Man Shares Absolutely Insane 9/11 Hunting Story: DETAILS
An OutKick reader sent me one of the wildest 9/11 stories you'll ever read.
Early Friday, I published a story about some badass photos the military released of an Ohio-class submarine and it's escort, which included some A-10 planes.
Shortly afterwards, I received an email from a man by the name of Jim Hagee with a story that is so shocking that it's hard for me to wrap my head around.
Jim and a hunting partner might have been the only two people in America unaware for several days that 9/11 had happened and the country was at war. A hunting trip to a remote section of Alaska cut them off completely from society. One of the few contacts they saw of the outside world was when two A-10s tear through the sky over Alaskan airspace. Little did they know those planes were ready to engage any target on September 11, 2001.
Below is the email presented in full. Make sure to send me your thoughts at David.Hookstead@outkick.com once you're done reading. Enjoy.
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OutKick reader shares insane 9/11 story.
David,
I know there are many people who have stories about the A-10, but you might find my story interesting. I lived in Alaska from 1998 to 2021. Being an outdoors guy, I found a remote river 50 miles north of Fairbanks called Beaver Creek, definitely not a creek in lower 48 terms. In the 23 years in Alaska, I rafted and hunted this river 19 times and knew every turn and sandbar. From the "put-in" to the best place to be retrieved by a bush plane. At the take-out is 112 river miles. Typically, it takes 10-14 days of rowing the rubber raft. There is no turning back once you launch. The only house on the creek is a shack owned by "Archie", the consummate hermit. No 7-11s, no telephone booths, no stores. no gas stations, nothing but wilderness. Few people raft this river due to the fact that you are totally "out of pocket" on this float. You are in the unforgiving ''Bush" of Alaska. Make a mistake and you merely evaporate, never to be heard from again. You wind up as bear-poop. You choose your travel companions carefully.
One year, my hunting partner and I heard some rumbling of aircraft engines getting louder and louder, coming up the river. Suddenly, two Warthogs, flying wing to wing, below treetop level, exploded into view and were less than 40 feet off the deck; it absolutely took our breath away. Four days later, we arrive at our pre-arranged pick-up sandbar; our take-out; and we wait for our Heliocourier from Wright Air, Fairbanks. We break down the raft, pile up our meat bags with our antlers, and wait. After a couple of hours, we hear an aircraft coming around to land. It was a yellow and blue Supercub, which I recognized immediately as belonging to the Alaska State Troopers. After landing, a uniformed state wildlife trooper gets out of his plane and walks over to us, at our pile of "luggage". He looks at us and says, "Gentlemen, I'm going to check your game and your licenses, but first let me tell you that the world you left is not the one you're going back to." He explains his statement. My buddy, [redacted name], turns ashen white. The date was September 15, 2001, coincidentally the date I requested for our date of retrieval. Unknowingly, we were in that group people that were abandoned in the Alaska bush, without any knowledge of the 9-11 events. In retrospect, we discerned those Warthogs were policing Alaska, enforcing the nation-wide no-fly laws. They were patrolling every sandbar and backwoods airstrip in Alaska, protecting our world.
A sidebar of this momentous trip was that my best friend and companion for this trip had two grown children, both of whom were flight attendants, headquartered in New York; one with American and one with United. The game warden had no additional information that he could share, but I was sure [redacted name] would need some clean underwear. After waiting another very long hour, we heard the Helio turning into it's downwind for landing. [redacted name] had left the telephone number of Wright Air with his wife before coming to Alaska on this trip. Before the propellers stopped turning, [redacted name] was at the door, ripping it open and dragging Bob Burcell, the pilot, out of his plane. He screamed at him, "Bob, do you have a message for me? My name is [redacted name], [redacted name], Do you have a message?" Very much in stride with being the unflappable bush pilot, Bob rubbed his chin and drolly said, "Hmmm....Uhhh.... No... No, I don't think so....." [redacted name] started breathing again. Because of our game-meat, Bob said we would have to make it two loads going out. Needless to say, [redacted name] was on that first load and called Cynthia immediately upon arrival at Fairbanks. He could continue breathing. Thankfully, neither of his children were on the doomed flights, although both knew victims. I was on the second load and came out with the rest of the meat and the trophy antlers.
Incidentally, on this trip it was a moose, a caribou and a black bear. But that's another story......
Sincerely,
Jim