02/20/2025
CHAPTER 34
SPURR - ON THE EDGE
(Saw on the News that in Alaska the Mt. Spurr Volcano was making noise again.
We were on a Life Guard Alaska Medivac Mission to retrieve a Heart Attack Victim and were the first Pilots to report the one on June 27, 1992.)
Here's an excerpt from the Chapter in my Book - Call Sign 'Iceman' that tells our story.
(One of News Reports with a great video in the second half.)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PjL3och9fI
'Not all Alaska flying is in bad weather. Sometimes you get those beautiful, blue sky days that you don’t want to end. In Alaska from altitude you can see forever, well, at least as far as the human eye is capable of seeing.
However, one of the most dramatic Life Guard flights for us occurred during an azure blue sky day such as the one pictured.
Captain Dave Rogers was flying left seat on this leg. I was co-Captain. The Nurses were Sarah and Jamie.
It began as a normal day flight to pick up a heart patient in McGrath, Alaska. We had departed Anchorage and were cleared to Flight Level 260 (26,000 feet) direct to McGrath.
The route took us directly across 11,000 foot Mt. Spurr, which was normally a point of interest for our scenic tour customers during the eighties. It was also of interest to photographers and scientists but was always billed as a dormant volcano.
However, on occasion, there were signs of geothermal activity present on the lower slopes. The State of Alaska considered at one time setting aside the south-eastern slope of the mountain for geothermal development.
We were continuing our climb out of the Cook Inlet Basin and beginning our crossing of the Alaska Range heading west passing Flight Level 200 (20,000 feet).
The sky was pure blue, not a bump anywhere. The nurses were busy studying medical charts and running checks to make sure they had things ready for the patient.
Suddenly, “Lifeguard 26PK, Anchorage Center – request,” rang out.
“26PK, go ahead,” I replied.
“Yeah, guys, we’ve had a report of seismic activity around the Mt. Spurr area. Would you take a look for us? We’d like to get a visual report.”
“Sure will, 6PK.” I answered.
We were both looking out the windshield ahead, but then realized we were just about over the mountain. Dave banked left and we both observed an inky black plume emitting from the top of Mt. Spurr. We were directly overhead the volcano now. The dark cloud was obscuring a portion of the top, but wasn’t very high.
“Anchorage Center, 6PK,” I called.
“Go ahead,” ATC replied
“Yes, we’re right over the mountain and there is some activity. There’s a dark black ash cloud hanging just above the peak. It’s not very high though. I’d estimate tops at 14,000 feet,” I reported.
“Ok, thanks for your help 6PK,” ATC replied. Dave rolled level and continued westbound, considering things, but not expecting anything to happen.
Three or four minutes later, a shout on the radio, “Boy! That thing just blew, it’s through 450 (four five-O – 45,000 feet) right now!!” This came from either an airline captain or military aircraft somewhere near us. The view was obviously right behind us. Quickly calculating, ‘we’d been traveling at 280 KTS (320 mph) for at least three minutes,’ we felt we had enough distance to make a turn to take a look. Dave began our turn to the left to get the earliest view in case we needed to make a quick exit.
As the spectacle came into view, one of the nurses, “OH, My God! What’s that?”
Rising before us was something none of us had ever witnessed; something that wasn’t there a couple of minutes ago - a towering magnanimous column of smoke, ash and rocks, which seemed to hang over us.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” Dave said as he rolled back onto course and increased power.
Chatter began filling the airways as we quickly moved away from the explosion. The ash, dirt and rocks were falling from above us.
Dave quickly requested and was cleared to 20,000 feet in order to accelerate in our descent. After a few minutes, feeling we were clear, we turned and took a picture of the event. It looked like pictures I’d seen of a nuclear explosion!
Mt. Spurr explosive eruption.
“That was a little too close,” Dave said.
“Yeah, Dave, better get the girls up here for a conference,” I replied.
“Yeah,” as he turned, they were already between us and anxious to discuss our situation.
We had a very critical patient waiting for us in McGrath and after some discussion, decided to continue the mission. We were only a few minutes away and our plan was to take on maximum fuel and take a look at the situation for our return. If indeed the volcano prevented us from returning to Anchorage, our alternate plan of action was to proceed to Fairbanks. Mt Spurr, or what was left of it, lay directly between us and Anchorage.
We alerted McGrath Flight Service of our quick turn status and, upon our arrival, the ambulance was standing by. We took on fuel then discussed the situation with flight service while the nurses hustled to get the patient ready
“What do you want to do Captain. It’s your leg,” Dave asked.
After some thought and calculations, “Dave, I think we should head toward Anchorage and attempt to get in. If the ash cloud blocks us, we’ll turn and proceed to Fairbanks.”
“Sounds like a good plan. I’m game,” he responded.
It seemed the very large plume was tending to move northeast, verified by the winds aloft forecast. I had plenty of fuel now and good speed with the Conquest II. From the estimated plume movement reported, we felt we could beat the fallout cloud to Anchorage.
Knowing this was going to be a very intense flight, we quickly briefed everyone as to our plan and alternate plan. Everyone agreed that Fairbanks was a viable medical alternate as well as a flight plan alternate. In the worst case scenario, we would return to McGrath. We loaded the patient, got everyone aboard and departed for Anchorage.
After takeoff we turned eastbound and quickly climbed to our cruising altitude of 25,000 feet. Once on top of the cloud deck, conditions became totally clear with unlimited visibility - except for one small problem. Something larger than any super-cell I’d ever seen lay in our 12 o’clock position! It was enormous! The air was smooth and after ensuring their patient was stable, the nurses joined us in the cockpit, watching the growing, ominous phenomenon.
As we got closer, however, things became more serious and intense. The nurses elected to return to their seats and belt up. We could actually see hot smoking boulders spewing out of the vertical shaft of the eruption. We were close enough.
Mt Spurr eruption as it appeared on our return to Anchorage
Dave snapped the photo as we went around the towering inferno. We were at 25,000 feet. The right nacelle of our Conquest II - N26PK appears in the foreground above the 14,000 foot peaks of the Alaska Range. As we got closer, we could see that altering our course to the northeast, while descending, would keep us hopefully clear of the fall-out.
We began arcing around the mushroom cloud, called center and were told that the 45,000 foot mushroom cloud was now more than 100 miles in diameter. Less than a hundred miles now from Anchorage, we realized the cloud was probably descending over the city however, the ceiling and visibility were reported to be adequate for our landing.
Now with 75 miles showing on our DME (Distance Measuring Equipment), we continued around and began our descent to remain well below the mushroom cloud. As we rounded the corner, Anchorage and the entire scene of the ominous black cloud’s approach to the city came into our view.
“What do you think guys?” I questioned. Jamie came up to the cockpit.
“Let’s do it,” Dave said.
“If you think we can make it, I’m ok with it,” Sarah yelled from the back.
“The patient will be much better off at Providence,” said Jamie, as she returned to her seat.
We began our descent now direct to the runway. The race was on.
Center now had a good handle on the ash cloud and gave us continuous reports as we approached. It was clear, smooth and we were hauling. I had every gauge at its limits, including the airspeed holding at redline! From the continuous reports, we knew we could arrive before the ash cloud, so we pushed on.
At 25 miles out, we picked up a good visual angle between the runway threshold and the dark, ominous, falling ash cloud. With the power greatly reduced, we were really coming down. Not only were we watching red line speeds, but now we were watching out for NTS or negative torque sensing on the engines. This means that the props are driving the engines, not the other way around. It was a balancing act for sure.
With Dave’s continued vigilance we managed to keep all the numbers in check in our attempt to slow the aircraft. He called the top of every arc precisely, which meant we could change the configuration at the absolute highest speeds without shearing off some part of the aircraft. Out of 5,000 feet we had the airport in sight and requested a visual approach.
“Lifeguard 26PK, Anchorage Approach, you are cleared for the visual approach to Anchorage International. Contact tower.”
“Roger. Cleared for the visual. Thanks for your help today. Going to the tower,” Dave responded.
“Anchorage Tower, Lifeguard 26PK is with you 15 out, out of 5,000, visual approach, request long landing.” Dave reported in.
“Roger, Lifeguard 26PK, not in sight. You are cleared to land runway six left or right. The ash cloud is estimated less than 3,000 feet over Fire Island. You’re number one, recommend best speed on final. Long landing is approved,” the tower answered.
“Roger. Cleared to land runway 6, 6PK,” Dave replied.
“How does it look to you Dave?” I asked.
“It’s about 3,000 over Fire Island. That’s pretty close,” he warned.
As we turned onto a three mile left base, “You‘ve got approach flap speed!”
“Approach flaps,” I called.
“There’s gear speed!” he said.
“Gear down,” I called.
As we turned final over Fire Island - the ash cloud was at 2,000 feet and falling fast!
“Flap Speed!” he called
“Full flaps,” I answered.
“You’ve got it made Tone,” he said.
Due to our high speed, we touched down pretty far down the runway. As the wheels touched, I eased into reverse, slowing rapidly.
“26PK requests high speed rollout to Rocky Mountain Helicopters!” Dave called.
“Roger, 6PK taxi to parking,” the tower replied.
We cleared the runway and headed toward the opening hangar doors. As we pulled up to the open doors and shutdown, Bob opened the aircraft door from the outside. With extra help, the ambulance was gone, with patient, nurses and gear in a flash. Our aircraft was quickly pulled into the hangar and the large doors closed with a bang. Everyone was relieved and we were glad to be home and inside.
After a short time, one of the guys said, “Hey, Tony, Dave, take a look outside.” We went to the door. It was dark! Pitch dark! Heavy ash was falling like heavy snow.
“Let’ get some masks and try to get home,” I said.
Then, my thoughts turned back to home and family…the kids! ‘Did they get out of school’? I soon realized we had traded one emergency situation for another.
Driving was horrible. The windshield wipers had to be used even though I knew they were scratching up the glass. As it turned out, my family was fine. The kids were home and all the doors and windows had already been taped up by my wife. I did some running around for a while and managed to round up some additional masks and supplies. Eventually, things settled down and we were all eating dinner by candle light. Still, all was well. Everyone was safe for the moment and we’d had a successful day.
It turned out to be quite an event for Anchorage and quite a memorable day for the Lifeguard Alaska team and I imagine for the patient as well.
Just another day flying in Alaska?
For my Aviation YouTube on this event...
https://youtu.be/sBR6OSZ6_yI
or look for my Channel at 'Captain Tony Priest'
