No way, José.
Through the rear side window of the hard-banked Aviat Husky, I’m staring goggle-eyed down at a gnat-sized strip of straw and dirt far below. I wonder aloud over the comm: Am I looking at the wrong area? Nope, says pilot Tom Bryant.
That smear of dirt, that yardstick-length hackout of sod on the steep side of a hill, yes, that same strip with the pronounced dogleg to the right, partway up its 1,300-foot length, is indeed our landing destination.
An ominous feeling of doom drops into my stomach like a cannonball. That this disaster-in-waiting landing zone is tucked into a bend of the turbulent Snake River only adds a comic afterthought: Hell, if we blow the landing, we can always crash and drown, and then get run over by one of the superfast jet boats we just saw upriver. I mean, if you gotta go, why not go out as legend?
A portion of the article, Backcountry Bash: The Perfect Recipe For High Country Fun
By James Lawrence