I was a reporter from the Whitehorse Star from 1983 to 1986. It was my first real journalism job and where I was first truly tested for my work ethic and ability to develop sources, meet tight deadlines and generate original stories.

In those years, we had intense competition with the Yukon News and CBC Radio. We loved scooping each other; it pushed us all to do amazing journalism. Most of the reporters were young journalism grads — well-educated, hungry to learn and energized by the competition.

This meant that when I went on a road trip for stories, I was single-minded about trying to do the best job possible. That was number one, above anything else — above sleep, above food, even above safety.

In the winter of 1985, I was assigned to cover the second running of the Yukon Quest International Sled Dog Race. I was extremely nervous about this task. It felt big. The race, going 1,000 miles through the winter wilderness between Whitehorse and Fairbanks, Alaska, was brand new and there were many unknowns. I wanted to do an excellent job and wasn’t really sure how to do it. And I knew CBC would have their well-connected and popular mushing expert, Pam Buckway, on the job. Pressure!

The Quest started in Whitehorse that year, heading north along the Yukon River, through Carmacks and Dawson City, then west into Alaska and on to Fairbanks. After Dawson, the only way for reporters to follow the race — to meet the mushers at checkpoints and see who was where — was by small plane. Of course, the Star did not have an aircraft, so my job was to find pilots and hitch rides. There were a number following the race for the Quest itself, helping with logistics, and others who were doing films or following for personal interest.

I remember flying with a young pilot from Fairbanks. I can’t remember his name, after all these years, or the type of plane he was flying. But I felt very safe with him. He had his eyes on the “road” constantly; he was all business in the cockpit and very calm and professional. I flew with him on a few sojourns in the Yukon, to check on the progress of mushers, and then from Dawson City to Eagle, Alaska.

Once we arrived in Eagle, I learned he was not available for the next few legs of the race. So I had to find a new pilot to take me to the next checkpoint, Circle City.

This was another element of the competition; there were several reporters, including Alaskans, doing the same as me: looking to hitch rides with pilots. We did it by word of mouth once we were on the ground. Often, if you were in the right place at the right time, you’d get your choice pilot. They had to be leaving at the right time, to get you to the next checkpoint before the first mushers. After asking around, I found a pilot who could take me in his Cessna 180 out of Eagle and on to Circle City.

My main memory of that flight is that I was not comfortable. The pilot seemed a happy, friendly guy. But I remember him with his head turned around, looking back at us, joking with the person beside me, while the plane was heading toward a mountain. It just felt too casual for me. And at that time, I was not a nervous flyer. I loved being in a plane.

We made it to Circle City and I was to fly with him again, to Circle Hot Springs. I knew it was going to be a very short flight so I wasn’t concerned. Mainly I was focused on getting there before the mushers. In the meantime, I had a lot of work to do — interviewing, writing, figuring out how to send my report back to the Star, along with any film of photos I had taken.

It was very dark when we prepared for the flight to Circle Hot Springs. There were four of us in the plane, filling all the seats in the little Cessna — the pilot, the owner of the plane (sitting next to him in the front), Kathy, a reporter from the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner, and me. And in the back of the plane, a large amount of heavy television equipment.

I remember us speeding down the runway, in the dark. It seemed to take forever to get airborne.

I remember Kathy — whom I’d gotten to know quite well by now — leaning over and saying in my ear, above the roar of the plane’s engine: “I LOVE take-offs!”

We finally became airborne but the plane seemed to be labouring. And these are my memories of my experience, sitting in the back directly behind the pilot: I could see orange sparks outside my window. The plane seemed to be tipping sideways — with my side down and Kathy’s side up.

Then boom, we went down. It was so fast. My glasses flew off, my one knee was gashed. I don’t think anyone else was hurt. It was strangely quiet. Then, the pilot started to cry. I remember the owner saying to us: “You’ve just survived a plane crash.”

We all got out of the plane and stood around, stunned, in the snow. Meanwhile, some Quest officials had witnessed the crash and thought it was much worse than it was. I remember us standing quietly in a huddle, seeing the silhouettes of the two men running from the end of the runway towards us, with one yelling at the top of his lungs, “Stay calm!!!! STAY CALM!!”

When they got to us and saw we were OK, we all hugged and talked about what had happened.

There may have been more crying.

But the biggest question in my mind, now, was about how I was going to get to Circle Hot Springs, ahead of the mushers. I might not make it!

When we got to the airstrip building, I phoned Massey Padgham, my editor. I was in great distress because I was worried I was going to fall behind the Quest and miss the leaders. I told Massey my plane had gone down and I had no way, that I knew of, to get to Circle Hot Springs. I remember Massey saying something like, “Your plane did what???” He started asking me questions, and of course, I didn’t even think about the fact he was interviewing me.

He ended up writing a small story with a bland headline, calling the plane crash a “mishap.”

In the meantime, the Quest folks found me transportation, as there was a road connection in the area. It was a truck, used to transport injured or sick dogs that had been dropped from the race.

I rode in the back with the dogs. I remember sleeping in the straw, exhausted, and feeling the quiet, safe warmth of their company.

I carried on with my work, covering the Quest, flying only with my favourite pilot from Fairbanks and feeling safe. I was not traumatized about take-offs or any aspect of flying. I was so absorbed by the job, by the huge workload and sleepless schedule, by the desire to keep up with or outdo my media competitors, and by the incredible experience of that race.

I was getting the cold shoulder from Quest officials, though. The organization was very young, and had not yet developed a progressive approach to communications. Someone complained me to me that I had “sensationalized” the plane incident. Of course there was nothing online in those days; they hadn’t seen the story. If they had, they’d likely have been ashamed at the way they treated me. First of all, I didn’t write it. Second, it was a few paragraphs with a neutral headline. Hardly sensationalized at all.

Despite what happened, some of my best memories of that race are from the flying, seeing from the air the snowy expanse of forests and mountains that seemed to go on forever. It was so exciting, and humbling, to spot a musher and dog team — at first a line of dots on the snow below — and get a sense of the huge and lonely challenge they were facing.

I say that I wasn’t nervous about flying after the crash. That was true for many months. But it all changed the following Christmas when I was getting ready to fly out of Whitehorse for the holidays. There had just been a terrible jet crash, on take-off, at Gander, Newfoundland, killing hundreds of American soldiers.

As we sped down the runway in a 737, I remember being suddenly overwhelmed, in my whole body, by absolute terror.

I believe the horror of the Gander crash and my own take-off accident had together prompted a fear that I lived with for a number of years before it gradually subsided.

But it never stopped me from flying, or from having many more adventures — on the road and in planes — for the Whitehorse Star.

By BECKY STRIEGLER