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"Please, God, keep her up," Mike Harbaugh prayed, trying to fly his heavily loaded plane safely through the most dangerous pass in Alaska. The lanky 34-year-old Wasilla plumbing contractor was transporting his pastor's household goods to the other side of the mountains. With its tricky winds and blind canyons and one dramatically zig-zaging ravine, Merrill Pass is littered with more plane wrecks than anywhere in the state. And Mike’s plane was being buffeted like a toy in a tumult. One minute the earth was horizontal, the next vertical. Suddenly, trees, glaciers, mountains everything spun out and disappeared, and the red and white Cessna 180 became the 43rd Merrill crash. Mike regained consciousness sprawled in the snow, numb from cold and in shock. Looking around he saw a piece of the tail section. Shelter. He tried to stand and toppled and rolled, clawing to stop himself from going over the cliff.. His foot and ankle seemed badly broken. Blood covered his face. He crawled on hands and knees to a mound of clothes, struggled into coveralls, a coat hood, and mittens, then pulled himself on his belly to the wreckage where, exhausted, he passed out for three hours. Upon awaking, he worried about freezing, He found an air mattress, stuffed it inside the torn tail section, and wriggled in behind it. Now he suffered a raging thirst, but refused to eat snow for fear of hypothermia. Mercifully, he again passed out.