Men’s Journal – September 2019

of av iation experience in A laska, I didn’t

f ind this surprising. Crashes are far more

common than you’d expect in the state,

and f lying is far more dangerous than it

needs to be. Over the past three decades,

Alaska, with a population smaller than

Delaware, has suffered an average of 26.2

air taxi and small commuter accidents

each year. This compares w it h 4 4.7 for t he

entire rest of the United States, an area

almost f ive times larger. In the f irst half

of 2019, there were nine crashes involv-

ing air taxis and commuters resulting

in 11 deaths.

If commercial aircraft were going down

this frequently in the Lower 48, the news

would generate an immediate national

conversation, and the government would

be forced to act. But crashes in Alaska

rarely inspire more than a sympathetic

shrug, especially outside the state. And

for many of us familiar with aviation

inside Alaska, this accident is just one

more tragic result of a unique yet insidi-

ous problem: the lingering effects of the

his 1952 de Havilland DHC-2 Beaver—a

single-engine f loatplane driven by a pow-

erful Pratt & Whitney engine—back to

Ketchikan, f lying a straight and steady

course at 3,300 feet across Revillagigedo

Island. Seven miles from town, over the

east side of George Inlet, Sullivan’s plane,

shuddered as the right wing was struck

from behind by the propeller of a second

aircraft, another tour operator returning

from Misty Fjords. As Sullivan struggled

for control, the wing of his aircraft was

torn apart. The plane broke up in the air,

resulting in a debris f ield nearly a half-

mile long. Everyone onboard, including

Sullivan, was killed.

The other f loatplane, operated by

Taquan Air, remained intact and crash-

landed on George Inlet, eventually sinking

80 feet underwater. The pilot and nine

passengers were injured; one was killed.

The crash made headlines across the

country. But as someone with 30 years

HE KETCHIKAN skies were

clear on the afternoon of

May 13, and Mountain Air

Service’s owner and sole

pilot, Randy Sullivan, was

doing what he did every spring: f lying

tourists through Alaska’s Misty Fjords

National Monument. His four passengers

that day were off the Royal Princess, a

megaship carrying nearly 5,000 guests and

crew, and they’d purchased their tickets

for Sullivan’s air taxi service while the ship

was docked in the coastal community.

The passengers, ranging in age from

37 to 56, wanted a bird’s-eye view of the

monument, an unspoiled wilderness

teeming with wildlife, waterfalls, and

towering granite walls. This was Sullivan’s

backyard, a place the 46-year-old pilot

knew intimately, having grown up in a

nearby logging camp, and his experience

promised a once-in-a-lifetime adventure.

After a 90-minute tour, Sullivan turned

Alaska has always had a soft spot for bold aviators willing to fly in

any condition. But is the shadow cast by an outdated archetype

causing an increase in fatal crashes? by COLLEEN MONDOR

The Deadly Myth

of the Bush Pilot

T

The wreckage of a floatplane in George

Inlet, after a midair collision in May

killed six and injured nine.

020 SEPTEMBER 2019

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