Real life stories as a FSS in Inukjuak

Enroute to the first posting: Inukjuak

Summer of 1982. Today is the departure from Montreal towards Inukjuak. Nordair’s Boeing B737 takes off and immediately heads northward. It will fly along James Bay and, upon reaching Hudson Bay, will land in Kuujjuarapik, its final destination. From there, an Austin Airways’s Twin Otter will take us over to Inukjuak , an isolated posting further to the north on the east coast of Hudson Bay.

A Boeing B737 landing on the Kuujjuarapik 5000 feet gravel runway uses special procedures. This is a short runway for a loaded aircraft, and braking is less effective than on asphalt. There is no significant margin for error. The wheels must touch as close as possible to the runway threshold, followed by maximum breaking. Passengers really feel the deceleration. The same calculation applies for takeoff: the pilot positions the aircraft close to the runway threshold then applies both the brakes and maximum thrust, and once the appropriate parameters are reached , releases the brakes. As usual, weight and balance, density of the air, airport altitude as well as direction and strength of the winds are all precisely calculated for the aircraft to be airborne before the end of the runway.

After a short stopover, the Twin Otter is now ready for the trip to Inukjuak. The takeoff from Kuujjuarapik goes without problems. I am sitting in the first class section, behind some cargo held by a net. For champagne, I will have to wait for the boxes to be removed from the hallway.

Then a slow descent is started to Inukjuak. From my window, I can see a small group of narwhals. I feel like I’m dreaming but, after a quick research in scientific documents, learn that narwhals can be found in small groups mainly in the north of Hudson Bay.

The aircraft is now getting closer to Inukjuak. The flaps are extended and it is possible to see the runway before the plane turns on final. It is two thousand feet long and made only of sand thick enough to render its surface unstable.

Upon arrival, someone comes my way with a motorcycle. He offers me a ride to the staff-house, even if there is only a fifteen or twenty seconds walk. I politely declined the offer, but the personage insists. Not wanting to give a bad impression just as I arrive, I finally accept and try to find a small place on the seat of his tiny motorcycle. Hardly have we started to move into the soft sand that the driver loses control of the vehicle. We fall (what a surprise!), but there is no serious consequence. Welcome to Inukjuak!

When in doubt, action is worth more than inaction

During my first working days at the Inukjuak flight service station, in 1982, I received a call from a Twin Beech 200. The pilot of this aircraft registered in the United States indicated that he wished to land at Inukjuak for a short stopover. Several passengers were on board. I gave him the necessary information and followed its progress towards the airport, through subsequent radio communications.

It is assumed that a pilot wanting to land at an airport has prepared himself and knows the length and orientation of the runway, as well as its constitution (cement, asphalt, gravel, grass, sand). These are absolutely essential information, like ensuring that there is enough fuel on board the aircraft. This makes the difference between an accident and a successful landing. I doubted that Inukjuak, with its soft sand runway, was suited for an aircraft like the Beech 200.

Being a pilot myself, I was uncomfortable to ask him if he was aware of the characteristics of the Inukjuak runway, because this was such basic information. Moreover, having no experience as a flight information specialist yet, I considered unimaginable that in the early days of a new career, I had to deal with a pilot that was not adequately prepared, and would soon put his life and the lives of his passengers in danger.

I kept on thinking that if the pilot was responsible for this type of aircraft, he must have had hundreds, if not thousands of hours of flying experience. It would be like saying: “Don’t you think that the plane is too big for your abilities?”

The aircraft was now on final for the runway, a few miles away. I decided to ask the fateful question: “Are you aware that you are about to land on a 2000 feet soft sand runway?” I was anticipating his reply, but the pilot softly said: “OK, we’ll do a missed approach and will head somewhere else. Is Kuujjuarapik acceptable for us? “I answered positively and in the following seconds, the airplane overshot the runway and headed southward for the next airport.

From that day and the following decades, I vowed to never take anything for granted. When in doubt, action is worth more than inaction…

A visit at the Inukjuak flight service station (1982)

In 1982, while I work at Inukjuak FSS, we offer advisory service to arriving and departing aircrafts. We also act as a means of communication and relay for ships as well as for airplanes, through VHF and HF frequencies. I only remember regular call-signs like Air France 004, who always used to call in the middle of the night, and KLM692. We also have radio contacts with military aircrafts.

Knowledge of Morse code is mandatory, although reserved for occasional use only. Weather briefings to pilots are scarce. The technology available at the time is very basic. All the data received, every minute of the day, is printed automatically. Miles of paper must be managed by the staff on a monthly basis.

Working seven days a week in an isolated post, sometimes during twelve or sixteen hour shifts quickly becomes repetitive. In order to see something else than the flight service station, one should not miss the opportunity to participate in activities with the local population whenever possible. So one day I decide to prepare an elementary weather course in order to present it to Inukjuak children.

I then contact the Inukjuak policeman who is also responsible for the Scouts. I explain my idea and propose that a moment be found where we could all meet. I would offer a weather presentation followed by a question and answer period. Posters are prepared with topics specifically chosen to encourage participation by the kids. On the given day, about ten Scouts show up with the chief. Sitting along a wall on the gym floor, we spend a good two hours discussing about weather and aviation.

I also had the opportunity to receive a few visitors in the flight service station, accompanied by their teacher. Other times, while taking a walk, it was possible to witness a shinny hockey game. For the picture below, two bystanders accepted to pose with the hockey players.

Illegal fishing on the Innuksuak river

In the early “80s, while I was working at Inukjuak FSS, a floatplane entered our control zone without communicating with us. He was flying at low altitude over the area with the obvious intent to do a stopover on the Innuksuak River, a few kilometers inland. We tried to contact the pilot but he never replied. We started to suspect that illegal fishing was the reason for his trip in northern Quebec. The aircraft owner had possibly not paid the mandatory fishing fees to get access to Quebec controlled territories.

Thanks to the cooperation of the villagers, we managed to get the registration of the aircraft. A quick search allowed us to determine that it was owned by a company operating from a base in northern Ontario.

We expected that the aircraft would be airborne in few hours, loaded with fish. And it was obvious that the pilot would not take the risk of refueling at our airport. He would therefore be forced to land in Kuujjuarapik (CYGW) for fuel.

We contacted Kuujjuarapik FSS specialists and asked them to note what would be the final destination of the aircraft. It was an airport in the north of the Abitibi region, under Rouyn-Noranda FSS responsability. The staff of many flight service stations worked together to follow the aircraft to its destination. Police officers drove to the airport and waited for the aircraft to land. I imagine that the seizures and fines were important.

In this story, the initiative and collaboration of Inukjuak inhabitants were essential. Without them, it would have been impossible to get the registration of the aircraft.

The manager who lost his appetite

A Transport Canada manager had to occasionally leave the comfort of his office in Montreal to visit one of the flight service stations located in northern Quebec. So in 1982 he made the journey to Inukjuak, using Nordair for the leg between Montreal and Kuujjuarapik (CYGW).

From there, an Austin Airways Twin Otter brought him to Inukjuak. But few minutes after the aircraft was airborne from Kuujjuarapik, the cloud base dropped dramatically and the pilot later told us that he made the trip with no more than 200 feet of clearance between the Hudson Bay water and the clouds.

The plane arrived in Inukjuak during the afternoon. At dinner, the chef offered a hot meal, but the manager refused to eat anything, stating that he had absolutely no appetite. He later told us that to see the surface of the water so close to the plane and feel the mechanical turbulence throughout the trip had cut his appetite. We realized that our manager was not very comfortable with “non standard” flights.

On the return flight, he was the sole passenger on board, the remaining space being occupied by cargo. We knew the pilots very well and asked them a small favor, which was a takeoff with a tight turn to the right. This was done skillfully and certainly created a surprise with the traveler.

On the flight back to Montreal, while on a stopover in La Grande (CYGL) he sent us a message via teletype that spoke volumes about his appreciation of the turn. I must say, in all honesty, that the pilot had given more than the client requested, and that the traveler had the chance to experience a 70 degrees right turn. It was enough to keep him from traveling up north for a while.

The long awaited aircraft

During the years the Inukjuak flight service station was in operation, there was something an Austin Airways pilot could count on: on the arrival of the aircraft, there would often be somebody from the village waiting to give a hand in unloading the cargo or provide some kind of services to shorten the stopover time. The villagers were indeed regularly calling Inukjuak FSS to know if there was any aircraft inbound, and if it was the case, what was the estimated time of arrival. We were used to questions like “What time plane?”, “Is that food plane?”, “Is that mail plane?”.

Upon landing, we could see, arriving from the village, a fuel truck and other pick-ups and Honda three wheelers. The postmaster came to fetch the mail, the villagers to meet passengers and family members, and the businessmen to unload their cargo or fuel the aircraft.

There was a similar interest regarding the arrival of the first vessels of the season, in late summer. Besides the occasional icebreaker presence, we witnessed the arrival of the Shell tanker, responsible to supply the villages along the coast. Barges loaded with heavy machinery and crated material were finally reaching northern villages after more than a week of navigation, taking advantage of the low tide to deliver their cargo. Some of those vessels were damaged by ice and sometimes had to be repaired on the spot before they could resume their journey.

One day, an anti-submarine patrol aircraft CP140 Aurora having completed his work over Hudson Bay contacted us to receive some information. Since the operations seemed momentarily completed and the aircraft was now moving to another area, the pilot was asked to do a “low pass” above Inukjuak FSS. The pilot agreed and soon enough, the plane was zooming above our facilities disappearing moments later in the clouds. I still remember the flood of phone calls that the aircraft fly-by created. Unable to see the Aurora, now above the clouds, the villagers were now asking: “Is that food plane? “,”Is that mail plane ? “.

A low pass is sometimes requested to get a close-up of an aircraft and to allow the staff to hear the roaring engines as the aircraft zooms by the building. This also creates an opportunity to take a picture. Every pilot that I have known throughout the years would gladly accept this opportunity to add some action in his routine…

The Inuit who wanted to shoot Whites with a .303 caliber rifle

Note: It is only an out of the ordinary true life story. Normal relations between Whites and Inuits are entirely peaceful. Besides, we all know of situations in the southern cities where whites have tried to shoot people. The following story therefore presents an unusual and rare case.

In Inukjuak, in 1982-1983, the buildings layout was simple. On top of a nearby hill was the whole village, populated overwhelmingly by Inuit. Down the hill, near the airstrip and Hudson Bay, were the few buildings where Environment Canada and Transport Canada employees could be found. There were only Whites living and working in this area.

One evening during winter` 82 -` 83, someone knocked on the door and entered immediately without waiting for an answer. It was the auxiliary police officer. He was an unarmed young man who occasionally helped the unique village policeman. He told us that the policeman was absent from the village and that he must fend for himself. He urged us: “Lock your doors and turn off the lights, do not go out unless it is essential, as there is one Inuit armed with .303 caliber rifle who wants to shoot white people.”

It was, of course, a complete surprise for everyone. It was easy to deduce that the shooter looking for whites would choose the easiest solution and head towards our buildings to shoot somebody at random. Not wanting to be a sitting duck, I went to my room and grabbed a locked suitcase that had been sleeping for months on a shelf. I took out a Remington Classic 700 BDL Bolt Action and loaded the magazine. We established a plan, with the other two persons in the house. Two of us would have to get out and head toward the flight service station, where there was an unarmed FSS female employee working alone. Chances were that she was not aware of what was going on. One of us would bring her back home and the other one would then complete her night shift at her place, since the station could not be left unattended.

While we would be gone, there would be one person left in the house with a gun to protect himself if necessary. This employee had just arrived in Inukjuak. I still remember his reaction when we were getting ready to leave. I can hear him say: “But what is this crazy place?”

We closed the outdoor floodlights and headed to the flight service station with our weapons. Walking in the dark, crouched like soldiers during wartime, we arrived at the Transport Canada building where we found the employee occupied at her normal duties, completely ignoring the possible presence of a nearby shooter. I took her place to complete the night shift while she returned home accompanied by an armed employee.

Once alone in the operating room, I shut the lights while keeping a small lamp to illuminate the console radio frequencies. I lay the rifle flat on a counter, the lock removed for faster use if needed. The radio console was located opposite a large window: it left us totally exposed to anyone who would decide to shoot through it. I therefore had to stay away from the normal working position, except when responding to radio calls, until we received fresh news about the shooter.

The improvised night shift ended without incident in the station, but I learned that multiple shots were fired at a vehicle traveling near our facilities. Projectiles pierced doors, but luckily they did not hit the vehicle occupants. Within hours of the event, a tactical response team of the Sûreté du Québec arrived in Inukjuak and controlled the shooter.

Even if this story took place decades ago, I still remember very well the atmosphere on that evening. When untrained civilians must load firearms to potentially use them against another human, it cannot be forgotten.

Emergency clean-up

In a Quebec northern Inuit village, in the early ` 80s, there was still a fair amount of homes that were not equipped with toilets as we know them today. The occupants of these properties had to relieve themselves by sitting on a bucket covered with a garbage bag that people called “Honey Bag “. Fortunately for Environment Canada and Transport Canada staff working in Inukjuak, sanitary facilities were exactly like what could be found in southern cities and it was not necessary to use makeshift means.

The fact remains that a White male was hired as director of a local public institution and lived with his family in a house equipped with this type of “Honey Bag ” facility. On a beautiful Saturday, he and his wife were receiving guests for dinner and they were taking care of the final details. The wife had asked her husband, few days earlier, to take the “Honey Bag” out of the house and put a new bag on the toilet.

The man had neglected his task and the bag had gained volume and weight. But it was now Saturday, so he could no longer procrastinate. He grabbed the bag, closed it and crossed the living room heading toward the door. At the moment he found himself in the middle of the room, the bag broke and all of its content spread on the carpet.

It was reported to us that there was an emergency clean-up throughout the afternoon to try to correct the situation. There was no way of knowing if the guests were able to enjoy the subtle aromas of the good wine served with the dinner…

Inukjuak: last hope for a Twin Otter low on fuel

One winter evening, in 1983, Inukjuak FSS received a radio call from a Bell Canada Twin Otter that was in trouble. The fog had invaded the Hudson Bay coast in several places, and landing at the planned alternate airports was now impossible. Weather conditions still being acceptable in Inukjuak, our airport became the last option for the pilot. Unfortunately, our runway lights were out of service and a solution had to be found quickly.

Phone calls were made. Several Inuit arrived in snowmobile and installed their machine on each side of the runway, in more or less regular intervals, so as to light the outside limits of the landing surface. The pilot made a normal approach and the aircraft landed without problem. This kind of service provided by the Inuit was not something new. The pilots were always happy to be able to rely on this emergency auxiliary lighting supplied by the inhabitants of northern villages when there was a sudden problem.

Allegations about the massacre of sled dogs during the fifties and sixties

When I was working in Inukjuak in 1982-1983, I liked walking along the Hudson Bay coast. One day, I got for company a big Canadian eskimo dog belonging to an Environment Canada employee. The dog had found a way to free itself from its leash and I took advantage of his company to explore the coast.

It was not and still isn’t frequent to witness unattended dogs on a territory inhabited by Inuits. During summer, the latter normally carry the dogs on nearby isolated islands along the Hudson Bay and Ungava coasts. Naturally, the Inuits come back at regular intervals to feed them. This was still going on in 2013 as it serves multiple useful purposes. According to an Inukjuak Inuit with whom I was discussing recently, the island allows the dogs some freedom of movement since they don’t need to be tied all day long to a short rope. Also, the dogs are more comfortable on the islands since there is far less mosquitoes.

In 1982, I heard rumors according to the fact that dogs left free might be brought down, but I did not witness such a thing. Local policy was such that stray dogs would not be tolerated because they presented a threat for the population. Of all that has been said concerning dogs that were brought down for the most diverse reasons, the recurrent story is the allegation of massacres of Eskimo dogs during the fifties and sixties. The documentation found in this respect states that about one thousand dogs were brought down during those two decades, most pointlessly, in the various villages along Hudson Bay, Ungava Bay and Davis Strait.

An interim report about the investigation on this subject was handed in 2009 to the Makivik Corporation and to the Government of Quebec by the retired judge Jean-Jacques Croteau from the Quebec Superior Court. We learn of this report that the RCMP as much as Surety of Quebec police forces had participated in the elimination of sled dogs during those years, by interpreting in a personal and fairly restrictive way a law dating from 1941 and dealing with “The Agricultural Abuses Act”. When it was created, this text of law aimed at creating a system of non-responsibility for a person who would shoot down a stray dog according to specific conditions stipulated in the text of law. Reference was made here to actions taken against stray dogs attacking sheeps and farm animals.

The police quickly made excessive use of this section of the law to apply it on a territory which was not targeted by the law. I can make a mistake, but I believe that nobody ever observed an Inuit sheep farmer on a farm in the Arctic. The most important events occurred after the RCMP gave back the responsibility of the territory to the Surety of Quebec. That police force showed a complete misunderstanding of the Inuit culture. According to the proofs presented in the report, policemen arrived in a village without warning and killed stray dogs, chasing them even under houses, without having taken care of verifying if the dog was sick or dangerous. We find in the report the testimony of two Kangiqsujuaq Inuits asserting having seen two policemen arriving by seaplane, and without saying a word to whoever it is, begin to chase stray dogs through the village. Thirty two animals were eliminated and the policemen left the village without giving explanations.

The report states that the Northern Quebec Inuits were never consulted as to the impact of the law on “The Agricultural Abuses Act”, a totally inappropriate law for them, not taking into account their ancestral rights. The Inuits depended completely on dogs for transportation, to go hunting and fishing. We can read the following passage, in the last sections of the report: “after 1960, the actions and the behavior of the police force went too far. Nothing was to be understood. The officers demonstrated a total lack of consciousness with regard to the fundamental rights of the Inuits, their culture and the importance of dogs for their subsistence. The behavior of the officers, which could not be ignored by the provincial and federal civil administrations, had a damaging effect on seventy-five dog owners and their family, compromising their capacity to meet their needs in food “. No help was offered by the authorities to compensate for the loss of dogs.

The judge finally noted that he had no other choice than to declare that Canada and Quebec did not respect their fiduciary obligations towards the Inuits. I imagine that monetary compensations have since been offered, unless this report was only the first step in the process aimed at establishing the responsibilities and some future compensation.

The UFO invented in 1983 in Inukjuak

A most improbable UFO was created in Inukjuak around 1983. According to its duties, the Environment Canada staff at work in the upper air station had to launch, twice a day, a free-rising balloon which could go up to approximately 70,000 feet. These hydrogen filled balloons were pulling a radiosonde which was transmitting data such as wind speed and temperature at all altitudes.

One day, an observer attached a small battery on the probe as well as five battery fed bulbs. The balloon rate of ascent was corrected to take into account the additional weight of the new equipment. Finally, at darkness, the whole installation was launched. The only thing an observer on the ground could see in the sky was five lights moving quickly together while maintaining the same spacing. The speed and height of the unknown formation were impossible to determine since there was no ground reference.

Observed from the ground, this UFO could be either at 100 feet or at a very high altitude. The object was totally silent and seemed to be moving like nobody’s business. A UFO is now identified, decades later.

A kitchen used as a navigation aid to aviation

The winter 1982-1983 was fierce in Inukjuak. There was a period when the winds were strong enough and the visibility reduced to the point that a rope had to be attached between the staff house and the flight service station (Inukjuak FSS). We held the rope to guide ourselves from one building to the other. And good luck to the employee who would try to carry his meal on a tray between both buildings. A hand held the rope while the other one took care of the tray which was going in all directions. On one occasion, tray and food found their way in the snowbank.

After a storm which seemed endless, I remember that the employees had to dig steps in the hardened snow in order to reach the flight service station door.

This blizzard, which lasted twelve days, had prevented any take-off and landing. There was no more milk for sale in the village, as it was now reserved for children. Hardly one hundred feet over us, there was a perfectly blue sky, according to the pilots who had tried to land on multiple occasions. But one morning, an Austin Airways pilot decided to risk an approach.

The pilot could not benefit from any precise navigation aid during his approach, as the airport was only equipped with an NDB. So he trusted his local knowledge and what was left of his judgment. He knew that the staff house was painted green and situated just beside the runway. I guess that he prepared himself to aim for the colored staff house then make a sharp turn at the last minute. He dived into the storm, estimating the wind drift as much as he could.

At that same moment, our cook was working in the staff house’s kitchen. He was facing a huge bay window and was stunned to suddenly see the nose of a Twin Otter appear a few meters away from the window at the same time as a steep turn was being made to avoid the building. Reverse thrust was immediately applied to immobilize the plane as fast as possible. The cook repeated what he witnessed to every employee. I guess that helped him to unwind a bit.

As this was not enough surprise for the day, the plane’s doors opened and, instead of the much needed milk cargo expected by the villagers, we witnessed about ten passengers stepping out the plane and chitchatting like nothing ever happened. This unorthodox approach to the Inukjuak airport would now be one more story added on top of all the others told by pilots offering daily air service to northern villages along Hudson Bay and Ungava Bay coasts.

The cockpit of a KLM Boeing 747 during a night flight over the Atlantic

There was a time when it was very simple to visit the cockpit of an aircraft in flight. A request was made to the stewardess, who then coordinated with the captain. Even during this period though, several companies forbade those visits when the plane was over the ocean.

In 1983, during a journey from Montreal towards Holland, I decided to take a chance and ask the on-board staff the dreaded question, hoping to be able to take a picture of the cockpit.

The flight was being made on a KLM Boeing B747. In the middle of the night, while the plane had been at cruising altitude for several hours and most of the passengers were asleep, I discreetly asked the flight attendant for the authorization to visit the cockpit. Naturally, she refused. I tried again, telling her that I was working as a flight service specialist in Inukjuak FSS and that I regularly talked with KLM to provide essential services. To dissipate any doubts, I finally gave her the KLM call-signs that I was dealing with over northern Quebec.

She agreed to deliver my request and, twenty minutes later, I was told: “come with me but pay attention not to wake the first class passengers installed near the spiral staircase which leads to the cockpit “. As I entered the cockpit, the captain turned around, greeted me while he crunched in an apple and returned to his work. Everything was quiet in the cockpit and we could hear a continual light whistling caused by the friction of the air.

After a short discussion with the crew, I asked both pilots and the flight engineer to close their eyes a short moment while I took a photo with flash. A photo impossible to take today, under the same circumstances, due to higher security standards.

And, since I started my annual holidays by visiting a cockpit, I thought it would also be interesting, once in Holland, to visit the famous miniature world of Madurodam, so as not to stay away too long from the aviation world…

Raisins and blueberries in Inukjuak

During the months when there was an on-the-spot cook preparing the meals in Inukjuak, we had it easy because everything was ready when meal time came. It remains that the desserts would have benefited from a little variety. Those were prepared with either grapes or blueberries, week after week, month after month.

We thus had the choice between raisin cakes, raisin pies, raisin puddings, raisin muffins and raisin cookies. When there was no more possibility of ingesting additional raisins, it was now time for blueberries: blueberry cakes, blueberry pies, blueberry puddings and blueberry muffins. However, to add some variety in the menu, there were no blueberry cookies. I was unable to eat raisins and blueberries for a long time following this monthly overdose of the same ingredients.

The cook not being particularly patient, I thought of making him laugh a little by asking him to participate in a trick where the victim would be a new FSS employee who had just arrived in Inukjuak in early afternoon. The latter had not taken any meal yet in the staff house’s kitchen. I knew that the dinner was served at 5 pm and that it was necessary to get organized to be on time. I thus told the cook that I would voluntarily arrive five minutes late with the new employee. That would allow the cook to act as if he was extremely upset. I knew he would be convincing.

Dinner time came. It was 5 PM but training of the new FSS was voluntarily extended five minutes. Then, feigning a surprise, we told him it was necessary to rush towards the staff house, as we feared the cook would be out of his mind. From the corridor that lead to the kitchen, we could hear cauldrons being smashed on the counter while the cook was shouting and complaining that new employees thought they were kings and lacked respect towards the kitchen staff.

The new comer told me that he was not really hungry. Apparently, he was not anxious to face the cook’s anger. The situation got worse when I nevertheless incited him to go in the kitchen and try to arrange things with the cook. Seeing the new guy, the cook doubled his efforts, red with anger. Then suddenly, all the employees in the kitchen burst with laughter and the cook wished a warm welcome to the new FSS, thanking him for having given him a chance to relax a little.

Ice and ships

Several ships naviguate along the Hudson Bay and Ungava Bay during summer. Sometimes, we are allowed to get on board to take few pictures, like it was the case for the two photos above.

When a ship makes a long journey towards the small villages along the Hudson Bay and Ungava bay, it regularly strikes small pieces of ice. The crew has to determine if the boat’s hull will be resistant enough to stay on the desired path.

Unfortunately, it is not always possible to evaluate the situation correctly and the hull sometimes breaks under the impact with the ice. The photo below shows the ship Kanguk, off Inukjuak in autumn 1982, its hull damaged during its journey towards one of the small villages of the coast.