An old, bold pilot

By GEORGE OSTROM

Are any of them still alive? I'm trying to remember.

The top pilots who flew for Johnson Flying Service after the Big War were all a little bit older than I was. Most of them got vital basic flying experience needed for the dangerous "bush flying" done out of Missoula, by flying in the service, while others simply spent their lives in airplanes. Last November we wrote here about going to the dedication of the new Penn Stohr airport at Plains. As part of that column told about Penn's death in a spraying accident and mentioned a bad day of flying with Penn in the Mission Mountains when three of our fellow flyers perished in a crash.

Since November, another of my pilot friends, Kenneth Roth, died at his home in Missoula after many years of brave and skillful flying for Johnson. Kenny was flying a leased Ford Trimotor carrying my smokejumper crew when it crashed off the end of the Spotted Bear Airstrip just at dark in the summer of 1963. It was Kenny's skill that kept anyone from getting killed. I wasn't in that plane because we knew it did not have the power of Johnson's Fords so I took two of the crew with me in a separate plane, a Travelaire, to the Helen Creek fire on the edge of the Bob. Have told that story here in the long ago. The point is Kenneth Roth is now gone.

Ten days ago, March 27th, one of my best flying friends passed away in Missoula at age 84. I'm just one of many besides his family who have great memories of Ed Thorsrud. Passed along some of those personal memories to Ed's son Lloyd who lives in Bigfork. Told Lloyd there are very few men who've led a more productive, daring, and full life than his Dad and he agreed.

Thorsrud learned to fly with the Army Air Corps and flew troops and cargo during the war in Europe.

Ed was one of the first smoke jumpers, going in right out of high school just before WWII. He also was one of the first skiers, going to Big Mountain before they build the resort up there and you had to hike up and ski down. The last time I visited with Ed was in 1998 when Winter Sports Inc. held a "Fifty Year Banquet" for old timers. Ed and I hadn't seen each other for several years and we gave each other a hug.

Had many adventures with Ed, some just hard work, others humorous, all adventuresome. . and one which came close to being the end for both of us. It was a hot summer afternoon and we had to go into a short one-way airstrip in the Selway Wilderness called "Shear." It is up the river a few miles from the famed one-way strip at Moose Creek, where by the way, there have been a couple fatals. The reason why we couldn't' t wait for cooler air that day, escapes me now; but for some reason we were under pressure to "do it.'

Ed was concerned about the air sock on the strip not remaining very steady but finally it seemed OK for us to go in. Once you commit . . . there is no turning back in that kind of landing area. We were thankful we had one of John son's best Ford Trimotors and the big engines were finely tuned as only Ed could tune 'em. Just as we were about to touch down a sudden and violent wind switch literally slammed the plane sideways toward the trees on the left side of the strip.

I could see the limbs of big yellow pines all around us and just sort of accepted the fact that we would go in, but Ed seemed to pull the nose of that big three-engined monster around by personal muscle, miss a couple of trees by raising the wing, then level out, raise the nose, wrap his right leg around the brake handle and skid to a stop just short of the woods at the end of the landing area. He did all this in about five seconds that seemed like a life time.

Ed smoked a cigar now and then and I'd seen his with a pipe but never cigarettes. After we got out of the plane, we sort of staggered over to a bare place under a tree and fell on the ground. I pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes. Ed said he guessed he needed one also. By that time the adrenaline rush had started to wear off and neither one of us could hold our hands steady enough to light a cigarette. Finally got the job done by holding our hands against a tree, and Ed said that was the "closest call" he'd ever had in his years of flying. Maybe we smoked two cigarettes. . . can't remember.

Could write several columns about flying with Ed Thorsrud but will spare you for now. One time he let me fly a Ford back from Yellowstone while he got a badly needed nap. Told me to hold it at 8,000 feet and follow the road. For reasons I didn't know then and still don't, the plane started climbing near Anaconda and I couldn't get it to level out, but I didn't want to wake Ed because he needed the sleep so badly. When I did wake him up over Missoula we were above 12,000 feet. He took a look at the altimeter, smiled and asked, "Did we hit an up-draft back there someplace?" That's all he said before taking the plane down.

Thanks Ed. . . for not making a big deal out of that.