Touching the Ancient One

April 11, 2008

Recent entries on this site have told the story of how David West-Watson of Wales found the survivors of the airplane crash in Alaska that took the life of his father, William Ronald West-Watson in 1954. As one of the survivors of that crash, I related in my book, Touching the Ancient One: A True Story of Survival and Reunion, the details of my search for the West-Watson family and David’s subsequent finding of us. I also made available pdf files of magazine and newspaper articles that told David’s story. You can read them again by at easy download of RegisterArticle-West-Watson.pdf and REDISCOVERING.pdf.

Now, many years later, David and his wife Anne have started a fund that will benefit children of families devastated by accidents, as was his family in 1954. I believe the emphasis will be on children of men and women lost at sea, although I’m not yet certain of that. David is captain of the chemical tanker Stolt Cormorant which is owned and operated by the company, Stolt Nielsen. David and Anne are well acquainted with the dangers that accompany such work. They have named their project “Kesugi Children” which is apt, since David’s father died on Kesugi Ridge in Alaska. I believe that no money will go directly to the child or parent, but to support areas for the child’s benefit. David is running in the London Marathon this Sunday, April 18 to raise money for the fund.

When I get more details, including contacts, for this worthwhile project, I’ll publish them. I’m sure some of you will be interested in contributing. Stand by.

Rupert

February 14, 2008 

David West-Watson, about whom I have written in this journal, is not only the son of William Ronald West-Watson, a British military physician who died in the 1954 C-47 crash that six of us survived, he is also captain of the chemical tanker Stolt Cormorant. Click here to see a photograph of the Stolt Cormorant.

Rupert 

It's easy enough nowadays to see the ugly in the world, so when I find something extraordinarily beautiful, I like to pass it along. This presentation on the greatdanepro.com website is well worth your time. Click here.

greatdanepro.com website

December 27, 2007

In October, I provided readers of this journal with a link for downloading the article “Rediscovering the Past and Shaping the Future,” which is about David West-Watson, son of William Ronald West-Watson, the British military officer and physician who died in the 1954 C-47 crash that I survived along with five others. Now, there’s another download about the West-Watsons, but first I have to tell a little back-story.

David was four when his father was killed. He grew up not knowing there were survivors of the crash. In 2005 he stumbled onto a web site that had a picture of a memorial plaque with his father’s name on it. The survivors’ names are also on the plaque and, because of that, he was able to find me. David and Anne, his wife, attended our survivor group reunion that summer in Cincinnati. They also traveled to Alaska and climbed to the crash site. Finding his father’s grave at Fort Richardson was an emotional, but satisfying experience.

This fall, David and Anne came visiting from their home in Wales. They were in upstate New York with Millie and I for four wonderful days. From here they went to Elkader, Iowa to spend Thanksgiving with Ed and Ruth Olson. Ed is also one of the survivors of the crash. Then, they moved on to Ohio to be with Keith and Jan Betscher for several days before returning home.

While they were in Elkader, Reporter Bryce Durbin did an article for the Clayton County Register. Mr. Durbin has given permission to offer the article as a PDF file for private use. It’s an interesting and well-written article. You can download RegisterArticle-West-Watson.pdf, here, or from Downloads in the sidebar.

November 26, 2007 

Portrait of a Legend: Talkeetna's Cliff Hudson has been chosen to participate in the Anchorage International Film Festival. The Stagg Films movie will be shown with a short documentary film titled Unraveling the Wind. The festival runs from Friday, November 11 through Sunday, December 9.

This is quite an honor. Portrait of a Legend: Talkeetna's Cliff Hudson deserves the recognition. I can't attend the Festival, but you can bet I would if I could. You can also order Portrait of a Legend: Talkeetna's Cliff Hudson DVD by clicking here.

Rupert 

David and Anne West-Watson - 2005

October 30, 2007

Readers of Touching the Ancient One will recall the part that David West-Watson played in the last chapter of the book. A recent magazine article about David will be of particular interest to those readers.

David is the son of William Ronald West-Watson, the British military officer and physician who perished in the 1954 C-47 Alaskan crash that is the basis of my book. It was not until 2005 that David learned there had been survivors of the crash and that they have an active reunion group which includes families of men who died that tragic day.

David is captain of the Stolt Cormorant, a chemical tanker belonging to Stolt-Nielsen Limited. An article recently appeared in Stolten, the corporate magazine of Stolt-Nielsen. The article, Rediscovering the Past and Shaping the Future, tells about David West-Watson’s searching for and finding his "dad,” and in the process changing his “perspective on life.” It goes on to tell how David is using the long-ago tragedy as an incentive toward a project that will benefit others who have lost loved ones through tragic events. This well-written article is an inspiration.

I have permission from Stolten to offer it for download as a pdf file. You can find REDISCOVERING.pdf in Downloads in the sidebar on the right, or by clicking here.

Enjoy.

Rupert

October 22, 2007

I’ve had some requests to use photographs that are on this website. I thought I should state my policies about that. All the photographs here are under copyright law. If there is no credit listed with a photograph, it is assumed to be my own. Where credits are given, I have permission to use them but cannot give permission for anyone else to use them. My own photographs may be used free of charge for personal use, and for non-commercial websites provided credit is given me and a link back to the main page of this website is established. Commercial websites, or companies and individuals that may want to use my photographs commercially, may contact me personally by email.

October 9, 2007

Winston “Wink” Harbour, another friend from Salt Rock, died last week. Yes, if you’ve been reading my logs, the surname should be familiar. In my May 23, 2007 log, just a few short months ago, I told you about Ed Harbour—his passing, and something of our long friendship. Wink is Ed’s older brother by a couple of years.

Although Ed and I were in the same grade all through school, and therefore closer in many ways, Wink, also played a part in my life. First of all, he always seemed bigger than life to me. He was stronger, faster, and more athletic; those were the most important traits to a teen-age boy back then—maybe now, too. Wink became a football player, a guard, in high school, and he was a good one. Soon, we were hearing things like “the best lineman ever at Barboursville” being voiced in the community. And that may have been true. In the 1948 season, Barboursville was undefeated until late in the season when they met Milton, also undefeated. Milton may have won that game, but Barboursville had a great team, and Wink was one of the anchors.

Ed and I were a couple of years behind, but we wanted to be football players too. In ninth grade, we were allowed to walk over from the junior high to the high school and practice in full pads, this in lieu of our regular physical education classes. That was supposed to give us an edge when we got to the high school the following year. During the summer before our high school debut, Wink took us under his wing and unselfishly taught us all he knew about playing on the line. His teaching served us well over the next three years.

Wink served in the Korean War, and by the time he came back, I was at Marshall. He asked me if I’d like to go with him to visit Hubert Harshbarger in St. Mary’s Hospital in Huntington. Wink and Hubert had been great friends in high school. Hubert went to Syracuse University and had been on the football squad there. He bought a motorcycle and was on the way home when he had an accident that took one of his legs. Hubert was really down during our visit, and Wink worked hard to cheer him up. On the way out of St. Mary’s, Wink was quiet. He turned away from me, but not before I saw tears on his cheeks.

I only saw Wink a few times after that and don’t know much about his later life, but the things I remember from our younger days are good things to remember.

September 18, 2007

While I was doing my book-signing at the Tanana Valley Farmer’s Market in Fairbanks in July, a young woman approached with a copy of Touching the Ancient One in her hands. Almost shyly, Libby Martin asked me to autograph the book. We chatted about a couple of mundane things, then she said, “I must warn you—I review books for the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner, and I’m reviewing your book.”

There’s an old saying that “there’s no such thing as a bad review.” Still, I wondered what she might say. After returning home, I looked up some of her other reviews and could see that she was tough, but fair. I was pleasantly surprised when the review appeared in the Sunday, August 19 Daily News-Miner.

Freelance writer, Libby Martin, reviews books for the newspaper under the column name, The Armchair Adventurer. She gave permission to share this review:

-------------------

'Ancient One' a powerful story of survival, healing 

Alaska’s history is littered with aviation tragedies. According to the National Transportation Safety Board and the National Institute of Occupational Safety and Health, the commercial aviation accident rate in Alaska is four times that of other states. And with a long list of well-known names lost in plane crashes – including Carl Ben Eielson’s disappearance in 1929, Wiley Post and humorist Will Rogers in 1935, William Huatala’s death in 1943 and U.S. Reps. Nick Begich of Alaska and Hale Boggs of Louisiana in 1972 - stories of gravity’s victory over man’s attempt to soar are numerous.

But Rupert Pratt’s memoir, “Touching the Ancient One: A True Story of Tragedy and Reunion,” is a story of a different type. As the title suggests, the book isn’t just about the crash, although that compelling story is the first half of the book. The story is really about Pratt and the men who survived a tragic accident – and how they reconnected years later. It’s not so much a tragedy as a tale of survival and strength.

Rupert Pratt grew up in Salt Rock, WV, a rural area in the Appalachian Mountains. He joined the Army at age 20, because “in the early fifties, entering the military was almost a certainty for a healthy young man.” He was assigned to Ladd Air Force Base in 1953 for a two-year stint.

On his arrival, however, he and his buddies Ed Knapp and Don McDonough were assigned to drive oil and gas rigs, a dirty, smelly job that was far from the glamour Pratt had envisioned.

Pratt writes of his introduction to the Fairbanks cold, disillusionment with his assignment and his personal story of loves lost and found. It’s a meandering journey, first here, then there, throwing in an explanation as almost an after thought. It’s not the chronological, 1-2-3 order most of us expect when reading history, but it’s more real, as if we’re sitting down face-to-face with Pratt as he tells us stories about his life. The back story is also necessary to help us understand how he ended up on a C-47 that ill-fated day, and, like any real life journey, begins long before the actual event, with fits and starts along the way.

Pratt and his buddies were “loaned” to the Army’s petroleum lab in Ft. Richardson, TDY for up to three months. They landed in Anchorage in November 1953; they were recalled back to Ladd on Feb. 3, 1954.

Pratt was told their loan to the Army was over; he was to notify Knapp and McDonough and be on a flight back to Fairbanks by Feb. 5.

So it was that Pratt got himself and his friends on that unfortunate C-47 out of Elmendorf, finding himself plummeting to earth when the plane broke up over Denali National [State] Park and his subsequent landing on Kesugi Ridge.

Sixteen men boarded that flight. Six men survived the explosion, break-up and parachute-fall to the ground.

Such is Pratt’s writing skill that even though you know – you KNOW – that only six men walk away from the downed craft, the reader hopes along with the author for the safety of all of them. Pratt has tapped deeply into 40-year-old memories, bringing the reader vividly close to the experience. I felt the cold wind rushing through me as I fell from the plane, earned bruises from landing on unforgiving rock and waved frantically at an unseen plane flying overhead, hoping I would be seen.

But this book is not a mere survival tale. Pratt finishes out the first half by detailing his reaction after returning to Fairbanks – too much booze, time and what we would these days call post-traumatic stress. But he pulled himself together, finished his military time, married his sweetheart and got on with his life.

Until 40 years later, when he began wondering about the other five survivors and the families of those who hadn’t survived. With the aid of his letters home (saved by his mom), newspaper clippings and a database with all the residential telephone numbers in the U.S., Pratt began with the five men who had shared the mountain with him.

It was slow going, but eventually, Pratt found them. The story of his search is as compelling as the tale of the crash, because he is honest about the emotions dragged up from the wells of memory. He worried that the others wouldn’t want to remember the crash, and that the families of those who didn’t survive were resentful of those who had.

“The reunion idea just popped out,” he writes early in the chapter. “I guess the idea had occurred to me before, but I hadn’t given it much thought. Now it seemed the most logical thing in the world.”

And the others thought so too.

Eventually, Pratt found family members who were willing to talk about their lost loved ones – indeed, the forward to this half of the book was written by Keith Betscher, who was 20 months old when his father piloted his last flight.

Pratt writes vivid biographies of both the survivors and the victims, using information he garnered from family members, survivors’ stories and newspaper clippings. He speaks with wonder at the interest the reunions picked up – newspaper articles, a film documentary, and calls from families. Eventually, the survivors plan a trip to Kesugi Ridge, thus closing out a chapter in their lives that colored everything they did.

August 10, 2007

This took a little longer than I'd thought it would. Thanks for waiting. Calling our Alaska trip a “book-signing tour” might be overstating it a bit since Millie and I would have returned even if there was no book. Alaska is in my blood and I believe Millie is infected as well. That’s not a bad thing at all, except that the long flights to and from “America’s last frontier” seem to get harder each time. The fact that we’re willing to endure such discomfort says something about our desire to be there. Anyway, I’m calling our trip a “book-signing tour,” and I’ll tell you about that; I’ll also tell you other things about the trip, making it sort of a travel guide within the story.

On Thursday, July 12, after a two-hour Delta flight from Albany to Cincinnati and another seven-hour flight to Anchorage, we picked up our rental car and drove the short distance (1-2 miles) to Lake Hood Inn, the same accommodations we had in 2004. This time we were to stay two nights before heading out to other places. Owner Bill Floyd had left us a note. He was out somewhere but would be back soon. We settled in, watching the floatplanes taking off and landing on the lake. It seems like every home or building around the shoreline has a floatplane tied up beside it. Bill soon returned and we spent some time catching up on the past three years. At ten-thirty, we hit the sack, having to pull shades against the still-bright sun.

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