ABSTRACT
The plane seemed to swim down through the clouds. Turning, we saw at a distance great Mount Saint Elias, with the awesome Malaspina Glacier spreading from its base to the sea. Soon we were over land, the evergreens standing like grass in the snow and ice of Alaska. To our left was the horseshoe shape of Yakutat Bay, a few houses scattered on its northern shore. We wheeled, and the grass became trees and came up to meet us. We touched the scar on the landscape, the runway, and, purring in godlike precision, came to a stop near the small hangar. The plane left almost at once, its mission to deliver me to this spot having been accomplished. In no time, a truck came rattling around the corner of the hangar. It took me to the naval base I would share with thirty-five other landlocked sailors for the following year and a half. The date was January 19, 1943.
