One of the most common aspects of Bush pilot stories is high drama -- which is likely why Jack Jefford remains one of the lesser-known members of Alaska's aviation history. As his 1937 arrival in the territory was later than the more famous pioneering aviators, Jefford was not the one to land first on a glacier (that was Bob Reeve), or Denali (Joe Crosson), or fly north of the Arctic Circle (Noel Wien), or year-round in Southeast (Shell Simmons). He also didn't die on the job, like Ben Eielson or Russ Merrill, nor was he gifted with an unforgettable moniker like Harold "he thrill 'em, he spill 'em, he no kill 'em" Gillam.
Jack Jefford was just a good pilot. He carved out a career that had moments of danger and fear, as to be expected from the era he worked in, but he also embraced safety and modernism, learning to fly via instruments at the earliest possibility.
In his classic memoir, "Winging It!," Jefford chronicles decades spent flying tens of thousands of hours in one of the most straightforward histories of Alaska aviation. Stripped of hyperbole and populated with the author's dry wit, "Winging It!" is an Alaska story that does not rely upon myth-making or grandiose declarations. Jefford didn't fly that way and didn't write that way and because of that his book is much better than most.
"Winging It!" opens with Jefford's first flight in California in 1925, his fledgling career in the Midwest and then moves ahead to an eventual job offer from commercial operator Hans Mirow in Nome 12 years later.
"I was sure of one thing -- this godforsaken 'metropolis' on the Seward Peninsula was not for me." Jefford wrote candidly of his first site of the Alaska Bush. "'I'm going to get the hell out of this place just as soon as I can scrape up enough money!' I vowed. 'Nebraska never looked so good'."
Jefford, of course, did not leave, and while working for Mirow he gained valuable Bush pilot experience flying passengers and freight all over the Northwest and into the Interior and Southcentral regions. He did have some close calls, but writes about them carefully, emphasizing safety and caution over any sense of bravado. In 1938, something outrageous did happen to Jefford though, when he came to a full stop on the peak of the Darby Mountains while en route to the village of Elim.
Encountering a "standing wave" or severe downdraft, Jefford continued flying even though he admits he should have turned around and gotten "the hell out of there." Suddenly, he found himself dropping dramatically amid blowing snow, then landed.
Rocks passed by indistinctly, shadows in the whiteness, just before I touched the mountainside. The crash was so mild I wasn't sure whether or not I was actually on the ground. In the confusion of air turbulence and blinding snow, I believed I might still be flying. I kept the engine running full-bore, but the shadows stopped passing by. After a minute or so, I realized I couldn't possibly still be flying in the ground drift.
The aircraft had come to rest upright, on one ski. The left wingtip and ski were gone, but he surmised the extreme headwind had slowed him so much he had just landed on the mountain peak. He was able to send a distress call that was picked up and relayed, though he didn't know it. Six miserable days later, a musher and sled dog team found and rescued him.
In December 1939, Hans Mirow and pilot Pete Bystedt were killed while on a search mission for another Mirow Air Service pilot and his passengers. The next year, Jefford left the company and went to work for the Civil Aeronautics Authority -- precursor to the Federal Aviation Administration -- as an airways flight inspector. He ultimately became the agency's chief pilot for the Alaska Region and held that position for decades.
Jefford writes in "Winging It!" about his work for the CAA and FAA, which included flying the government's DC-3 across the territory as the initial airway structure linking Alaska to Seattle -- and communities from each corner of the Last Frontier -- was developed. This massive project transformed flying in Alaska and along with the more than two dozen military airfields built during the war period, which Jefford was also intimately involved in, changed aviation here forever. For his superior efforts as a government employee, Jack Jefford was awarded the Department of Commerce's Gold Medal.
In recently rereading "Winging It!" I was struck by how quietly significant Jefford's career was. He bridged the gap from the days of open cockpits and strapping dead bodies onto wings to the era of big powerful piston-engined aircraft roaring onto paved and lighted modern airfields. His memoir does more than bring readers back to an earlier time, it reveals how those times changed and gives readers a look into a unique aviation career that was transformative in every sense of the word.
"Winging It!" includes numerous photographs and is available online and at bookstores across Alaska. Copies can also easily be purchased from the Jefford family's chain of gift shops in Anchorage. Read more about Jack Jefford's career at the AOPA blog.
Contact Colleen Mondor at colleen[at]alaskadispatch.com.