I was stationed at Fort Wainwright, near Fairbanks, in 84-86. I was a Huey crew chief, my unit was the 283rd Medivac, they were reformed under another Blackhawk unit from Hawaii I think. Anyway, we flew a lot, in bad weather and good, our take off and landing wind speed restriction was 30 knots. We flew many times with ground winds under 30 knots, but in the air, flying less than 10,000 ft, mostly in the 2000 to 3000 ft range, and around the mountains, we encountered wind speeds in excess of 50 to 60, that was a real rodeo in a helicopter, so I know a little about how rough that flight of yours was. I don’t think I would’ve made your flight without painting the inside of the plane with my lunch.
We hit two violent downdrafts somewhere around 10K feet. Everything inside the plane went zero-G’s. The patient was straining at his restraining straps. Then we slammed - and I mean SLAMMED - to a stop. I grabbed my seat belt and yanked it tighter and another even more violent downdraft hit us. I was pulled upwards with such force that I hit my head on the cabin ceiling even though I’d just tightened my seat belt. Again, we slammed to a stop. That’s when the pilot dove the plane to the deck. I thought for sure we were going in but thanks to his skill we did not. This all happened within about 30 seconds so there was no time to get sick. Thank God my bladder was empty!
There was another PA on that flight with me who was a USAF vet. He was a light-skinned black guy named Jim. He was seated just behind the cockpit bulkhead in a sideways facing jump seat. After we landed we looked at each other and I said “Jim, you’re white!” His response: “I know.”