, so I just followed it.

Windy Pass was one of the places to which Flight Service had alerted me. As the name implies, it can be very turbulent. Wind from Fairbanks Plain is funneled through the pass. At times, clouds may form within the pass when it is clear on both sides. There is no reporting station in the pass, so pilot reports are important to the weather briefer. There had been no pilot reports that day.

The elevation of the train tracks in the pass is about 2,000 feet, not that high. There are 6,000-foot mountains on each side of the pass and it is narrow.

The ceiling was good at the pass, so I climbed up to 5,500 feet to enter. As I continued through the pass, lower ceilings forced me to descend. There was no danger, though, and, when I emerged, it was clear on the Fairbanks’ end.

Once through the pass, the Nenana River appeared in front of me. As soon as contact could be made with Flight Service, I notified them Windy Pass was open. On that side of the pass, turbulence and clouds were not a factor.

Terrain drops rapidly on the north side of the Alaska Range of mountains into low, marshy land. The marsh was the birthplace of the Nenana River, small at its beginnings. However, I could see where water had been farther out or higher at one time, judged by the rows of trees that had moved in as the waters receded over time.

Twenty-five miles north of the mountain range, the town of Nenana clung to the Nenana riverbank. There was a restricted area there, off-limits to anybody not part of the missile base and the Dew Line, which protect us from the enemy. I didn’t argue, just turned to pass east of it and aimed for the Tanana River. It was Flight Service at the Nenana Airport that I had contacted about the pass.

The Tanana and Nenana rivers merge near the village of Nenana. The Tanana runs past Fairbanks, and, once I was sure which was the Tanana, I just followed it.

Lonely rivers and lonesome stretches of marsh tend to fire my imagination. I thought of all the animals that inhabited that area at one time. Those attracted Indians. The two blended and relied on each other. The animals were food and clothing for Indians. The animals used the Indians for a population check, rather than birth control or abortion. Really, hunting controls or keeps populations in check. Animals still migrate in the area, but I saw little Indian sign.

A short distance ahead, I did see the workings of an Indian. A fish-wheel floated near the riverbank. Something strange like that draws my attention. I flew over it and recognized the fish-wheel for what it was. So there were still Indians in the area.

Fairbanks is on the north side of the Tanana River. Its gold-engorged fields are north of the city. Several small airports dot the area. The main airport is Metro Field, but I chose to not land there. A small one was what I wanted. Less pressure and activity.

Rick’s brother and his family lived in Fairbanks. They were resident advisors for a girl’s dorm at the University of Alaska. They were the reason I stopped in Fairbanks. Phillips Field seemed to be closest to College, the area of Faisrbanks where the university is located. I chose it.

Most of the people I encountered in Alaska were quite cordial. It was the same there. After fuel, I was directed to a tiedown spot by a lady who worked for the line service. Once situated in the tiedown spot, I called the people I was to see. While I waited for them, I inspected all the other tail-draggers tied down in the line.

Something I noticed as soon as I reached Alaska is that people refer to others in pairs. It is Joe and Jackie, Pete and Alice, Fred and Sally, and so on. People I never met were still referred to as being a pair. I wondered if the long, cold nights had something to do with that phenomenon.

As soon as Rick’s brother, Randy, arrived, I recognized him as being related. We introduced ourselves, loaded the gear into the car, and drove to the dorm. Along the way, he introduced me to the area.

The folks in Fairbanks were quite different from the woodsfolks. I couldn’t picture them being in the middle of the woods, a dog team tied to trees in the area, hauling and piling logs to build a cabin.

However, they were wholesome people, more in tune with activities of a college campus. They were more interested in planning for the future than living in the moment.

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.