Here's a story I posted on Supercub.org 13 years ago. I finished and sold the -12 in the story. Still have the 180. Now building a Backcountry Cub.
A couple of years ago, a good friend and I loaded my 180 with 10 days of hunting-camp supplies and headed for Alaska. We live in Anchorage, but Alaska really starts on the west side of the Alaska Range. It was a bluebird day, and we decided to fly Rainy Pass just for the views. Well, the day was perfect, the air smooth and uncrowded, and we figured this was the start of a great hunt. At our destination we had a couple of hunting-guide friends that have a base camp in a valley who would drop us out to a secret spot more appropriate for Cubs.
Rainy Pass is a fairly narrow cut through the mountains that is a shorter route than following the primary pass, which connects one wide valley to another. It saves about 30-40 minutes, and isn't a big deal on a good day. When we got to the entrance, it was apparent it wasn't a good day in there. From our side we could see low clouds, so off to Hell's Gate...the long way. Still clear, we rounded the corner to the the N. Fork of the Kuskokwim River. The view here is of a mile-wide valley sloping gently down away from you, with a nice gravel-bedded river below. Unfortunately, this is where the clouds started. At this point we were at about 4500', and so were the clouds. No problem as the valley floor is only about 3000'. Dropping below, we could still see the down-sloping of the valley, but also equal down-sloping of the clouds. There's a little emergency strip about halfway out of the mountains called Rohn. By that time, the clouds were about 1000' AGL. At the exit of the valley to the flats, at Farewell Lake, the clouds are 500' AGL and it's raining. I decide to poke into it a ways, keeping Farewell in sight behind us. Now the terrain is transitional between mountains on the left, and gently rolling flats on the right. Because of the cloud deck, we went more right than normal, now flying over spruce forests at about 100' above the trees, less than 100' below the clouds, and in heavy rain. I tell my buddy to watch our tree clearance, so I can concentrate on cloud clearance. Farewell disappears in the distance behind us. All we need to do is cross the Windy River and the terrain will flatten out to where we can find the Big River. These rivers become your best friends because you can follow them, and if the clouds drop to the ground, they offer gravel bars to get down. The minutes flying towards the Windy, further vectering away from higher ground, go very slowly. Heavy rain, 1/2 mile visibility, occasionally rising terrain that leaves you in about a 75' slot between clouds and trees. But now, the sky grows brighter in the distance. Although the visibility is bad, I know where I am, and Farewell remains stable according to a pilot on the ground there. Keep going, carefully.
Finally, we approach some low bluffs that are indicative of the Windy. We shuck and jive a little to find a passage over the bluffs. The Windy, and her gravel bars, are a welcome sight. Not much further to the Big. We slog along a few minutes longer, and as expected, the Big appears. This river has more gravel bars than water, so all we have to do is turn left, fly up valley, and find the base camp. We make the turn, sky still low, slow the plane down even more, expecting to not be able to go much further up the valley. We round a bend, and the sky goes from soup to broken layers, with filtered sunshine. We're 10 miles from camp, the weather's improving, and we made it!
We land, unload and sort our gear, reload and jump into a couple of Supercubs to head to the "spot." We fly from good weather back into bad, and for about an hour try to find an alley back out onto the flats. No luck. Back to base camp.
A bottle of whiskey (or two) and some storytelling in camp, and off to bed. I'm awakened by F-15's and their supersonic booms, (we're in a MOA) and perfect, clear skies. Back into the Cubs and an easy trip out, followed by a good hunt, and a great (and clear) flight back home.
The Moral of the Story:
At this point I owned a PA-12 project that I intended to work on "someday." After what was truly a white-knuckle ride through the weather in my 180, the equal ride back into it in a Cub was an experience I couldn't anticipate. Bopping along, fairly slow in a Cub, staying near the river bars, with 31" tires, felt so safe I was at total ease, when a hour before I was totally stressed. I related this story to my wife upon returning home, and started the 12 rebuild right then. I choose to live in a big and sometimes hostile land. I like to get away from people and the city. Although I love my 180 and don't intend to ever sell it, the addition of this 12 will allow me my escape, and will get me to more areas more safely. I'm not concerned that a Cub can get off shorter. The 12 can get off short enough. My flight in the weather wasn't something I'd characterize as wreckless or stupid. I'm neither. It was for many minutes below minimums, but at those moments turning back wasn't a safer or better alternative. Most of my fellow Alaskan pilots will have similar stories, and trust me, this isn't my only story, either. And yes, I got a Brown Bear.
