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People have gone on treasure hunts for thousands of years, and it’s amazing what some will do to get their hands on a prize.
This story is full of the unexpected. You never know who to trust when you’re dealing with lost pieces of the past. One research team learned that the hard way when they discovered a missing plane while on a mission.
As it turned out, the wreckage of the aircraft wasn’t the only thing lurking in the snow.
The year was 1941.
High above the clouds over Alaska was a pilot desperate to keep his small warplane above ground. The snow was fierce, the clouds surrounding the plane as though they were an attacking squadron. Alarms sounded throughout the cockpit, and the clouds cleared just enough for the pilot to see the dense, white mountain into which he was about to crash. He took one wistful look back at his cargo before his plane hit the peak.
Would’ve been nice, he thought, before everything went black.
Standing at the foot of the mountains was a young Dena’ina boy, his eyes wide as he took in the fiery crash in the distance. He wondered if he should tell someone—maybe the person in the plane was still alive.
The wind whipped around him as he stared at the smoking wreckage, prominently visible against the snowy mountains.
But when he got back to his village in Talkeetna, he said nothing.
The village was small, but warm and welcoming. It was home to the little boy and his mother, who he knew would be worried about him. It was her face that loomed as he tried to fight the curiosity about what he saw in the mountains.
He knew he had to go back. It was the right thing to do. Get the adults involved; they would know what to do next.
Still…
But of course, little kids’ curiosity knows no bounds. He didn’t want to tell anyone; he wanted to keep the discovery for himself. The boy set out into the mountains with his beloved Malamute, but the pair weren’t able to make it to the plane.
Night fell too soon, the shadows rising around them.
Scared, the boy and his dog ran back to the warm fires of their village, where he dutifully accepted a hiding from his mother, who had been worried sick.
When his mother asked him what he had been doing, the boy couldn’t help but blurt out the truth. He told her what he had seen, her face growing concerned in the warm light of the fire as he spoke.
She told the Dena’ina elders, who questioned the boy before finding him legitimate. They decided to send out a search party when the snow cleared.
The search party left a few weeks later, but they did not return.
The loss of so many important men of their village left the Dena’ina in Talkeetna devastated, and no more search parties left after that. Though some individual men tried to search for the downed plane, they did not make it back either.
Eventually, the tribe stopped looking, though the rumors of the lost plane and what it could hold began to creep slowly through Talkeetna.
And beyond.
It was November of 1999 when Paul Jansen sat up suddenly, as though someone had screamed in his ear. His head was thudding with a dull ache, and his tongue was thick in his mouth, as though he’d just swallowed a lump of cotton.
“I Want It That Way” was blasting through the walls, likely from a radio played in the apartment next door.
Paul sighed. His Saturday was about to be spent easing his headache, which wouldn’t get any better if the Backstreet Boys had anything to say about it.
Paul, a researcher for the NOAA, groaned as he looked at the stack of unfinished projects sitting on his dining room table. He opened his fridge, pulling out a days-old glass of orange juice and a hopefully-not-expired yogurt.
He, along with a trio of researchers, was due to travel to Alaska soon. The flight was sure to be harrowing, and it left on Monday.
He had two days left to prepare.
The NOAA was one of few workplaces Paul had known, as he tended to stick around once he’d found a place. He’d gone on countless adventures for the organization, but they’d slowed him down in recent years as he’d approached forty.
Now, he rarely went on exciting field assignments, something that worried him.
He wanted to go and do, not sit around. Going to Alaska would be challenging, at least.
Perhaps Alaska would be a good opportunity.
But, perhaps Paul was getting the short end of the stick, so to speak. He wanted to go to exotic places, deep sea dive, and do things that made him feel alive.
Figuring out a malfunctioning radio station in Alaska wasn’t exactly the thrill he had in mind. But, he wasn’t one to refuse an assignment, as he was gunning for a promotion eventually.
“I’ll never understand what the government spends its money on,” Paul’s dad said when he called him to chat later that day. “Why are they sending you there?”
“A problem with a weather station,” Paul replied shortly. His father was silent on the line.
A long time had passed since his son felt excited about his job, a fact his father knew and was concerned about.
“You could always come work for me,” his father said. He owned a woodworking shop in Bend, just a few miles away from where Paul lived.
“I’ll keep it in mind, Dad,” Paul said. His head began to pulse, and he reached for a jar of ibuprofen, shaking a few loose.
He said goodbye to his father, as he had to pack for his upcoming trip.
Bad dreams plagued him most of the night.
The dreams differed, but the villain, a shadowy figure that seemed to lurk at the shadows of Paul’s dream reality, was always there.
He slept consistently, though not well, as the dreams had him in their grip throughout the night. It was a harrowing way to start his Alaskan expedition.
Paul’s alarm blared like a siren at five in the morning on Monday. It was time to head out to Talkeetna. Why they were going there in November was beyond Paul, and he was half-sure that they would get stranded.
This week-long trip would turn into a month, knowing the Alaskan weather.
Still, he hopped into his truck and headed to the airport, where he was due to meet his colleagues.
