It is FALL in ALASKA.

I awoke the other morning and looking out my bedroom window saw the remnants of a tree house Joseph had build several years ago.

That tree house has been the site of many mock battles by numerous wooden sword wielding desperados with names like Nick, Ryan, Kaden, Kyle, Gaby…. Memories of a similar scene came flooding back from my childhood where the names were Packy, Charles, Corrie, Lestie, Glenda, Jack….

I remember attending 1st grade at the Mt View elementary school where my teacher’s name was Mrs Neely. I remember taking naps (on a blanket on the floor), eating snacks in class and walking to (and from) school each day about 3/4 of a mile with my sister Corrie.

I remember throwing rocks in the gravel pit and hurrying home to keep from wetting my pants.

I remember that we lived in a log cabin which my Dad built (with my help). Really, it was a family project. My Dad purchase the logs from a local saw mill. They were three (3) sided logs, which means that they were flat on three sides and round on only one side. The rounded side came with the “bark” still on it. We had to peal it off using a “draw knife”. Mom always worried when us kids would use the draw knife, but I don’t remember anyone ever getting hurt from using the draw knife. The other day Grandma, Kalayna and I drove by that very house. We must have done a good job, the house is still there.

I do remember getting hurt once while helping my Mom with the laundry. I got my arm stuck in the “wringer”, that scared everyone and it did hurt me … a lot.

Our washing machine was not like the ones they have today. It only did two things; it swished the clothes around in a tub and it also would “wring the water out” of the clothes. But we had to help it to its job.

We had to fill the wash tub with water which was heated on the stove in metal buckets. Then we would put in the clothes with soap and push a lever that would caused the “agitator” (really that’s what it was called) to swish back and forth. After a while we would push the lever the other way and the agitator would stop. Then we would take each piece of laundry and push it between two rubber rollers called the wringer.

That’s how I got hurt. The wringer would “grab” the cloth and squeeze the water out and drop it into a metal tub. When I tried to push a bath towel into the winger it caught my right hand and pulled my arm through with the towel. I screamed and my Mom stopped the wringer just before it pulled my arm right off.

Anyway, I wasn’t hurt badly so I’ll finish….After all the laundry was out of the soapy water we would drain out the soapy water and refill the washing machine with clean “rinse water” and do it all again. After all the laundry was washed, rinsed and wrung out, we would hang it on a clothes line using wooden clothes pins. It was a lot of work and could take all day.

Near our house (actually across the street and half a block south) my Dad bought a small lot of land that he planned to build another house on… “some day”.

He never did build that house but he did set up an army tent on the property for us kids to play in. It is that lot and tent that I remember so clearly when looking at Joseph’s tree house. That tent served as a fort, a hideout and a club house. We ran through the woods playing hid and seek. We played kick the can and we whispered secrets. I learned a lot in that tent.

On weekends and during the summer, we left the house early, right after breakfast and chores and then we stayed out late. We spent very little time with the Adults and no time at all watching TV or talking on the phone. We had never heard of TV or movies but we always had plenty of things to do. Once in a while my Mom or Dad would call us and ask for help but mostly we (the kids) paid very little attention to what the Adults did.

It was at night that we listened while Mom or Dad would read to us or we all would listen to the radio or record player. We also enjoyed playing cards. We mostly played canasta. When it was time for bed we would always have trouble being quiet and going to sleep. You see, we all slept together.

Often my Dad would holler “go to sleep” and sometimes he would come in to spank us if we wouldn’t be quiet. We eventually would fall asleep…only to wake early in the morning to do it all again. By the way, for breakfast we would have hot cereal or corn flakes with powdered milk. But on weekends we would get Pancakes and sometimes eggs.

I don’t ever remember being bored, but remember this. We all come to earth to make memories and they are all we can take with us when we leave. So I try to make good memories.

However this is my best memory.

Ever.

Monique Island the rest of the story

I am in Awe of Amy’s ability to keep up with her blog. The writing is great and fresh and I don’t know how she finds the time. Two and a half months ago I started telling the story of my Monique Island adventure. Today I tell the “rest of the story”

.

No one knew where in the world we were…….

I suddenly realized Sherry would be terrified. It was the first time in a very long and exciting day that I was thinking about the future. My immediate future.

At that time in my life, I had lots of dreams, hopes, goals and plans. I was known by my close friends and family as a dreamer. I really believed that I could do anything I set my mind on. I had accomplished a lot and expected to accomplish a lot more. And I really expected to be “rescued” shortly. In terms of the amount of time most “downed” planes that went “missing in Alaska” we were rescued in record time. But I learn a lot in that “relatively” short time.

First, I learned that the intensive training I received as a flight crew member in the Air National Guard was important, it kicked in. I realized it was obvious that the piper had “waved” at us because he thought we had landed on purpose. We needed to make sure the next plane would realize we were in trouble. So we immediately set about putting out several “distress signals” on the sand around our Cessna. But we were too late, it was just after 1 pm and we didn’t see another plane the rest of the day.

Second, we needed to prepare to survive, So we gathered firewood and got the survival gear out of the plane and set up camp.

Finally, remember that after its all said and done, the only thing we can take with us when we leave this life are the memories we make and share. So, Tom and our passengers spent the next few hours “beach combing”. I took the “survival gun” (a sawed off 12 gage shotgun) and went “hunting”. Although it wasn’t hunting season, the game laws don’t apply during emergencies, and some fresh duck would make a great dinner. Our survival kit had some old dehydrated food that didn’t sound nearly as good as fresh duck.

I was sure it would be easy. I had been hunting most of my childhood so I set off down the beach where I could hear ducks quacking. And there were a number of ducks flying around, but they stayed just out of range of the sawed off shotgun. There was a large white swan swimming lazily on small pond, but we weren’t that desperate. After a couple of hours I spotted a seal swimming in the surf just off the beach. I knew that Eskimos used seals for food and so I took a shot. Missed! We had dehydrated food for dinner.

It was early April and it stared to get dark about five o’clock. It was also starting to get cold. We knew we were going to spend the night. Our survival kit only had one sleeping bag and of course the lady got it. We had plenty of firewood. The beach was covered with dry driftwood, so we had a great fire. We built a small “hut” next to the fire with a tarp roof to shelter our passengers and Tom and I spent the night swapping stories around the fire.

Just before midnight we saw a Seattle to Anchorage Jetliner flying in the star studded sky far above us. We tried the radio. Broadcasting on the emergency frequency we couldn’t raise them. About an hour later we saw a C-130 high overhead and as he was directly over us he suddenly made a hard right turn and begin to descend. We reached them on the radio and identified ourselves. They had heard our emergency beacon and they said they were “looking for us”. We were asked if we were alright and if there were any injuries. When we reported we were fine, they asked if we would be alright so spend the night. We said sure.

By this time a very large military C-130 was flying along the beach passing over us at about 500 feet and about 100 mph. Sure was loud. They then turned out to sea and started climbing. The pilot said it looked like we had a great camp with an impressive fire. I asked him to please contact my wife and let her know I was alright. They promised to radio Elmendorf when they reached altitude, and as Grandma told you, they did. Unfortunately, they also reported that we had a great camp and an impressive fire.

The bad thing about a impressive fire is that when sitting around it you get real hot on the front and very cold on the back. I was lucky enough to have worn my brand new down coat. It really helped but I still had a very uncomfortable night. Survival gear is designed to keep you alive not comfortable. And sleeping around a camp fire on a cold, clear April night in Alaska is … cold.

In the morning we were up early to build up the fire and get ready to be rescued. While waiting for our ride home we did some more beach combing. I found a really nice Japanese glass float wrapped in a hand tied rope halter. The halter has disappeared over the years but I still have the float. (Grandma has it in our bedroom)

Our rescue plane turned out to be a Cessna 206 out of Seward. It arrived about noon, flying low over the beach. The pilot saw what I had seen and decided not to land. He talked to us on the radio and after determining that we need a mechanic to make repairs to the plane promised to return later at low tide, about 5 pm.

Monique Island is a very large island. It has a beautiful sandy beach which is contains lots of “flotsam” that is a term which describes stuff that is washed up by the waves after floating on the ocean often for years and over thousands of miles.

What would you do if you found yourself on a “deserted island” with five hours to kill? I went exploring.

Monique Island is also a mountain. In April it has snow on the tops of that mountain. It has a very beautiful forest with very large trees, many of which are over 100 feet tall. There is lots of foliage, flowers and moss. There are many streams and waterfalls running down the cliffs and into the ocean. And Animals, lots of wild life. Birds, fish, sea shells, seals, deer, bears ….bears? Yes, Monique Island has lots of bears. As I walked the beach I could see where the deer and bear left their tracks in the sand. I didn’t see any bears ( but I was carrying the shotgun) I decided to return and go bear hunting some other time, and I did (but that’s another story).

That evening when the bush pilot returned with the mechanic, he brought several rolls of duct tape (he called it 60 mph patch). While the mechanic hammered out the dents in the prop, we all pitched in and made duct tape repairs to the airframe. One of the windows was broken out and we taped it up (it blew out later in flight when the plane exceeded 60 mph). After about an hour of fixing we started the plane and taxied it around the beach. It was decided that Tom should fly it home (after all he crashed it) and everyone else would fly in the 206. Tom took off first and we followed.

The 206 was much faster than our Cessna, but we slowed and flew along side Tom all the way back to Anchorage. We arrived after dark and I drove home alone to find a note from Sherry that she was at the Ward social. I went to see her there. It was a happy ending and an adventure. I learned a lot. It also makes a great story.

Grandma Remembers Montague Island

Well, here is Grandma's entry. I expected it to be on her blog, but she wanted to put it here

Montague Island Chapter 2

Last month Grandpa started telling his “Montague Island” story. He promised that I would tell the “rest of the story”. Well, this isn’t the rest of the story but perhaps, it is the other side of the story.

It was spring and the weather had been very nice. Paxton had been working six days a week and twelve to fourteen hours a day. I had been asking him for days to take some time off so we could do something together as a family. At that time we had five pretty little girls. It seemed like we never saw him. His answer was “we’re too busy at the sign shop to take any time off”.

Sooo.. imagine my surprise when I call the office that particular day to ask him if he wanted to go to lunch with us and was told that he wasn’t there. That, in fact, he was out flying around in his plane with Tom Boone. He wasn’t working and had taken a potential new employee and his wife for a ride and were not expected back until the end of the day.

I’m sure you will find it hard to believe, but I was furious! He was out flying around the State when he was soo busy. Well, I thought, I would show him! I would spend the rest of the day watching TV, probably eating “bon-bons”, and enjoying myself.

When the girls got home, I packed them all up and went out to dinner. I’d show him! When he got home we wouldn’t be there, the house would be a mess and he could just fix his own dinner!

The girls and I had a great time. We went shopping and had a fine dinner. He’d be soo sorry! We stayed out a long time and didn’t get home until about 8pm. As we drove up I saw his car wasn’t in the driveway.

He still wasn’t home. All this … had been for nothing!

As we were entering the dark house, the phone was ringing (this was long before cell phones), I raced to the top of the stairs. I was sure it was Paxton and he was going to get “a big piece of my mind”. But it wasn’t Paxton. It was Terry Engle, Paxton’s shop foreman and a friend of ours.

Terry was also a pilot. The previous year he had borrowed Paxton’s plane and went missing. I remember sitting with his wife before they found him. He had crashed on a mountain and had broken his back.

“Hello”, I said.

“Hi Sherry, It’s Terry”. Paxton’s plane is overdue and we don’t know where they are. We’ve called “Search and Rescue” and they’re out looking for them. We’ll keep in touch.

“Ok, Goodbye”. I didn’t know what else to say, but I thought, What? Missing? He’s probably crashed, just like his Dad. He might be dead and we’ve got five little girls to take care of. Well, I got to get hold of myself. I can’t let the girls know what’s going on.

I went to my room, knelt in prayer and asked for the Lord’s help. Then, looking around the house I realized what a mess it was. My thought? I’d better get it cleaned up, if he’s dead, I’ll have a house full of people here, and I can’t have a messy house.

The girls and I kept busy for a time picking up. I called Aunt Corrie and she and Celeste came over to sit with me and help get the girls into bed. Terry again called and told us there was no sign of the plane. By this time I was really falling apart so I called my home teachers. They came over and gave me a blessing.

After the home teachers left with the kids in bed the house seemed so empty. We were sitting in the front room and Aunt Celestia said to me, “Sherry there are a lot worse things than dying”, At that point in the growth of my testimony, I really didn’t really think so. Now, these many years later, I do know that statement was true. Paxton was an awesome Dad & husband & priesthood holder.

Around 11pm I receive a call from Search and Rescue. They said they had spotted Paxton’s plane on Montague Island. The officer said “they are alright, they just decided to land on the island and spend the night”.

Everyone was so relieved, but I was very confused. I was sure Paxton would not just decide to “spend the night”. He knew I always worried when he was flying and I didn’t understand why would he do something like that.

Corrie and Celestia went home and I went to bed after having a very long prayer with my Heavenly Father. I went to sleep still not convinced Paxton was alright. I was awakened by a phone call about 12:30 am from Search and Rescue telling me they had made a mistake and had mixed up the message from the search plane. Paxton had crashed but no one was hurt and I needed to arrange for someone to fly to Montague Island and pick them up.

In the morning I called Terry and told him what Search and Rescue and told me and he said he would “take care out it”, and so a very long day begin.

First we were told “they should be back around 10am”. Then I received a call that said “It should be around 1pm” and then it was something about the tides and may be around 5pm. And then another call said “it might not be until the next day”. Of course I was a basket case. I just wanted my husband back and to know he was whole.

Corrie called in the afternoon and said I needed to go the Ward Relief Society dinner that night with her and Gary. It was a husband and wife thing. I agreed.

When we arrived everyone kept asking “where’s Paxton?”. “Oh”, I said, “he crashed his plane and isn’t back yet”. “Sure, Sure” was their reaction. “No, really, it’s true”, I insisted”.

Just as the dinner was getting over, Paxton walked in. I ran to him while everyone stood and clapped. What a wonderful ending to a very difficult day.

I was so grateful to my Heavenly Father for looking out for my Husband and our family.

Well, that’s my side of Grandpa’s airplane adventure. He can tell you what he was doing and thinking while the rest of his family was worried sick.

Montague Island

I would like to share a story about a lesson of life I learned many years ago. It illustrates the eternal truth that failing to plan ahead and think things through can get you in trouble. And letting friends and those around you do the thinking for you can make it even worse.

It was a beautiful, sunny spring day in April. Alaska Sign & Lighting was doing well and expanding. We had made a decision to hire a new sign designer. A very young man had flown up from “outside” to Anchorage with his wife to be interviewed for the job.

Tom Boone, our sales manager, and I had recently purchased a Cessna 170B ,a small airplane,. We were very proud of our new “toy” and talked about it to the new recruit and his wife. The Cessna was a “four-seater” so we decided to take them for a quick flight to show off Anchorage from the air. After all, it was lunch time and time for a break.

In less than 30 minutes we were airborne. We climbed to 3500 feet and could see Mt.McKinley standing tall and beautiful to the North. We turned south and flew over our sign building and then out over Turnagain Arm where we could see Portage Glacier. The view was breathtaking. From that altitude we could also see across the mountains to the town of Whittier with the Prince William Sound gleaming in the distance.

Our “tourists” were having a great time and so we decided to show off and “check it out”. We flew on. Soon we were skimming over the bay out of Whittier “buzzing” the kayaks, canoes, and pleasure boats. We talked about coming back some weekend and joining them.

About that time Tom remembered that Alaska Sign & Lighting had doing some marketing pieces for a Real Estate company which was selling land on an island near Whittier. It was advertised as the only privately owned land in Prince William Sound. Since it was “just around the corner”, we decided to “check it out”.

As we flew over the bright blue water of the Sound we spotted whales, dolphins, seals and all manner of sea life. We were having a great time (showing off) and our “tourists” were enthralled. However, when we reached the island, we were disappointed.

There was no sign of a dock, airstrip, roads etc. which were shown in the artwork we were preparing for our clients. We turned the plane around and started to climb for the return to Anchorage. Off to our right we saw Montique Island in the distance. On the end of that island was a old rusted ship. Our “tourists” wanted to fly over and “check it out”. Our answer? “Sure”.

As we reached the “wreak” it was not very interesting, but, there was lots and lots of “flotsam” on the beach. The winter storms had been washing all kinds of “stuff” north from the entire Pacific Ocean. (There is nothing south of Montique Island until you get to Hawaii.) Of course, our “tourists” wanted to land on the beach and get a “closer look”. Our answer? “Sure”.

We were flying east along the south coast of the island. The south beach stretches for miles and appeared flat and smooth, so we decided to set down and do some “beach combing”. Tom was flying and started his approach. As we neared the beach, I could see the beach more clearly and it wasn’t smooth, in fact it was very rough. I said to Tom, “we better go around”, his reply, “right” and he reached down to the “flap lever” and “removed the flaps”.

We were “hanging on the prop” and any pilot knows, if you are “at stall speed”, “hanging on the prop” AND “drop the flaps” you will stop flying – immediately!

That’s what happened. We hit the ground, hard. Fortunately, we were so low we didn’t have time to “nose over” so we simply hit the ground flat and skidded across the beach directly toward a large driftwood pile. Just before a very, very large stump slammed through my side of the windshield we hit some soft sand and the plane went up on its nose and stopped. I looked around. No one was hurt. It was very quiet, except for the sound of the cooling engine.

The engine had stopped immediately when we went up on our noses so gas started to run down across the windshield into the engine compartment. There was hissing, and cracking so we expected flames to burst out immediately (we had seen the movie). We all tumbled out and ran from the plane.

After several minutes it hadn’t blown up and we started to worry about the loss of gas, so we went back to the plane and using a tie down rope we pulled the tail down. As it turned out, that act was the final act in a long string of stupid decisions that day.

Just then a small piper showed up, but our Cessna no longer looked like a crash. We jumped up and down, yelled and waved our arms. The Piper seeing us as campers on the beach simply “wagged his wings” and flew on. Suddenly we realized that our “around the town” flight was far from town and we had not filed a flight plan.

No one knew where in the world we were.

Check out Grandma’s page for a continuation of this story.

My Dad's favorite Poem

Uncle Gary Player sent me an e-mail yesterday with some photos of my Mom and In reference to my recent “stroke” said “Pat--We hope you are feeling better and will get the "fix" that you need before too long”.

I have told a number of people that my “stoke” was a wake-up call to get me to “get around to finishing the more important things left undone in my life”.

As I read his e-mail and viewed the photos, I received another “wake-up call” and I responded in my e-mail to him:

“The "fix" I need is "to have time to stop and smell the roses". I have promised myself and my family that this is the "last" winter I am going to spend in Alaska. I love this land, but "God was tired when he made it" and I am tired of looking at it "in its winter dress". And much of what requires my time and energy would be someone else’s problem if I wasn't here.

I know I am not really important "in the grand scheme of things", but, while I'm here no one else can step up.”

After penning the above, I reflected on that thought. My life has been a busy one. I have learned much and too much of what I’ve learned is still locked in my brain.

My father’s favorite poet was Robert Service from whom he quoted often. The following was his favorite.

The Spell of the Yukon

I wanted the gold, and I sought it;
I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.
Was it famine or scurvy, I fought it;
I hurled my youth into a grave.
I wanted the gold, and I got it --
Came out with a fortune last fall, --
Yet somehow life's not what I thought it,
And somehow the gold isn't all.

No! There's the land. (Have you seen it?)
It's the cussedest land that I know,
From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it
To the deep, deathlike valleys below.
Some say God was tired when He made it;
Some say it's a fine land to shun;
Maybe; but there's some as would trade it
For no land on earth -- and I'm one.

You come to get rich (damned good reason);
You feel like an exile at first;
You hate it like hell for a season,
And then you are worse than the worst.
It grips you like some kinds of sinning;
It twists you from foe to a friend;
It seems it's been since the beginning;
It seems it will be to the end.

I've stood in some mighty-mouthed hollow
That's plumb-full of hush to the brim;
I've watched the big, husky sun wallow
In crimson and gold, and grow dim,
Till the moon set the pearly peaks gleaming,
And the stars tumbled out, neck and crop;
And I've thought that I surely was dreaming,
With the peace o' the world piled on top.

The summer -- no sweeter was ever;
The sunshiny woods all athrill;
The grayling aleap in the river,
The bighorn asleep on the hill.
The strong life that never knows harness;
The wilds where the caribou call;
The freshness, the freedom, the farness --
O God! how I'm stuck on it all.

The winter! the brightness that blinds you,
The white land locked tight as a drum,
The cold fear that follows and finds you,
The silence that bludgeons you dumb.
The snows that are older than history,
The woods where the weird shadows slant;
The stillness, the moonlight, the mystery,
I've bade 'em good-by -- but I can't.

There's a land where the mountains are nameless,
And the rivers all run God knows where;
There are lives that are erring and aimless,
And deaths that just hang by a hair;
There are hardships that nobody reckons;
There are valleys unpeopled and still;
There's a land -- oh, it beckons and beckons,
And I want to go back -- and I will.

They're making my money diminish;
I'm sick of the taste of champagne.
Thank God! when I'm skinned to a finish
I'll pike to the Yukon again.
I'll fight -- and you bet it's no sham-fight;
It's hell! -- but I've been there before;
And it's better than this by a damsite --
So me for the Yukon once more.

There's gold, and it's haunting and haunting;
It's luring me on as of old;
Yet it isn't the gold that I'm wanting
So much as just finding the gold.

It's the great, big, broad land 'way up yonder,
It's the forests where silence has lease;
It's the beauty that thrills me with wonder,
It's the stillness that fills me with peace.

Robert Service 1907

Tippy and the Haystack

When I was 8 years old living on our homestead at Kenny Lake I had a dog. He was a small black and white, cocker-spaniel. He had long floppy ears and the tip of his tail and ears were white, so I named him “Tippy”. Tippy and I were great friends. We went everywhere together. He was also a great “watch-dog” and would bark and make a fuss whenever anyone or anything approached our log cabin. Tippy was very brave.

The homestead was a great place to grow up. We lived in a log cabin and had a small barn. We raised chickens, ducks, goats and several cows. We had a large garden where we raised peas, potatoes, carrots, radishes, cabbage, lettuce, and squash. We also raised oats and hay to feed the animals in the winter. My Dad had contracted with the FAA to mow the tall grass on the airstrips in the area. They paid him money AND he got to keep the hay. We would work really hard during the fall to harvest the hay. We would haul it in our truck everyday and stack in a large pile called the “haystack”. We did not have the equipment to “bail” the hay like the other farmers in the area. So we worked very hard storing the hay for the winter because without it the cows and goats would starve.

We were all very proud of our haystack. My Dad had set a large pole in the ground in front of the barn it was about 20 feet tall, about as tall as the flag pole we had installed in front of the school house, (but that’s another story). In building the haystack we piled the hay around the pole and we kids “stomped” it down. It was the only time we were allowed to play in the hay, because Dad didn’t want us to spoil the hay, after all, nobody likes to eat food other people have been playing in not even cows.

To protect the hay from the rain and later the snow my Dad put a large canvas tarp on the top of the haystack. By the time winter came the haystack was very tall and we were glad the cows would have enough to eat all winter long. One of my daily chores was to go out to the haystack every morning and use a pitchfork to move hay to the barn for the cows and goats to eat.

Another of my jobs was to hunt for rabbits for dinner. There were a lot of rabbits that lived in the woods around the homestead. My Dad had taught me how to use a gun and I had my own 22 cal rifle to hunt with. I was a good hunter but as the snow got deeper the rabbits started to show up in our yard around the haystack. They also enjoyed eating hay so hunting became easier and I would just go out in the evening and shoot a couple of rabbits for dinner and the other rabbits would run away.

Before long, however, more rabbits and more rabbits were showing up and there were a lot more of them than we needed for dinner, so Tippy would go out with me and we just chased the rabbits away. He would run out our back door and bark loudly and the rabbits would run away.

One day me Dad noticed that the haystack was shrinking TOO FAST. He came into the house and told my Mom that the rabbits were eating too much hay and he was very worried the Hay would not last all winter

Not long after that day, I opened the back door after dinner to send Tippy out to chase the rabbits away. But, after a while we couldn’t hear him barking. Instead he was “whimpering and howling”. The whole family ran to the back door to see what was the matter.

When we turned on the back yard light we saw Tippy on top of the haystack surrounded by rabbits. He was crying. We all ran out yelling and chased the rabbits away.

The next day my Dad invited all the neighbors to come to our house to hunt rabbits. My job was to pick up the dead rabbits in the wheel barrow and stack them in a pile. I don’t know how many rabbits were shot that day but it was a lot. All the neighbors took home dozens of rabbits for dinner and we also had lots of fur for hats and mittens that winter.

The haystack lasted all winter too.

A Bref History of My Dad

Clermont Areve Oborn
Born June 21, 1923 in Ogden, Utah

Clermont Oborn, joined the United States Army Air Corps at age 18, he then “earned his wings” at 19 and became an Air Corps flight instructor and was stationed in Tucson AZ, until the end of WWII. His time in the Air Corps would effect his entire life for the better. As a military officer he learned discipline and the ability to reach goals. He became a true leader and the respect of all those he met in his travels.

When he was discharged, he and his young wife dreamed about the “free land” the government was giving to “homesteaders” in Alaska and then they heard about the new military road built through Canada to Alaska during the WWII. So they packed up their small family in a surplus Military Jeep and while towing an ammunition trailer containing all their belongings, headed up the newly opened “Alcan Highway” the same year it was opened to civilian traffic. They suffered illness (Clermont and his son came down with the mumps), flat tires, blown engines, flooded rivers, deep mud, wild animals, etc. Clermont crossed into Alaska on July 4th 1947 with his wife, Gwynne, and three young children. The trip which today takes four to five day took the small family three months.

The Oborn Family, homesteaded in the interior of Alaska and founded a farming community at Kenny Lake, Alaska. In the three years from 1947 to 1950, Clermont put his leadership skills to use establishing a farm and selling fresh milk while providing leadership to the fledgling community. He built an airstrip, installed the first telephone system (using several old “crank style phone” found in an abandoned trappers cabin), helped his neighbors build their log homes and barns and established the first school in the community. That was a one room school house across from Kenny Lake. He was also its first teacher with 10 students attending school the first year. Today Kenny Lake remains an established community of around 200 people.

The Oborn Family moved to Anchorage, Alaska in the spring of 1952 and during the Korean War, Clermont worked at Elmendorf AFB as an electrician,. In 1953 he joined the newly formed Alaskan Air National Guard as a pilot, flying F84 fighters.

One interesting mission Lt Oborn wrote about was flying interceptor missions to test “the Distant Early Warning” (DEW) line system, which stretched the entire length of Alaska between Russia and Alaska.

He described receiving “sealed orders” to fly “under the radar” and without filing a flight plan, from Anchorage International Airport, out across the western coast of Alaska, across the international dateline and bearing sea then to turn back towards Alaska, climb to 10,000 ft and wait for the interceptors that were “scrambled” from Elmendorf AFB to intercept him. He said it was always a “tense time” because he wasn’t allowed to answer their radio calls until they could see him and they could recognized his F84 as “a friendly”.

1st Lt Clermont Oborn was killed in Action while flying an observation flight during a Joint Arctic Winter Training Exercise near Elmendorf AFB Oct 1955. He was the second Alaskan Air National Guard pilot to die in action in his squadron which lost a total of five pilots during the next two years. 1st Lt. Oborn’s T6 was restored and put on display as a monument to the founders of the Alaskan Air National Guard for their 50th Anniversary.