(Precedent story: the Inuit who wanted to shoot Whites with a .303 caliber rifle)
In a Northern Quebec 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 flight service specialists (FSS)working in Inukjuak (CYPH), 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 was crossing the living 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…
(Next story: Inukjuak: last hope for a Twin Otter short on fuel)
This is where we worked and lived in Inukjuak in 1982. One of the buildings holds the Transport Canada flight service station.
Note: It is only an out of the ordinary true life story. Normal relations between Whites and Inuit 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 a Northern Quebec village named 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 employees and Transport Canada flight services specialists (FSS) 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.
Twin Otter inbound for Inukjuak on a very windy day in 1982.
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.
(Precedent story: the manager who lost his appetite)
Two Austin Airways Twin Otters being unloaded in Inukjuak in 1982.
During the years the Transport Canada flight service station in Inukjuak (CYPH) 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 the flight service specialists (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 Hudson Bay and Ungava Bay coasts. Barges loaded with heavy machinery and crated material were finally reaching Northern Quebec 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.
A rare sight: a piano and some mattresses were left without much protection in the absence of their new owners. Inukjuak 1982
One day, an anti-submarine patrol aircraft CP140 Aurora having completed his work over Hudson Bay contacted us for air traffic services. Since its operations seemed momentarily completed and it was now moving to another area, he was asked to do a “low pass” above the station. The pilot agreed and soon enough, the airplane 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 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…
An Air Inuit Twin Otter C-GMDC is refueling in Inukjuak in 1982
(Next story: the Inuit who wanted to shoot Whites with a .303 caliber rifle)
(Precedent story: illegal fishing on the Innuksuak river)
An Austin Airways Twin Otter is getting airborne during a snow shower in Inukjuak, 1982. In the background, the Environment Canada upper air station.
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, in the Nunavik. So in 1982 he made the journey to Inukjuak (CYPH), 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 the flight services specialists (FSS) in Inukjuak that he had made the trip with no more than 200 feet of clearance between the Hudson Bay water and the clouds.
The airplane 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. The flight services specialists realized that their manager was not very comfortable with “non standard” flights.
An Austin Airways Twin Otter on takeoff from Inukjuak in 1982.
On the return flight, he was the sole passenger on board, the remaining space being occupied by cargo. The FSS 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 the La Grande flight service station 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 degree right turn. It was enough to keep him from traveling up north for a while.
(Precedent story: a visit at the Inukjuak flight service station)
Inhabitants of the Inukjuak village, 1982
In the early “80s, while I was working at the Transport Canada flight service station in Inukjuak (CYPH), a floatplane entered our control zone in Inukjuak without communicating with the flight service specialists (FSS). 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 Inuits, 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 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 FSS at 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.
(Precedent story: when in doubt, action is worth more than inaction)
Children visiting the Inukjuak flight service station in 1982.
In 1982, at the Transport Canada flight service station in Inukjuak (CYPH), I work with other flight service specialists (FSS) to provide air traffic services, which include advisory service to arriving and departing aircrafts. We also act as a radio communication station 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 a Nunavik 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 Inuit 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 police officer 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.
Hockey players in the Inukjuak village in 1982
(Next story: illegal fishing on the Innuksuak river)
(Precedent story: enroute toward the first posting: Inukjuak)
The Inukjuak soft sand runway, in 1982, and a balloon tires equipped Twin Otter, property of Austin Airways.
During my first working days as a flight service specialist (FSS) at the Transport Canada flight service station in Inukjuak (CYPH), in 1982, I received a radio 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 air traffic services 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 service 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?” 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…
(Next story: A visit at the Inukjuak flight service station (1982))
(Precedent story: flight service and the Transport Canada Training Institute in Cornwall)
1982 Northern Quebec view from a Nordair B737
Summer of 1982. Today is the departure from Montreal towards Inukjuak (CYPH), a northern Quebec Inuit village, part of the Nunavik. There, I will start working as a flight service specialist (FSS) for Transport Canada. 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 (CYGW) 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.
1982 Kuujjuarapik. A Nordair Boeing B-737 in the foreground and an Austin Airways Twin Otter in the background.
1982 A flight service specialist (FSS) working at the Kuujjuarapik station, in Québec
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.
1982 Cargo and passengers in the Twin Otter
1982. A view of Sanikiluaq from an Austin Airways Twin Otter.
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 airplane turns on final. It is two thousand feet long and made only of sand thick enough to render its surface unstable.
1982 Austin Airways Twin Otter on base for the Inukjuak airport runway
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!
1982 Inukjuak inhabitant and canoes used for traditional activities
