﻿THE 
  FIRST 
  ALASKAN 
  AIR 
  EXPEDITION 
  

  

  By 
  Captain 
  St. 
  Clair 
  Streett, 
  U. 
  S. 
  A. 
  S., 
  Flight 
  Commander 
  

  

  MARCO 
  POLO 
  and 
  De 
  Soto 
  must 
  

   have 
  enjoyed 
  the 
  same 
  mingling 
  

   of 
  eagerness 
  and 
  apprehension 
  

   that 
  moved 
  the 
  four 
  aviators 
  designated 
  

   by 
  the 
  United 
  States 
  Army 
  Air 
  Service 
  

   to 
  blaze 
  the 
  pioneer 
  air 
  trail 
  from 
  the 
  na- 
  

   tion's 
  capital 
  to 
  its 
  furthermost 
  possession 
  

   at 
  the 
  northeast 
  end 
  of 
  the 
  continent. 
  

  

  Like 
  the 
  pioneers 
  who 
  drove 
  their 
  prai- 
  

   rie 
  schooners 
  in 
  '49 
  westward 
  across 
  un- 
  

   measured 
  distances 
  and 
  through 
  the 
  con- 
  

   stant 
  perils 
  of 
  ambushed 
  enemies, 
  so 
  did 
  

   we, 
  in 
  our 
  pioneer 
  flight 
  to 
  Alaska, 
  come 
  

   to 
  look 
  upon 
  every 
  forbidding 
  stretch 
  of 
  

   landscape 
  we 
  passed 
  as 
  an 
  ambush 
  of 
  

   danger, 
  active 
  or 
  passive, 
  depending 
  solely 
  

   upon 
  the 
  fidelity 
  and 
  dependability 
  of 
  our 
  

   Liberty 
  motors 
  to 
  carry 
  us 
  over 
  and 
  be- 
  

   yond. 
  

  

  A 
  spirit 
  of 
  romance 
  and 
  adventure 
  

   dominated 
  the 
  individual 
  pilots 
  who 
  par- 
  

   ticipated 
  with 
  me 
  in 
  that 
  flight; 
  but 
  be- 
  

   yond 
  the 
  strict 
  military 
  reason 
  which 
  oc- 
  

   casioned 
  this 
  expedition, 
  a 
  more 
  funda- 
  

   mental 
  purpose 
  existed 
  in 
  the 
  minds 
  of 
  

   the 
  aviators. 
  Put 
  into 
  words, 
  it 
  was 
  this 
  : 
  

  

  "Yesterday 
  a 
  month 
  was 
  required 
  to 
  

   reach 
  the 
  Yukon 
  ; 
  if 
  our 
  expedition 
  suc- 
  

   ceeds, 
  it 
  will 
  prove 
  that 
  the 
  Yukon 
  is 
  but 
  

   three 
  days 
  distant 
  — 
  by 
  airplane!" 
  

  

  A 
  IXIGHT 
  WITHOUT 
  PARATI^T 
  

  

  Our 
  airplanes 
  were 
  the 
  well-known 
  

   army 
  De 
  Havilands, 
  similar 
  to 
  those 
  we 
  

   used 
  in 
  the 
  war. 
  They 
  were 
  equipped 
  

   with 
  the 
  400 
  horsepower 
  Liberty 
  motor, 
  

   capable 
  of 
  propelling 
  us 
  through 
  the 
  air 
  

   at 
  the 
  rate 
  of 
  115 
  miles 
  per 
  hour. 
  

  

  Each 
  of 
  us 
  carried 
  in 
  the 
  rear 
  seat 
  a 
  

   tried 
  and 
  true 
  mechanic, 
  for 
  we 
  knew 
  that 
  

   we 
  were 
  undertaking 
  a 
  flight 
  without 
  

   parallel 
  in 
  the 
  short 
  annals 
  of 
  aviation. 
  

   Reaching 
  Alaska 
  depended 
  upon 
  our 
  abil- 
  

   ity 
  to 
  make 
  our 
  own 
  repairs 
  en 
  route. 
  

  

  Nome 
  lay 
  4,500 
  miles 
  away, 
  over 
  rough 
  

   and 
  uncharted 
  country, 
  beyond 
  the 
  Great 
  

   Divide 
  of 
  the 
  Canadian 
  Rockies. 
  Fogs 
  

   and 
  storms 
  would 
  be 
  encountered 
  ; 
  land- 
  

   ing 
  fields 
  must 
  be 
  located 
  ; 
  engines 
  and 
  

   planes 
  must 
  be 
  kept 
  in 
  the 
  pink 
  of 
  condi- 
  

   tion, 
  to 
  avoid 
  letting 
  us 
  down 
  into 
  some 
  

   mountainous 
  region 
  far 
  distant 
  from 
  the 
  

   haunts 
  of 
  men. 
  

  

  The 
  consent 
  of 
  the 
  Canadian 
  Govern- 
  

   ment 
  to 
  fly 
  over 
  its 
  territory 
  had 
  been 
  

   cordially 
  granted. 
  Study 
  of 
  the 
  govern- 
  

   ment 
  maps, 
  consultations 
  with 
  the 
  weather 
  

   bureaus, 
  and 
  reports 
  from 
  the 
  cities 
  and 
  

   towns 
  along 
  the 
  proposed 
  route 
  followed. 
  

  

  It 
  was 
  determined 
  to 
  lay 
  a 
  course 
  west- 
  

   ward 
  from 
  New 
  York 
  to 
  Erie, 
  Pennsyl- 
  

   vania; 
  thence 
  over 
  Grand 
  Rapids, 
  Wi- 
  

   nona, 
  and 
  Minneapolis, 
  west 
  to 
  Fargo 
  and 
  

   Portal, 
  North 
  Dakota. 
  From 
  this 
  point 
  

   we 
  would 
  be 
  able 
  to 
  take 
  the 
  plunge 
  into 
  

   Canada 
  over 
  the 
  fertile 
  wheat 
  belt 
  of 
  Sas- 
  

   katchewan 
  to 
  Edmonton 
  and 
  Jasper, 
  in 
  

   Alberta. 
  

  

  Then 
  would 
  come 
  the 
  fearful 
  jump 
  

   over 
  the 
  Great 
  Divide, 
  which, 
  if 
  success- 
  

   ful, 
  would 
  lead 
  us 
  over 
  the 
  towns 
  of 
  

   Wrangell, 
  White 
  Horse, 
  Dawson, 
  and 
  

   Fairbanks 
  to 
  the 
  Yukon 
  River 
  and 
  Nome 
  

   (see 
  map, 
  pages 
  500-501). 
  

  

  THE 
  START 
  

  

  On 
  July 
  15, 
  1920, 
  at 
  midday, 
  we 
  stood 
  

   at 
  attention 
  before 
  our 
  airplanes 
  on 
  

   Mitchel 
  Field, 
  New 
  York, 
  and 
  received 
  

   the 
  parting 
  instructions 
  of 
  General 
  Wil- 
  

   liam 
  Mitchell, 
  our 
  motors 
  slowly 
  turning 
  

   over 
  and 
  our 
  machines 
  packed 
  and 
  ready 
  

   for 
  flight. 
  My 
  machine 
  was 
  Number 
  1, 
  

   with 
  Sergeant 
  Edmund 
  Henriques 
  as 
  me- 
  

   chanic 
  ; 
  Lieutenant 
  Clifford 
  C. 
  Nutt, 
  with 
  

   Lieutenant 
  Erik 
  H. 
  Nelson 
  as 
  navigating 
  

   and 
  engineering 
  officer, 
  had 
  Number 
  2 
  ; 
  

   Lieutenant 
  C. 
  E. 
  Crumrine, 
  with 
  Sergeant 
  

   James 
  D. 
  Long 
  as 
  mechanic, 
  flew 
  Num- 
  

   ber 
  3, 
  and 
  Lieutenant 
  Ross 
  C. 
  Kirkpat- 
  

   rick, 
  with 
  Master 
  Sergeant 
  Joseph 
  E. 
  

   English 
  as 
  mechanic, 
  Number 
  4. 
  

  

  Precisely 
  at 
  thirty-three 
  minutes 
  after 
  

   the 
  noon 
  hour 
  our 
  little 
  flight 
  taxied 
  

   across 
  the 
  field 
  and 
  took 
  off. 
  The 
  four 
  

   motors 
  were 
  functioning 
  beautifully 
  as 
  

   we 
  climbed 
  to 
  1,500 
  feet, 
  circling 
  the 
  field 
  

   and 
  getting 
  into 
  formation. 
  Turning 
  

   westward, 
  with 
  spirits 
  high, 
  we 
  set 
  a 
  

   course 
  of 
  298 
  degrees 
  on 
  our 
  compasses. 
  

  

  Motoring 
  through 
  limitless 
  skies 
  should 
  

   be 
  regarded 
  as 
  a 
  boon 
  to 
  humanity, 
  a 
  gift 
  

   from 
  science, 
  annihilating 
  time 
  and 
  dis- 
  

   tance, 
  I 
  thought 
  to 
  myself, 
  as 
  we 
  roared 
  

   swiftly 
  along 
  toward 
  our 
  first 
  night's 
  stop 
  

   at 
  Erie. 
  

  

  499 
  

  

  