Gracious Pilot

On an overcast day in June of 2006, my sister Emily and I were all packed and ready to fly out of our small Eskimo village beside the Arctic Ocean. Gracious friends from Bible Baptist Church in Fairbanks, Alaska had made it possible for these two grateful missionaries’ daughters to attend their teen Bible camp and a reviving youth conference. Though reluctant and a bit fearful to be on our own for such a length of time, we were genuinely looking forward to our "vacation."

Modes of travel in the Alaskan bush are indeed limited, the most popular, available, and convenient approach being air travel. We had prior made arrangements with a missionary-pilot, Bro. Les Zerbe, to fly us the 500 miles to Fairbanks. Bro. Zerbe has an excess of 20,000 hours of bush flying (experienced both in the wilderness of Alaska and the jungles of Africa) under his belt. His numerous horrifying and hilarious life’s stories in the air and on land are a source of entertainment and inspiration. We did not know of another licensed pilot more capable of safely transporting us to our destination.

We expected Bro. Zerbe to arrive early in the evening but, due to weather conditions, it was not until eight o’clock that he buzzed our house with his Cessna six-passenger plane. With hugs and goodbyes to those remaining at home, Emily and I seated ourselves behind Dad on our four-wheeler, luggage-laden wagon following, and commenced for Wainwright’s terminal-devoid, dirt runway airport.

In Alaska, one doesn’t waste time when during flight preparations because many possible incidents might delay or altogether prevent it from taking place. A dense fog could roll in from the cold sea, for example, suddenly obscuring visibility. Therefore, shortly after greeting Bro. Zerbe as he exited his airplane, we set to work packing our luggage and refueling.

While this was taking place, I gazed upon the great expanse of wild tundra which we would soon be flying over, finding the beauty few recognize. I shivered as the rain drizzled from the stretching gray canopy. Very soon, all was in readiness for our departure. Emily and I hugged Dad good-bye then settled into our seats. In less than five minutes, we were down the runway and, with the engine roaring, we mounted into the dense gray clouds. I surveyed our little village as it grew smaller in the distance, spontaneously espying my home and other familiar buildings. I scanned the dark dirt roads and beheld the slate blue sea scattered with snowy icebergs. As our village beside the Arctic Ocean passed from my sight, I turned in my seat to gaze ahead, mentally foreseeing the end of our five-hour flight.

As usual, I was miserable with airsickness. Between episodes, however, I thoroughly enjoyed our journey across the sky. I have always considered bush plane flight to be unequaled, for, under suitable weather conditions, the passing landscape is visible with such clarity. Most people take trees and hills for granted. However, dwellers of a flat, tree-deprived locale are delighted during every flight as they spot those first hills graced with an occasional tree.

After a few hours of flight, the massive Brooks mountain range loomed before us in its breath-taking majesty. Our air route was to take us directly through them. As we entered the pass, a sense of confinement swept over me, yet I admired the grandeur of the craggy, snowy peaks and plunging valleys. My nausea continued to trouble me, increasingly so as flying conditions were less than desirable in the mountains.

Within half of an hour, our flight grew rough. Bro. Zerbe gripped a supporting beam from the airplane’s ceiling and seemed strangely intent on his piloting. The wing to my right rose high and plunged as we fought the mountain current. Suddenly, it felt as though the plane was falling -- and then quickly tossed high. The plane seemed to weigh no more than a feather in the breath of a child. Desperately riveting my attention on Bro. Zerbe and the churning mountains, I swiftly glanced at Emily as we were violently tossed about again and again. Is the same expression of fear on Emily’s face mirrored on mine? Can this be happening? Oh, Lord, the mountains are so close. How can Bro. Zerbe possibly have control over this plane? What if we crash? We couldn’t possibly survive! Oh, Lord, our family! Lord, please help us!

Never before had I known terror that invokes an uncontrollable scream. With the instinct of any soul in danger, I pleadingly cried to the Lord. Not as my last resort and hope, like a lost soul in very real danger, did I pray, but in faith to my sovereign, Almighty God Who was truly present with us in our time of trouble. As I lost all sense of physical direction, I directed my prayer unto Him.

The frightening turbulence continued on and on. Will it never end! I hysterically wondered. Then, matters only grew worse. In my overwhelmed state, my hands inexplicably tensed and my fingers curled back rigidly. My earlier airsickness no doubt had some affect to this strange condition. I stared at them in horror and confusion. Being unable to bend my fingers, I could not grasp the bottom of my seat to keep myself stable in the intensifying turbulence, so I was thrown against my seat belt in every direction. Oh, will it never end! Helpless, I clung to the strength of Him who created this stormy mountain pass and was Ruler still.

And, just as suddenly as it began tossing, the plane leveled. It seemed surreal that the mountains stood perfectly still. The roar of the engines eased into a constant hum. My breathing calmed. I looked over at Emily and leaned back into my seat in exhaustion. I still had no control over my rigid hands lying futile in my lap, but at least for a few blissful minutes we flew rationally. I thought the worst was over. Bro. Zerbe, experienced as he was, was most certainly on the alert, expecting the turbulence to pick up again, as soon it did. More terrified than the first time, I could only pray to the Lord, trusting in His power and Bro. Zerbe’s ability, and strive to keep in my seat. It seemed endless. It was agonizing.

But the turbulence did end at long last. I sensed that we were safely through the most dangerous part of the range as its breadth widened. Control of my hands slowly returned with my steadying pulse. As rational thought was restored, I realized the lateness of the hour: past midnight. As we finally neared our destination, I was relieved to leave the stalwart mountains, ominous clouds, and mighty wind behind us.

Seeing the familiar landscape of the Fairbanks area brought security. Firm, stable ground beneath my feet never felt so wonderful. I heaved a great sigh of cool air and again thanked the Lord for guiding us through the mountains.

The engine’s droning still rings in my ears... the helpless sensations of that frightening flight even now race through my memory, causing my heartbeat to quicken. My firsthand experience has left me in awe of the mighty forces God has created. Man in his all of his acquired wisdom and skill is utterly incapable of controlling the wind, the storms in the sky or of the sea. We are defenseless against the governs of nature, but all things are subject to God the Creator who is excellent in power and wisdom. In His matchless grace, the Lord cares for His own against all spiritual or bodily harm. Our safety was of the Lord for He, in truth, was our pilot.