I first met the
Weiss Adler twelve or fourteen years ago. A fellow
attorney, Bob Griffin, had arranged a caribou hunt
out on the Alaskan Peninsula, and asked me to go along.
The Weiss Adler was to be the pilot.
It was March,
and it was cold. We had flown out towards "Betyourassoff"
Lake and, after locating some caribou herds from the
air, we discovered an abandoned cabin which looked
like a good place to spend the night.
The Weiss Adler
was flying a Cessna 182 on wheels, and when he came
in for a landing on the ice of the lake, we found
the brakes of the plane were virtually useless for
stopping on the icy surface. We slid and slid, much
farther than we thought we would. Finally, we saw
that we were sliding towards an open lead in the ice,
and were in danger of dropping into the lake. The
Weiss Adler gunned the engine, and, at the last moment,
lifted the plane off of the surface of the lake, and
over the open lead. I realized then that he was a
very good pilot.
Later that evening,
as we were getting settled in the old cabin, the wind
started to pick up. My impressions of the Weiss Adler's
piloting skills were reinforced when he elected to
spend the night in the airplane. "With a wind tike
this, you never know what might happen to a
plane sitting out on the ice", he said.
Around 3 AM, Bob
and I were awakened by the sounds of three shots,
the signal for distress. Throwing, on our clothes,
we stumbled into the stormy night. Again we heard
three shots. They came from the lake, and we headed
in that direction. When we got to the shore, we noticed
that a lead of dark, wind-swept water had opened up
between the shore and the airplane. We were cut off
from the plane! The ice of the lake was threatening
to break up.
The Weiss Adler
had fired the shots. He now stood beside his airplane,
cut off from us, and the shore. "I'll be back for
you!" he shouted. He then climbed into the plane,
and started it up. The last we saw of the Weiss Adler
and the plane that night, was the plane's lights as
it taxied away from us across the lake, skirting the
open leads, and looking for enough solid ice to survive
the night.
There wasn't anything
we, on the shore, could do to help and so we went
back to the cabin. At daybreak, we arose and went
down to the lake. We saw that the Weiss Adler, and
the plane, had survived the night, far out on the
lake. We also saw that we were still separated from
the plane by about 30 yards of open water. Shortly
thereafter, we heard the rumble of the airplane's
engine, and saw it take off from the ice, heading
towards us. As the plane flew over us, a roll of toilet
paper came sailing out of its window. We walked over
and picked up the roll. On it was written: "Thought
you could use this. Good luck in getting a caribou.
I'll be back tomorrow morning. "
We did get a caribou,
and the Weiss Adler did come back the next day. He
had flown to King Salmon, and had searched there all
day for a rubber raft. Apparently, rubber rafts are
not readily available in King Salmon in March, but
find one he did, and the next morning saw us ferrying
caribou meat, and ourselves, from the shore, to the
pan of ice on which the plane sat. And aside from
some scary moments when the lead closed up while we
were trying to cross it in the raft, threatening to
smash us between pans of ice weighing thousands
of tons, we did make it home safely.
The Weiss Adler
wasn't always known as the Weiss Adler. Before he
got that name, he had been known as Gerald Yeiter,
and he had been a Trespass Investigator for the BLM.
Yeiter got the name "Weiss Adler" from a German hunter,
who had come to Alaska to hunt caribou, and to fish,
near Ugashik Lake. After the German had gotten his
caribou, he decided he wanted to go to King Salmon
for a shower. He made such a pest out of himself,
that we all agreed that Yeiter should fly him to King
Salmon all right, but that Yeiter should not bring
the guy back. I accompanied Yeiter and this German,
in the plane. As we neared King Salmon, Yeiter got
weather reports indicating that there were very high
winds, making landing there very dangerous. We elected
to return to our camp, rather than trying to land
in the high winds at King Salmon. The German, however,
became highly incensed when Yeiter turned the plane
around, and started yelling and punching Yeiter, threatening
to wreck the airplane if he wasn't taken to King Salmon
immediately. I had to place the barrel of my revolver
alongside the German's ear before he calmed down and
allowed us to get back to camp. Later when the winds
died down, we got this German to King Salmon, and
to the shower he wanted. Once he was back in civilization,
the German insisted on buying us each a big steak,
and started calling Yeiter the "Weiss Adler", or "White
Eagle". Yeiter was the Weiss Adler ever after.
The Weiss Adler
and I, had a lot of adventures over the next few years.
These included a 125 mile flight for a 6 pack of Coke;
landing on a river at night by the light of a Coleman
lantern when a burnt fuse caused the plane's landing
lights to go out; spotting, stalking, and taking a
70 inch moose; taking a 52 inch moose with a revolver;
watching the entire countryside light up one night
from what could only have been a meteor; and other
adventures.
I hadn't seen
the Weiss Adler much in recent years but I was saddened
to learn that in early June, while riding as a passenger
in a plane flown by a novice pilot, the Weiss Adler
was killed when the plane's engine stalled coming
in for a landing on Finger Lake. I guess there isn't
too much a fellow can leave behind him, when it is
his time to go, except perhaps good memories in the
people he affected. The Weiss Adler left me with a
lot of good memories, including some hair raising
adventures that, once they were over, I was glad I
experienced. For these I will always be grateful.
He will be missed.
