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Julie Collins

Icelandic horses Bastian (left) and Meyla munch on hay while penned in the aircraft that flew them to their new home at Lake Minchumina.

I was in shock, filled with disbelief as the car rolled smoothly along. My year-old puppy Sasa sat in the seat beside me, agog at the Big City. The usual sensations of stress, exhaustion and disbelief upon my arrival in Fairbanks lay heavier than usual upon my mind, for the hurdle I faced this week was the biggest challenge since June. How well I remember that chilly June day when I stood beside an angry river with one horse and two dogs, facing my sister on the far bank with the other two horses. When that nasty torrent scattered our crew we faced a crucial decision: push on to reach the road system to trade our aging horses for our new young ones, or “Turn around before you drown!” as our neighbor Stella says. “We could fly them out!” I had shouted across the churning water. Now, five months later, I was in Fairbanks about to do just that. If you read our book “Riding the Wild Side of Denali,” you will understand why I felt so terrified. It is bad enough when your panicked horse crashes into the cockpit of the plane. Now we were proposing to fly not one but two young horses home, and stuff our two old horses on the backhaul to spend their retirement in a safer, more leisurely home. First things first, which meant driving rowdy young Sasa out to stay with our close mend Tonya Schlentner. She had generously agreed to manange his neuter while I submerged myself in the logistical nightmare of arranging the Great Horse Exchange. The Sherpa we planned to charter from Arctic Circle Air had a 27-foot cargo bay capable of carrying 5,000 pounds, which meant I had to round up about 3,500 pounds in addition to the two horses with their shipping crate. For the $5,600 price, I intended to fill the thing to capacity. However, I had other priorities, with a lot of strings to pull and braid together into a functional if untidy plan. Ensuring the horses’ comfort and a safe flight topped the list. After delivering Sasa to his lodging, my first job that Friday afternoon was to scope out the aircraft. Fellow Icelandic-horse owner Susan Tilly, a long-time acquaintance and sudden best friend helped me that day and nearly every day of the week thereafter. On Saturday she drove her horse trailer out to the corral where our young horses were boarding to help me practice loading them. She spent most of Monday helping me create a pre-fab 5-foot by 10-foot crate of chain-link fencing, plywood, and non-skid carpeting. She spent two more hours Wednesday, along with the Arctic Circle Air crew, installing it in the plane for the hoped-for Thursday flight. She planned to trailer the horses for me to the airline, and meet the return flight carrying the old horses and Miki. I spent several hours with the horses on Saturday, Sunday and Tuesday. Bastian, a sweet, glossy-black gelding, had trailered up from Canada and happily scampered into the trailer. The younger bay filly Meyla did everything I asked of her, but with less confidence. I walked the horses one at a time through narrow chain-link walkways at a local ball field and brought them over to the nearby gas station to socialize and watch traffic. I spent hours on the phone, consulting Susan at every turn and updating Robin Marquis, our generous caretaker who had enjoyed our new horses for six months now but who eagerly anticipated the arrival of the well-used retirees that she had waited for so long. I lined up Dr. Zachel to sedate the horses for the flight, and Dr. Rose to stand by in case the first vet had an emergency case, and checked frequently on Sasa. In between all that, I ran the usual rat race of appointments and hitting grocery, hardware and feed stores. I came to know the crew at Arctic Circle Air and admired their good Alaskan helpfulness and efficiency in chaos. Meanwhile back at home, Miki moved horse blankets, water, hay and gear to the runway, organized a back-haul of freight and prepared the old horses for the flight. Despite a forecast calling for partly cloudy and above-zero temperatures, on Thursday morning Miki sounded doubtful. “The weather is OK, but lowering from the southwest,” she reported. Arctic Circle Air said the flight was a go. Miki immediately left our home with the old horses for the three-hour trek to the runway. I notified Susan, the vet, and Tonya, who still had Sasa. We all converged at the airport, horses and dog in tow. Susan shook my shoulders. “It’s going to happen, it’s really going to happen!” she cried giddily. “I hope so,” I tittered.

For six months, our horse plans had been altered, aborted and adjusted. In addition to my anxiety over the flight, I couldn’t help doubting whether it would happen at all. Then I called Miki to tell her we were about to load up. She had just arrived at the airstrip, and had a grim report. “It’s snowing!”

After checking the weather and the instrument approach, the pilots decided to make an attempt. I led Bastian to the ramp-load cargo door. He looked doubtfully at the long climb into the cavernous plane, then tentatively took a few steps upward. When his hooves strayed off our carpet runner onto slick steel, he froze up. It took 15 minutes and half a box of Wheat Thins to lure him the last 10 feet up to the hold. Susan led Meyla over, and she strode boldly in. Cort Zachel was right there, swiftly giving the LV. despite the dim light. A few minutes later I squeezed into a tiny jump seat in the cockpit with the two pilots, quivering with anticipation and anxiety. The sedated horses quietly munched hay as two big engines propelled us into the sky. Our fair weather receded and the cloud layer lowered steadily as we headed southwest. My hoped-for relief at being finally airborne did not materialize as I began envisioning a second attempt if bad weather forced us back. Nearing Minchumina, we were skimming above the trees and banking around low hills to stay clear of the clouds when a sudden pallor of freezing sleet obscured the windshield. I glanced at the wings, so vulnerable to icing. My heart began thumping unpleasantly but we flew on, and soon the ice began melting as the deicing equipment kicked in. Things were looking good! The precipitation let up as the big white lake hove into sight and moments later the plane made a powder-soft landing on the runway. I took a deep breath, then another, and wondered whether I’d been holding it all day. No, I had breathed once after sliding into my seat 50 minutes ago. The sedative had worn off and Bastian and Meyla walked right off the plane looking brightly around. 28-year-old Lilja hadn’t been in a horse trailer since 1989, but she scampered up the ramp to reach the good green hay. Harpa balked as much as Bastian, but without his concern; she just didn’t want to do it. Miki lifted one foot at a time to walk her up as I bribed her with Pilot Bread. An injectable sedative kept them calm as the plane roared alive again. My last remaining job of the day was to walk the youngsters home and settle them in. Watching the Sherpa take off, I chatted about trapping with my neighbor, but I felt the sting of tears as the big plane took away the two loyal horses who had taken such good care of us for so many years. They didn’t have to worry anymore about predators or finding forage, but they will miss their old home always just as we will miss them. But you can’t stop time. I turned to the young ones in my future, and we walked on together. Julie Collins is a freelance writer who lives near Lake Minchumina.