In the center of Chersky, an old Il-14 stands on its pedestals, a silent witness to the era when aviation was the lifeline of the Arctic
The Polar station
That spring was unusually cold. The temperature rarely rose above –25°C. Early in the morning the trees stood covered in frost, like brides dressed for their wedding day. By noon the sun warmed the air a little, but only for a couple of hours. Soon the cold returned, locking the town once again in its icy grip and wrapping everything in darkness. At that time we were finishing preparations for field work on Wrangel Island. The expedition promised to be interesting, and everyone was eagerly waiting for departure. The radio-navigation equipment had been tested and packed into crates. All that remained was to receive our official assignment and buy the tickets. Soon everything was ready, and we boarded a cargo plane heading to the settlement of Chersky, located at the mouth of the Kolyma River. The moment we stepped outside after arrival we immediately appreciated the “charms” of the Arctic. Magadan suddenly seemed like a resort town in comparison , the temperature here was –45°C. It reminded me of my youth in a small settlement along the Kolyma highway, when in –50°C frost we proudly walked around with the ear flaps of our hats raised. Afterwards our own ears felt like frozen plywood.
Flight route during an Arctic expedition to Wrangel Island.
Departing from Chersky, we landed at the Four-Pillars Polar Station for refueling before continuing toward the survey area in the Arctic Ocean. where one of the aircraft was lost.
After a short period of settling in, we began preparing the aircraft. It took about two days to install the navigation equipment on five planes. Test flights are always exciting - a new place, a new crew, a new aircraft. You have to learn to work together. I introduced myself to the crew and explained the goals of our mission. The guys assigned to my aircraft were young pilots. Later I nicknamed them “the stuntmen.” Our first test flight took place early the next morning. The sun had not yet risen; only a faint pink glow on the horizon hinted at its presence. The engines roared, and soon we were in the air. From above, the Arctic coast looked endless and silent. Vast white fields of ice stretched beyond the horizon, making you think about the true power of nature. As we flew over polar stations we noticed an open lead in the ice, left by an icebreaker that had passed through not long before. Polar bears were already using it as their own swimming pool. The flight lasted two hours. Everything worked perfectly. We were ready to begin.
The real work started the next day. Each aircraft performed about ten landings on the ice every day. The planes hopped from one ice floe to another like grasshoppers, dropping off the surveyors who took their measurements before the aircraft lifted off again. When the day’s work was finished, we gathered at the polar station where the planes refueled before returning home. For about a month everything went smoothly. The data we collected was processed at the base camp, and the work continued without incident. We had only two days of work left and a few final control flights. On the second-to-last day we took off as usual at 4 a.m. By 10 a.m. we had reached the work area and the operation began. The aircraft continued their dance across the ice. But that day something went wrong. One of the five planes did not arrive at the rendezvous point. We called them repeatedly over the radio. Silence. Thirty minutes passed. Still nothing. People began to worry. I quickly calculated the area where the crew had been working, and our plane set course in that direction. An hour later we reached the location. The scene below us was heartbreaking.
The aircraft lay on an ice floe with its wings tilted awkwardly, already half submerged in icy water. Around it people were running and waving emergency flares. Boxes and equipment were scattered everywhere. Even from the air it was obvious that the aircraft would not stay afloat for long. Our captain made the decision to land nearby despite the obvious danger. The crew from the wrecked plane fought their way across ridges and broken ice and finally reached us. They climbed into the warm cabin of our aircraft. Miraculously, no one was seriously injured. Only two of the men had soaked their boots while escaping the sinking plane. We gathered everything we could salvage.
The next day we flew over the crash site again. From the air we saw only a large dark opening in the ice. And an oil slick. The airplane had disappeared beneath the freezing Arctic waters. The cause of the accident was simple: thin ice — and the pilot’s overconfidence. Fortunately, the remaining days passed without incident. Soon everyone was packing their bags to go home. The road home is always a pleasant one. In a month we would be heading out again for work at sea. But that is another story.