In Grande Prairie I met a wonderful retired couple flying their Maule down to Oshkosh from Anchorage, and we split a hotel room for the night. The next day, we waited on weather until noon, then took off as a flight of 2 to Whitecourt, then Red Deer beyond. As Bones said in Star Trek IV, "One little detail..." I can push my plane to cruise at a hundred, and they cruise at a hundred. But they meant knots, and I meant statute miles per hour.
Three and a half hours of slow flight (for them) and pushing the engine at the top of the green while trying to lean and save any possible bit of fuel (for me), we got to Red Deer. If we'd stopped in Whitecourt, I wouldn't have been at all worried about fuel, but then, we probably wouldn't have finished as a flight of two, either. We're both exhausted - them from the extra work of flying slow, me from the work of flying fast. So, splitting another hotel room, and in the morning they're headed for Saskatoon, I'm for Lethbridge.
One other minor detail; I forgot the charger for the radio in the plane. May delay a few hours while I charge it tomorrow. Oops. Too tired to really care right now.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Fort Saint John
Being weathered over for a day in Ft. St. John has been the longest time I've had to work at not feeling like chewing off my leg to escape a trap. The people are great, the FBO luxurious, and I... I'm not their kind of client. This place has exactly one tie down for a small aircraft, and I'm in it. They have a large asphalt pad for jets to pull in and out, and though the pilots have been unfailingly good, I still cringe inside every time a corporate or charter jet, including a 727, turn and sweep my little rag n' tube with their jetwash.
I may not be the only pilot yesterday without epaulets, but it was close. At least I fit in with the charter passengers, headed up to the oil patch (except they are all male). I feel a bit like the ugly duckling around the swans, foregoing the leather couches and tasteful rugs of the pilot's lounge for sitting on the floor playing with a five-month-old toy breed puppy.
That said, the rampers and receptionist have been awesome, ranging from amused and generous to apologetic for the "worst summer since 89". The pilots with their pressed uniforms and epaulets either ignore me or want to know all about my plane and trip with a grin in their hearts at the challenge.
Today's weather is forecast to be no better, but I'm hoping for a break. I would rather be camped under my wing off the side of a gravel strip, no showers and mosquitoes all around, than out of place in asphalt and luxury. Maybe it's just early curmudgeonliness, but after a two days of working at being cheerful, I don't want to deal with people for a while.
I may not be the only pilot yesterday without epaulets, but it was close. At least I fit in with the charter passengers, headed up to the oil patch (except they are all male). I feel a bit like the ugly duckling around the swans, foregoing the leather couches and tasteful rugs of the pilot's lounge for sitting on the floor playing with a five-month-old toy breed puppy.
That said, the rampers and receptionist have been awesome, ranging from amused and generous to apologetic for the "worst summer since 89". The pilots with their pressed uniforms and epaulets either ignore me or want to know all about my plane and trip with a grin in their hearts at the challenge.
Today's weather is forecast to be no better, but I'm hoping for a break. I would rather be camped under my wing off the side of a gravel strip, no showers and mosquitoes all around, than out of place in asphalt and luxury. Maybe it's just early curmudgeonliness, but after a two days of working at being cheerful, I don't want to deal with people for a while.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Fort Nelson
Fort Nelson was massively undersold to me by pilot report as an industrial airport, noisy and run down, with friendly people. As its geology, it's the first town out of the mountains, on the flatter prairie. It's a heart for the oilfields, with a humming industrial hub supporting them, instead of the touristy feel of Whitehorse or the silence and sparrows and sunsets of Watson Lake. To me, it feels like Merrill Field. It feels like home, alive with people doing things with aviation and going places.
The people are awesome. The FBO, Sky North Aviation Fuels, was officially closed for the day when I got in, but the gent working there offered a ride into town. The grill, he apologized, was out of propane for grilling up hot dogs or burgers, but I was welcome to the microwave, the incredibly comfy couch, the shower, the small kitchen, the wireless... It is a place designed to keep people happy even when waiting out weather for days. The people are what turn it from a nice place into an awesome one.
The next morning, Fort Saint John had ceilings of 600 feet. The low that was forecast to move... hadn't. A couple in a nice lightly modified Cessna still mostly kitted for high, fast, and long distance took off, as did a couple in a helicopter. The two very nice gents who'd camped out at Watson Lake filed IFR, but came back with a bad mag. We pooled our toolkits and set to work finding and fixing the problem (and fixing a primer line while we were at it). As they were an experienced A&P and IA, I mostly held tools, fetched things, and learned about mags (one of the things that hasn't broken on my plane yet. ) After fixing the obvious problem, reassembling and timing everything, and finding the secondary problem, we turned to the mechanic Sky North found. He wasn't officially working today, but was doing paperwork in the shop. A new mag was procured, timing box borrowed, and the airplane repaired.
I saw them off, as ceilings has risen, bit visibility had dropped to 5 miles with light rain and mist. I don't mind relatively low ceilings, but I very much mind low visibility. You don't hit what you see coming. So I hung out, chatted with folks, and am preparing for a second night with my sleeping bag on the couch of incredible comfiness.
Tomorrow, if the low goes where I want it to, I'll be in Ft. St. John, or maybe all the way to Grande Prairie. If not, there are a lot worse places to spend a quiet Sunday! Maybe I'll even find all the autocorrect spelling and grammar errors in these last posts...
The people are awesome. The FBO, Sky North Aviation Fuels, was officially closed for the day when I got in, but the gent working there offered a ride into town. The grill, he apologized, was out of propane for grilling up hot dogs or burgers, but I was welcome to the microwave, the incredibly comfy couch, the shower, the small kitchen, the wireless... It is a place designed to keep people happy even when waiting out weather for days. The people are what turn it from a nice place into an awesome one.
The next morning, Fort Saint John had ceilings of 600 feet. The low that was forecast to move... hadn't. A couple in a nice lightly modified Cessna still mostly kitted for high, fast, and long distance took off, as did a couple in a helicopter. The two very nice gents who'd camped out at Watson Lake filed IFR, but came back with a bad mag. We pooled our toolkits and set to work finding and fixing the problem (and fixing a primer line while we were at it). As they were an experienced A&P and IA, I mostly held tools, fetched things, and learned about mags (one of the things that hasn't broken on my plane yet. ) After fixing the obvious problem, reassembling and timing everything, and finding the secondary problem, we turned to the mechanic Sky North found. He wasn't officially working today, but was doing paperwork in the shop. A new mag was procured, timing box borrowed, and the airplane repaired.
I saw them off, as ceilings has risen, bit visibility had dropped to 5 miles with light rain and mist. I don't mind relatively low ceilings, but I very much mind low visibility. You don't hit what you see coming. So I hung out, chatted with folks, and am preparing for a second night with my sleeping bag on the couch of incredible comfiness.
Tomorrow, if the low goes where I want it to, I'll be in Ft. St. John, or maybe all the way to Grande Prairie. If not, there are a lot worse places to spend a quiet Sunday! Maybe I'll even find all the autocorrect spelling and grammar errors in these last posts...
Friday, July 8, 2011
Watson Lake
The sound of Watson Lake is the silence of wind and sparrows, as rain falls on distant hills. I asked the radio as I landed long where the fuel was, and they said, "Just look for the big white tank that says AVGAS." The fuel tank I needed was behind me, so I went left instead of right, toward the big tank that said AVGAS 100LL. This tank belonged to the forestry fire-fighting base, as it sat next to the Jet A tank and three tanks of fire retardant for water bombers. The only person on duty came out to wave me off, but we got to talking instead. Well, some talking, and a lot of watching the distant rain, and waving idly at mosquitos.
The entire airfield is huge, for all the crosswind runway is closed and the control tower stands vacant (but unlike the WWII hangar barely inhabited by a very few planes and a great many swallows nesting above the doors, near-pristine.) Inside the terminal with its motion-activated lights, the walls are covered with pictures from the lend-lease program, and inset glass cases with artifacts. It was utterly silent, and felt like a monument to flight - not even a museum, but rather something lovingly gathered and preserved, in pristine condition, to a town once thriving, to a distant past when air travel was not an intrusive, abusive trial, set in a museum exhibit to the history of flight in the Yukon.
In a low side wing, there are signs of life - the television keeping the person behind Watson Lake Radio awake. The Community Aerodrome Radio Station folks in the Yukon have all been very friendly, very accustomed to solitude, and very willing to talk about anything to a live human being. The brothers who man the afternoon and graveyard shifts were no elections to this rule, and shared in-depth history and background on the weather patterns, from the vicious spring fog to the frequency of thunderstorms, and on life in general.
Out by the gazebo by the lake, two gentlemen from Massachusetts and the most mellow Jack Russell terriers ever were camping with their 182... the first example of the breed I can remember seeing with small tires and wheelpants. When not modified for the bush, they can haul serious amounts of stuff at very high rates of speed! They very generously shared their dinner, and we talked late into the night on aircraft maintenance, sattelite components, balloon launching in Antarctica, dogs, guns, and people.
No matter how nice the night (and it was beautiful), I elected to forego the 5 star camping experience for a warm, dry couch with no beautiful views of the long sunset, no campfire, no haunting cries of loons... and no mosquitos, no rain, and thermostat controlled warmth. Romantic, after two nights camping, I am not.
The entire airfield is huge, for all the crosswind runway is closed and the control tower stands vacant (but unlike the WWII hangar barely inhabited by a very few planes and a great many swallows nesting above the doors, near-pristine.) Inside the terminal with its motion-activated lights, the walls are covered with pictures from the lend-lease program, and inset glass cases with artifacts. It was utterly silent, and felt like a monument to flight - not even a museum, but rather something lovingly gathered and preserved, in pristine condition, to a town once thriving, to a distant past when air travel was not an intrusive, abusive trial, set in a museum exhibit to the history of flight in the Yukon.
In a low side wing, there are signs of life - the television keeping the person behind Watson Lake Radio awake. The Community Aerodrome Radio Station folks in the Yukon have all been very friendly, very accustomed to solitude, and very willing to talk about anything to a live human being. The brothers who man the afternoon and graveyard shifts were no elections to this rule, and shared in-depth history and background on the weather patterns, from the vicious spring fog to the frequency of thunderstorms, and on life in general.
Out by the gazebo by the lake, two gentlemen from Massachusetts and the most mellow Jack Russell terriers ever were camping with their 182... the first example of the breed I can remember seeing with small tires and wheelpants. When not modified for the bush, they can haul serious amounts of stuff at very high rates of speed! They very generously shared their dinner, and we talked late into the night on aircraft maintenance, sattelite components, balloon launching in Antarctica, dogs, guns, and people.
No matter how nice the night (and it was beautiful), I elected to forego the 5 star camping experience for a warm, dry couch with no beautiful views of the long sunset, no campfire, no haunting cries of loons... and no mosquitos, no rain, and thermostat controlled warmth. Romantic, after two nights camping, I am not.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
In whitehorse
Got escorted to the border by The Gunny and J of Call to Wings. Wonderful time, awesome friends. Miss them already.
Made Beaver Creek at 8pm local, cleared customs, got tent set up, tea and oatmeal, went to sleep.
Then it rained. and rained. And rained.
Made it whitehorse anyway. Exhausted. Thuderstorms popping up all over, going to stay here tonight.
Cell phone no worky. May update later, may update in Montana. Take care!
Made Beaver Creek at 8pm local, cleared customs, got tent set up, tea and oatmeal, went to sleep.
Then it rained. and rained. And rained.
Made it whitehorse anyway. Exhausted. Thuderstorms popping up all over, going to stay here tonight.
Cell phone no worky. May update later, may update in Montana. Take care!
Monday, July 4, 2011
Independance
Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream:
Tis the star-spangled banner: O, long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
O, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand,
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust"
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
-The Star Spangled Banner
Francis Scott Key
1814
It's not a perfect nation by any stretch, but there are none better. I'm proud to belong to her in bone, blood, and spirit, and grateful for all my ancestors who fought and fled to come here, and all the men and women, military and civilian, who have made and continue to make her the land of the free and the home of the brave.
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream:
Tis the star-spangled banner: O, long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
O, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand,
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust"
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
-The Star Spangled Banner
Francis Scott Key
1814
It's not a perfect nation by any stretch, but there are none better. I'm proud to belong to her in bone, blood, and spirit, and grateful for all my ancestors who fought and fled to come here, and all the men and women, military and civilian, who have made and continue to make her the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Rain, rain go away
This is not a sign of hope and cheer. This is a sign that the cloud deck is a little broken over by the next range of mountains to the west, and the sun has sunk down low enough to light the rain falling on our heads. (This was taken around 11:30pm last night.)
Tahetna Pass - Closed. Eureka - MVFR. Gulkana - MVFR. Mentasta Pass - about what you'd expect, but at least you can see sunlight in the broken layers! Big Delta - MVFR. Northway - IFR.
So for those of you who were asking, that's what a double rainbow means.
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