‘Shanghaied’ to Moose Creek

by John Dowd

My job as a journalist has led to some of the greatest adventures of my life. Often, taking the mundane, and expanding it into the realm of the surreal, and every once in a while, it takes me to far flung places, very much the opposite of the mundane. In Montana, the surreal and the latter are often the norm, when it comes to reporting in the Big Sky state. A couple of weeks ago, I was whisked off into the mountains to cover a group working to repair a remote backcountry airstrip in the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness. I was joined by Craig Thomas, chair of the Stevensville Airport board. Our ride into the backcountry was supposed to be accompanied by a return flight in the early afternoon. It was a flight that would not happen. 

For context, the airstrip is called Moose Creek, and it takes a person, or mule pack train, roughly four to five days to hike in. The only way into the little valley is by foot or by air. These realities didn’t sink in until we were told upon landing, “Um, guys, we’re not gonna be able to get you back tonight.” These words were uttered by the President of the Recreational Aviation Foundation (RAF), Bill McGlynn. Thomas and I looked at each other, and I began considering the contents of my pockets, and was thankful that I had a water bottle and a jacket. 

Sometimes, actually very often, adventure comes out of the bushes and grabs us when we are not ready, especially when we’re pursuing the unknown.

McGlynn subsequently described a front moving in that would ground all aircraft, and that most pilots would not dare get up into it. We were stranded for the night.

I have learned it does a person no good to get upset over the uncontrollable, and that in these moments, the best thing to do is to delve into the controllable. I was there to do a job, and so I would make the most of it. I photographed the project, interviewed dozens of people and eventually rolled up my sleeves to get in and help.

Fortunately for the men and women working on the project to replace some outhouses that were destroyed in prior storms, Thomas was the one who designed them. He had planned to assist in the build, but since we were there until the front passed, it became all hands on deck to finish the toilets. Since I covered the initial construction of the partially completed outhouses, I was familiar with the design and able to offer additional experience. 

Together, the group built hundreds of yards of fence and erected two outhouses. Along the way, I spoke to the nearly 60 volunteers that flew in from all over the country to work on this deceptively simple project. And it was deceptively simple. A person on the outside could look at the project and say, “Well, you only put up a couple toilets and some fence.” The reality was, we could not just run down to the hardware store for anything we needed, and power tools were not allowed.

Much of it came down to logistics, using what little the small aircraft could carry, while in conjunction with a single Kodiak 100 plane that could carry far more. Throughout the day, numerous aircraft took off and landed, until the front moved overhead and all planes stayed on the ground. Additionally, when it costs hundred of dollars for a round trip, it’s logistically too expensive to do a single run for things we could make due without. This also meant that, for Thomas and I, logistically it could be difficult to get off the ground and get back home.

We were lucky the people out there were incredibly friendly, and empathetic to our plight. It also happened that we flew in with the young woman that organized the volunteers who manned the ranger station. On top of that, it was fortunate that very few people say no to McGlynn’s friendly nature. In quick order, we were put up in one of the ranger station bunkhouses, some of which were built in the late 1920’s. We had box spring mattresses, some old sheets and pillows, and we were even able to rustle up some old Forest Service sleeping bags. In the cool early morning hours, we even had access to a fine old wood stove.

Early the next morning, at about 2 a.m., Thomas and I started up that wood stove. The conversation began after I voiced my thoughts on the experience. The term “Shanghaied” came to mind in a nostalgic chuckle. The term comes from the early 1850’s, when sailing ships had difficulty getting men to sign on to work as sailors. Because this was the mid-19th century, and regulations were “loose,” a very productive way to do this was to send sailors out into the taverns in port towns. The sailors would drink wit, and eventually either drug, or outdrink, able-bodied seamen. Once too intoxicated to remember, or stand, those able-bodied men could very often find themselves onboard a ship bound for Australia, Africa or Shanghai. Once awake, and given some coffee, they were informed that since they were out at sea, and had nowhere to go, they might as well roll up their sleeves and help out. They might even get paid.

I can only imagine the feeling and the stress, from my experience, of wanting to reach out to loved ones to let them know everything may be alright. I was fortunate that I was able to track down McGlynn and his inReach. I had 160 characters to let my wife know I wouldn’t be home for our planned date night. 

The thought that Thomas and I had been Shanghaied became a running joke the next morning, when I went to have coffee with the pilots gathered in the mess building at about 5 a.m. Some of them had heard of the term, while others were intrigued by the similarities to our experience. Though the event had not been planned, or orchestrated on purpose, Thomas and I did indeed find ourselves in the service of the RAF, mildly against our wills. However, we would not have changed a thing. 

Thinking about our experience on the flight home the next morning, on the very aircraft that had been flying all the supplies into and out of Moose Creek, Thomas and I smiled. We had gotten to know each other far more than we had bargained for, as well as the incredible men and women of the RAF, the Stevensville Airport Foundation, the U.S. Forest Service, the Idaho Aviation Association (IAA), the Selway Bitterroot Frank Church Foundation (SBFC), the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness and many more participating representatives. It is an incredible feeling to become a part of such important work, and such a group so committed to preserving what they love for others to enjoy. 

Life has a way of sweeping us off our feet and carrying us away. In the old days of seafaring, “crimping” and “shanghaiing,” those able bodied seamen, kidnapped and brought to far-reaching lands, often felt the same. They would tell horrific stories of kidnapping, shipped away to sea for a year there, and a year back. The tales they wove of adventures in foreign lands, salty sailors’ woes and even battles abroad, would become legend. But these were adventures they would never forget, and forged the men they became. 

One can read in history that these men sometimes maintained careers and friendships with the sailors they met, and even the superiors that ordered their kidnapping. It would become a common description in those days that a good sailor could never leave the sea, because it would always call him back. An adventure self-sought is well and good, but the one that seeks you out has a more powerful implication on the flow of life, and what it all really means. Being stranded on that little airstrip, an island in an ocean of pines, became an incredible adventure, indeed, for two able-bodied woodsmen.