The sound of tearing metal was gone. All that was left was the howl of an Alaskan blizzard and the soft thud of snow piling on twisted aluminum. It was just after 8 p.m. on November 23rd, 1957. Eleven souls had just fallen out of the sky. Come with me as we explore a Plane Crash Hike & Rescue Mission. At the end of this article is a link to my video showing the plane crash site and what is left of the plane debris. This is a perfect place to explore especially if you enjoy hiking.

For the seven men inside the mangled remains of a Douglas C-47B transport plane, the impact was a violent, shocking end to their flight. But, it was also just the beginning. Dazed and injured, trapped in the unforgiving wilderness miles from anywhere, their real fight for survival was just getting started. As their hope began to run thin in the freezing dark, one of the smallest, most isolated communities in Alaska was about to launch one of the most daring rescue missions in aviation history.

 The Doomed Flight

The day started like any other. The twin-engine Douglas C-47B, a military workhorse known as the “Gooney Bird,” took off from Tacoma, Washington, aiming for Anchorage, Alaska. On board were four crew members and seven passengers—a mix of National Guardsmen, civilian employees, and an Army hitchhiker, all anxious to get home for the holidays. This particular plane was a recent transfer to the Alaska National Guard; the designation on its fuselage still said “Pennsylvania.”

The plan was simple: fly north, refuel at Annette Island near Ketchikan, and continue to Anchorage. But Alaskan weather doesn’t play by the rules. As they neared Annette Island, the C-47 was hit by savage turbulence and high winds, making a landing impossible. The crew had a choice. They could turn back to Canada or push on to a small airfield at Gustavus. Just then, the weather in Gustavus was reported as clear. It also had better runway lights and landing equipment than nearby Juneau, so it seemed like the safer bet.

With fuel running dangerously low, the pilot, Captain Robert Kafader, made the only logical call. He pointed the nose of the C-47 toward Gustavus. It was a sound decision, but one that tragically underestimated just how quickly an Alaskan night can turn deadly. Captain Kafader was a skilled pilot, but he was new to the state’s uniquely treacherous and unpredictable conditions.

The Crash

As the plane approached Gustavus, those clear skies vanished. A snow squall roared in, swallowing the landscape in a blinding sheet of white. In the back of the plane, the men were on edge. Survivor Harry Aase later said, “We made one approach and we could see the lights as we went over but we did not land. Then the pilot went back and tried it again…We were beginning to worry a bit.”

The pilot was in an impossible spot. His fuel was almost gone. A long, standard instrument approach that would take him out over Glacier Bay wasn’t an option—he simply didn’t have the gas for it. He had to get on the ground, and fast. He was forced into a much riskier, shorter visual approach, trying to keep the airfield in sight while circling in the snowstorm. On the third try, it all went wrong. Flying too low, the plane’s right wing clipped the top of a massive, unseen tree. The impact threw the aircraft into a violent spin, and it slammed nose-down into the dense forest, just two miles from the runway.

The front of the plane was obliterated. The cockpit was destroyed, and all four crew members were killed instantly. But for the seven passengers in the back, something incredible happened. As the plane spun, the tail was caught by the thick forest canopy, which cushioned the impact, setting it down with a jarring, but survivable, force. Harry Aase remembers being knocked out. When he came to, fires were sputtering where the engine exhaust had ripped through the fuselage. The seven men, battered and in shock, found themselves alive—and in the middle of a nightmare.

The Longest Night

The darkness was absolute, broken only by the sputtering fire and the beams of a few small flashlights they managed to find. The survivors, dazed and hurt, took stock. Their injuries were serious: broken bones, a shattered jaw, knocked-out teeth, and deep cuts. They were stranded in a blizzard, with snow already two feet deep and piling up fast. The cold was a real and immediate threat to their lives.

They knew they couldn’t stay in the wrecked fuselage. They found sleeping bags and huddled together against the biting wind for warmth. Someone found an emergency crank radio, a flicker of hope. But they made a smart choice: they decided to wait. In the pitch-black storm, they knew no search plane could possibly see them. Their best bet was to save their energy, look after their wounded, and wait for daylight.

At one point during the night, that fragile hope was almost broken. Through the howl of the wind, they saw a faint light in the distance. Then, they heard what sounded like a wolf, its shadow moving between the trees. The terrifying thought that they were being hunted, that they had to survive not just the elements but predators too, sunk in. They had no idea that the “wolf” was a dog, and the light was a dim flashlight held by a local homesteader who had passed within 75 yards of them, searching in the storm.

The Community Mobilizes

In 1957, Gustavus wasn’t much more than a collection of homesteads—a tiny, tough community of only about fifty people. The airfield, a relic from World War II, was their lifeline to the outside world. That night, a homesteader named Anne Chase heard the heavy drone of a large plane circling her house, again and again. Then, a dull “thump.” A few minutes later, her phone rang. It was another resident, Les Parker. “Did you hear the plane?” he asked. “Did you hear where it crashed?”

That question buzzed across the tiny settlement. They knew a plane was overdue. They knew it had been circling. And now, there was only silence. Without a second thought, the community of Gustavus pulled together. In the middle of a blizzard, nearly every able-bodied person prepared to go out into the dangerous night. A man named Gene Chase grabbed his dog and a flashlight and went into the woods alone—he was the one the survivors had mistaken for a threat. He battled through deep snow, even coming face-to-face with a black bear, which he managed to scare off.

As word spread, more locals joined in, including a man named Ken Youman and construction workers from a nearby dock project. They decided to follow Gene’s tracks, which led them to what is now Mountain View Road. There, they fanned out, a human chain against the storm, and began walking into the dark forest, shouting, listening, and hoping for a miracle.

The Rescue

As dawn finally broke on November 24th, the community’s relentless search paid off. The line of homesteaders, pushing through the snow-heavy trees, finally spotted the wreckage. They found the seven survivors huddled in their sleeping bags—cold, injured, but alive. The relief on both sides was immense. Survivor Harry Aase talked about the overwhelming feeling of seeing their faces. The rescuers, in turn, were met with the grim scene of the crash and the tough job that lay ahead.

Some of the survivors were too hurt to walk. With no professional gear, the rescuers got creative. They hacked down branches and built makeshift gurneys to carry the wounded. The journey out of the forest was brutal. In an incredible display of strength, a local named Ken Youman carried one of the injured survivors all the way out of the woods on his back. They navigated the two miles back through deep snow and dense forest—a slow, exhausting journey from disaster to safety.

Once out of the woods, the survivors were brought to the only local lodge, the Riverside Lodge, which is now the Gustavus Inn. It was immediately turned into a makeshift hospital. The entire community pitched in, offering warmth, food, and first aid. Later that day, a Coast Guard plane arrived from Annette Island with a doctor, and the injured men were airlifted to a proper hospital in Juneau. The rescue was complete. Seven men who had been swallowed by the Alaskan wilderness were brought back to the world, not by a massive military operation, but by the sheer determination and bravery of about fifty of their fellow human beings.

Plane Crash Hike & Rescue Mission

The 1957 Gustavus plane crash is a story of tragedy. But more than that, it’s a story of survival and incredible heroism. Four men—Captain Robert Kafader, First Lieutenant Dennis Stamey, Staff Sergeant Floyd Porter, and Staff Sergeant David Dial—lost their lives in the line of duty. Their sacrifice is a solemn reminder of the dangers of flying in such a rugged part of the world. But the survival of the seven passengers is a testament to both sheer luck and the unbreakable will of the human spirit.

Today, the wreckage of the C-47B is still there, resting quietly in the Alaskan rainforest. If you like exploring, then this abandoned plane crash hike Is for you. You will see the memorial sign that stands at the site, inviting visitors to reflect on what happened on that snowy night so long ago. The twisted fuselage, slowly being reclaimed by the forest, is a monument not just to the crash, but to the extraordinary community that refused to let the storm have the final say. It’s a permanent reminder of a night when a small group of homesteaders stared down a blizzard and proved that in the darkest of times, the brightest light is the courage and compassion we show each other.

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It’s hard to wrap your head around the courage of that tiny community. These were ordinary people, with no formal rescue training, marching into a blizzard at night to save complete strangers. Moreover, it’s a powerful story about the best parts of human nature. If you find incredible true stories of survival and heroism like this one compelling, think about subscribing to my YouTube channel and or this blog so you won’t want to miss what’s coming up next.