(May 2002)

Clark Seaborn and the Fokker Super Universal. (T. McTavish)

The only complete Super Universal was, until recently, a resident of Calgary. Built in January 1929 in Teterborro, New Jersey, serial number 827, was purchased new by Consolidated Mining and Smelting Company (Cominco), who used it from 1929 to 1934 as part of their mineral exploration program. Although the plane was officially based in Trail, BC, CF-AAM flew throughout the remote wilderness on wheels, skis and floats. When the McAlpine Party, a group of geologists and surveyors, got lost, 'AAM participated in the search. When they were finally located in the Cambridge Bay area, 'AAM flew them to safety.

George Simmons of Carcross, YT bought 'AAM in October 1934. Simmons had a fox farm, and a contract to haul the mail from Carcross to Atlin. In the summers, he used trucks and boats. When winter came dog teams took over. Intrigued by the possibility of using an airplane year-round he formed Northern Airways Limited and purchased 'AAM. It hauled mail, freight and passengers, visiting places with names like Atlin, Mayo, Fort Selkirk and Dawson City.

With 'AAM's success, Simmons was able to purchase CF-ARM, another Super Universal, in 1935 and the two planes provided air transportation when the National Geographic Society set off to map the St. Elias mountains later that year.

Both planes were damaged in 1936, hitting submerged rocks at Francis Lake. Both were repaired and flown back to Carcross. 'AAM was then flown to Vancouver where it was completely rebuilt.

On December 15, 1937, pilot Les Cook, with six passengers aboard, attempted to depart from Dawson City. A wheel broke free sending 'AAM careening into the trees at the end of the runway. There weren't any serious injuries, but the plane was written-off, stripped of usable parts and left in the bush.

In 1974 local pilots Bob Cameron and Tony Hanulik salvaged what remained of the Super Universal. After spending several years sitting in Cameron's yard with the parts from two other Fokker wrecks, the decision was made to donate the remains to the Western Canadian Aviation Museum in Winnipeg, MB. Although there was little more than twisted metal and rotten wood, and the museum lacked a plan to restore the aircraft, they jumped at the chance to obtain Cameron's collection.

Then Bob Cameron met Clark Seaborn, an aviation buff in search of another vintage aircraft restoration project. After lengthy negotiations an agreement was reached, where Clark would restore the aircraft in exchange for the rights to fly the plane for five years.

In July 1982, a flatbed truck delivered the collection of parts to Seaborn's home in Calgary, AB.

It would take 18 years and tens of thousands of hours before Seaborn, and aircraft mechanic Don McLean had finished the restoration. On July 24, 1998, 'AAM returned to the skies over Indus, Alberta. Three concessions were made to improve the airplane. The original pre-war Pratt & Whitney engine and propeller was replaced with a wartime combination originally approved for the Noorduyn Norseman. The large tail skid, which resembled a shovel head was also removed and replaced by a runway friendly tail wheel.

A shoe-in for one of the EAA's prestigious restoration Oshkosh awards, Seaborn and McLean won one of the Judge's Choice Awards.

In the years that followed, Seaborn took 'AAM on numerous flights, many of them as long as any of the adventurous flights of the 1930s. They participated in a recreation of the Ford Air Rally, crossing the United States, visited Trail, BC, where it sat out front of the same hangar it had occupied with Cominco, and in 2001, at the request of Tourism Yukon, visited Whitehorse, Fort Selkirk, Dawson City, Mayo, Altin and Carcross.

In 2005, after traveling more than 35,000 miles, Clark Seaborn finally handed over the keys to the Western Canadian Aviation Museum. CF-AAM was forever grounded.

The Fokker is an imposing sight when you first see it. (T. McTavish)

My first memory of Clark Seaborn's Super Universal project came in the 1980s. At that time, my grandfather had a small photo of CF-AAM, finally assembled - its wings, tails, fuselage and landing gear all together. I would have paid much attention, but that photograph, with the plane's skeletal framework seemed to stick with me.

A couple years after 'AAM took to the sky, I contacted Clark and asked about taking some photos of his plane. He willingly agreed, and when I met him outside his hangar in Indus, he informed me that he'd take me for a short flight.

My first reaction was that this was no small airplane. The wing spans 50 feet 8 Inches, the fuselage is 36 feet 11 inches long. The wing is massive; covering 370 square feet, with a wing root that had to be at least 18 inches thick. With a gross weigh of 5,500 lbs and an empty weight somewhere around 3,250 lbs, leaving about 1,250 lbs for fuel, pilot and anything else that needed to be hauled across the wilds of the Yukon.

With all his strength, Clark spun the inertia starter from the open hatch in the cockpit roof. With the starter spinning fast enough, he engaged the starter and the nine-cylinder radial barked to life.

With the help of the interia starter, the engine comes to life. (T. McTavish)

I was surprised by the roominess of the cabin, that is, roomy for a 1929 vintage airliner. The seats were narrow across my hips, and I ended up sitting slightly askew. Another man, about my size occupied another seat, and we both had lots of room. I suppose it could have been quite cramped had there been six of us, or a load of furs, dynamite or a complete dog team.

As soon as the engine sputtered to life, you knew that Clark hadn't taken any steps to improve the plane’s ergonomics. The cabin wasn't soundproofed, and inside the wood paneled cabin, the roar of the engine reverberated and echoed at unbearable levels. Luckily we had some headsets to provide a little protection. Communication with the cockpit was via a small open door. Offset to the side, one could see half the pilot's bottom and his hand signals.

The airstrip at Indus was grass, and noticeably rough, but the large tires (about 30 inches in diameter), and the long travel of the bungee cord shock absorbers cushioned the bumps.

The landing gear was simplicity itself. (T. McTavish)

My view was fantastic. I was shielded from the sun by the massive wing. There was an unobstructed view almost to the engine and all the way back to the tails. Only the main landing gear hung in the way. Ventilation was easy adjusted by sliding the thin plastic window aside.

With the oil warm and the engine run up, we took off; bounce, bounce, bump, thump, bang. We were airborne. With all that wing providing lift we were off in only a couple seconds.

A great view of the wartime training field at De Winton, AB. (T. McTavish)

How's that for a sun shade? All 185 square feet of it. (T. McTavish)

It was about this time that Clark motioned me forward. Working my way through the cabin, I squeezed myself through the small angular door, and into the cockpit. After performing a contortionist's act, I was able to replace the collapsible half of the bench seat and twist myself into a seated position. It was noisy in the back. It was deafening upfront. Ergonomics, comfort, noise dampening were unheard of in the late 1920s and this plane certainly proved that. Had the small windshield not been in the way, I could have easily reached out and touched the top of the engine cylinders. The warm oil tank I was sitting on added its charming scent to the mix.

The cockpit was basic VFR. Notice how close the einge really is. (T. McTavish)

Controlling the Super Universal was an interesting opportunity. Obviously Clark wasn't about to risk two decades of hard work, and untold financial investment on a pilot such as me. But he did give me the controls briefly. The control column was mounted in the middle of the cockpit, and there were two sets of rudder pedals. Depending on one's mood, and whether or not a passenger was up front, you could straddle the stick or use it as a side-stick in either hand. Since I was the passenger, it was a side-stick in my left hand.

Roll rate wasn't fast, but then again, I wasn’t trying to put 'AAM through its paces. Control forces were heavier than any other plane I'd flown (at the time). Even with my gentle wing rocking, it still needed rudder to counter the adverse yaw. We didn't do much more, because this was after all, a simple joyride and not a flight test.

Once again, I folded up the seat, twisted and squirmed my way out of the seat, and let the other man have his turn.

Thanks to Clark Seaborn, and all the others connected with the restoration of CF-AAM, I was able to experience a journey 70 years into the past, to a time when flying was the domain of the adventurer. Where global positioning satellites hadn't been dreamt of, and steel tube, cotton fabric and wood were standard building materials.

Another view of CF-AAM taken a couple months later. (T. McTavish)