On Dec. 17, after a Christmas Mass in the small Alaskan village of Clarks Point, I caught a ride down to my Cherokee Warrior II. I took off the engine blanket, pulled out the blocks, visually checked my fuel level, jumped in, and fired up the engine. When I went to turn on the master radio switch, a loud horn started beeping, my radios were blinking, my alternator was dead, and my GPS would not turn on. I flipped a few switches and got the horn to stop.

I then had to make the decision of whether to shut down the engine or take off and head back to Dillingham. I sat on the ground for about five minutes contemplating. I checked for traffic, back-taxied the gravel strip, and took off. After climbing to 500 feet I started flipping switches and pulling out cords. One radio came back on then went off again. I pulled out the hand held mike cord and everything came back on, then went off.

By that time I was on a three-mile final approach for runway 01 in Dillingham. I was able to contact the Flight Service Station (FSS) before everything went dead again. Much to my satisfaction, I found out that the Penair Saab or John Bouker were not on final approach at the same time I was. Fortunately, there was no reported traffic.

Bristol Bay recently received cell phone service around March 2010, and had I been thinking, I would have called the FSS before I took off from Clarks Point. I could have told them that I would be entering the airspace in five minutes. I still find it hard to believe that I can call people from remote villages such as Clarks Point, Manokotac, and Levelock.

Flight Service Stations have different rules than control towers. Dillingham is one of very few Flight Service Stations left in Alaska. Others are in Talkeetna and Illiamna. When flying into an airport with a flight service station, a pilot does not have to talk on the radio at all. The FSS is for safety purposes. Dillingham has an exceptionally large amount of traffic, and although the FSS does not control the traffic, it lets the pilots know where the traffic is and it is then up to the pilots to separate. Among several crucial duties, the Dillingham FSS provides valuable weather data, which helps us make flying decisions.

I always call the FSS when I am seven miles out. Everyone who flies around Bristol Bay does -- it's a given. When I call in, I use as little air time as possible and as few words as possible. I always say my complete tail number first (Cherokee 81809), and then shorten it on the second contact (Cherokee 809). I turn to frequency 123.6 and say, "Dillingham Radio, Cherokee 81809, seven northwest, India." India denotes the current Automatic Terminal Information Service (ATIS) broadcast, informing the FSS that I am aware of the most recent conditions on the runway. I don't use "and," "I am," or "this is." Short, sweet, and clear. After the FSS logs me in, they are able to report my progress to other pilots entering the airspace.

If there is no other traffic, I report overhead the runway, then land. Two contacts: the first seven miles out and the second overhead the runway. If there is reported traffic that is close to me, it is up to me to find out how close and contact that pilot. Once the other pilot is spotted, we have to decide among ourselves who lands first, second, and so on.

Common chatter among pilots might sound like:

-- "Cessna 95w this is Cherokee 809 I have you in sight and will follow you in."

-- "How far out are you 04K?"

-- "Inbound Cherokee, do I have time to back taxi before you get here?"

Because there were no other aircraft approaching the runway, this sort of contact was not a requirement in this case, which was fortunate, considering the dead radio.