Here's a presentation (and lecture notes) I put together and gave at my local airport recently on some ideas for improving your odds of surviving a forced landing. This was largely inspired by preparation of the Alaska trip featured earlier on this blog.
Survival After the Forced Landing
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
ADS-B receiver & iPad combo: Early Impressions
In subsequent posts I'll get into discussing traffic (through TIS-B), data coverage, and some of the other quirks I've noticed. This post is all about the FIS-B data you can receive and how each app handles it.
The executive summary on which app is better for the FIS-B data is a toss-up: Neither support 100% of the data being transmitted, which is unfortunate. They get the most important bits, with WingX getting the edge for my vote in terms of organization of weather data. Because of these limitations my plan is to use WingX as my primary charting and weather display app, but will keep the SkyRadar app installed in case I need data I might be missing.
Over the past couple of months I've flown several trips with the setup, which is where I got the screen captures below. Most of the time I ended up using WingX, and have subsequently paid for an annual subscription. I'm going to skip describing the core features of each app in favor of concentrating on the FIS-B data. The WingX folks have some pretty good video documentation describing their product which you may want to view before purchasing their app, and the SkyRadar folks PDF documentation you can download.
NEXRAD (weather radar) is downloaded in 'strips'. You can overlay radar on any of the chart types (i.e sectional, en route IFR, topographic, or a blank map where you can add other aviation layers like airspace, airways, etc. My preference was to overlay the radar on an en-route IFR chart. Areas where radar data has not been received (or are outdated) are slightly opaque, giving you a very clear picture of what radar data you have (or are missing).
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| Local NEXRAD granularity - WingX |
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| En-route NEXRAD - WingX |
A few interesting observations about radar using this setup:
- High resolution "local" NEXRAD images are downloaded for approximately 200-250nm of your present position. The FAA says 250nm in the AIM. In practice I noticed a few opaque 'strips' toward the outer reaches. Based on this I'd say 200nm is a good safe range. This seems fine for the type of flying I do but folks flying faster (i..e turbine) aircraft may have a different impression. Then again, they are more likely to have on-board weather radar
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| Local NEXRAD coverage on a clear day - WingX |
- How old is that image, anyway? The WingX support folks who told me old data 'strips' were made opaque after 10 minutes. SkyRadar has the data's age printed right there on the screen -- but its not clear what that age means considering you could be looking at many strips of radar data at a time (i.e. if you zoom out a bit)
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| NEXRAD "strips" that were too old or not received. This usually corrected itself within a couple of minutes. Occurs in either app - WingX |
- The AIM says the local NEXRAD data is broadcast on a 2.5-minute interval, with new data arriving into the FIS-B system every 5 minutes. By my math, an image you're looking at as valid on the screen could be 25 minutes old, worst-case (NEXRAD itself takes 5-10 minutes to produce an image). Needless to say, this is not a tool you'd want to use to tactically avoid convective weather or to try to make a run through a 'hole'
- A low resolution NEXRAD composite for the continental U.S. is
transmitted on a slower interval (10 minutes). The SkyRadar iPad app displays it,
but WingX doesn't just yet(12-March-2012: A new WingX update arrived which supports the long-range NEXRAD composite. I'll try it out next time I take my airplane up).
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| Low-res nationwide NEXRAD composite. Useful when you're zoomed way out - SkyRadar. |
A nice thing about WingX is how it manages this data. You tap next to an airport (any airport), hit weather, and the METARs/TAFs/PIREPs (etc) are displayed with the closest to the station first and radiating out from there. This is simple and intuitive, and means rapidly getting at the information you want (how's the weather surrounding some point in space) without a lot of head-down time in the cockpit. I like that.
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| TAFs - WingX |
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| METARs - WingX |
PIREPs are downloaded within a 500nm radius. I did a couple of tests to see how efficient the system is at disseminating a pilot report. Flying over the California/Arizona border going east, I gave a pilot report verbally to flight watch. It was mostly benign weather, so I reported a smooth ride and the calculated wind aloft. It never showed up on the ADS-B feed. When I looked for it online after landing, it wasn't found either - I can only assume the flight service guy never sent it in.
 |
| My PIREP - WingX |
On the return trip a couple days later, I encountered some mountain wave in western New Mexico and gave a pilot report. My PIREP showed up on the ADS-B feed to the iPad about 5 minutes later. Very cool. Similarly, on a recent trip to southern California where I diverted for weather, the receiver picked up pilot reports of icing that were brand new, not present when I checked weather on the ground prior to takeoff not an hour before. That helped my decision making as the minimum IFR altitude in the area was right about where the icing PIREPs were.
Similar to METARs & TAFs above, the pilot reports in WingX are shown in order of distance radiating out from a particular station you're interested in. This is an area where the SkyRadar app is lacking; per their documentation you have to go hunting around for an icon next to an airport or VOR nearby to where a pilot made their report (this is per SkyRadar's literature; I never did see any in flight).
NOTAM (D & FDC), and TFRs are sent out with 100nm. That seems arbitrarily close, particularly for TFRs. Displaying NOTAMs is similar to METARs & TAFs above - scroll over an airport of interest with the SkyRadar app, or be given all of them radiating out from some airport using WingX.
Potential gotchas? WingX does not appear to currently support displaying TFR data, and it doesn't explicitly say if it supports FDC NOTAMs. This area is decidedly one where the SkyRadar app does better, pending further software development.
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| America's most bogus (Disneyland) TFR - SkyRadar |
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| NOTAM-Ds - WingX |
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| NOTAM "D" & "FDC" for Santa Maria - SkyRadar |
AIRMETs are sent out within 500nm.WingX provides the AIRMET text in a similar, geographically oriented format when looking at weather for a particular airport. Surprisingly, I couldn't find any AIRMET data in the SkyRadar app, on a flight when there likely would have been one in the area for low ceilings/IFR.
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| AIRMETs - WingX |
Winds & Temperatures aloft are sent within a 1000nm radius (so half of the lower 48, roughly). SkyRadar shows these nicely - just pan around an area and you'll see a table of forecast wind & temperature aloft data from the nearest forecast point. WingX does not currently support winds & temperatures aloft from the ADS-B receiver. It will show you winds from the last time you downloaded weather from the internet.
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| Winds & Temperature aloft data is shown from the last internet weather download - WingX |
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| Special use airspace status - SkyRadar |
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Intro to ADS-B weather
I last visited Oshkosh in 2010 where I started taking an interest in ADS-B. If you're new to that acronym, you can read all about it here. The prospect of having to spend money on a new piece of equipment (ADS-B out) didn't excite me much, but that won't be required until 2020 anyway. ADS-B in, on the other hand, I found intriguing, particularly after another flight across the country with periodic calls to flight watch asking for a verbal description of weather ahead. That's because a subset of ADS-B in, FIS-B, allows pilots to receive weather data in the cockpit. This post discusses my experiences with FIS-B using portable electronics to receive and display weather information.
Weather in the cockpit has been available for some time through XM satellite data subscriptions, billed at a monthly fee. FIS-B in is free (more precisely, we're paying for it through FAA funding). You need a receiver and something to display the data on, though. The weather and other data services broadcast through ADS-B are discussed in the AIM (section 4-5-9, new as of 2011). I had previously seen XM weather in action while riding in other pilot friends' airplanes as well as with instructional clients, but decided against it due to the nature of my flying (sporadic long-distance trips - maybe one every couple months - where its really handy). Buying a receiver, and then having the data for free, was much more palatable in my case.
One of the fundamental limitations of ADS-B is that it is a ground-based system. You must be within line of sight of a ground station to receive the data. When I was learning about all of this in the summer of 2010, coverage was somewhat sparse, but transmitters were being installed in various locations throughout the country. Fast forward 18 months and the coverage was pretty good; you can see a map here (click "ADS-B" and then "radio stations"). Because ADS-B was now largely available in the western U.S, I decided it was time to give it a try. Note that large areas of the inter-mountain west are still without these stations.
Recall that 2010 was also the year the iPad was introduced, and its place in the cockpit was quickly taking root. Going to Oshkosh and back that year was the first big trip I'd taken using chart data on my iPad. There at Oshkosh I also came across the SkyRadar booth. Staffing the booth were the engineers who had built a portable ADS-B receiver, and integrated it with an iPad app, to display weather data in the cockpit.
After chatting with the SkyRadar guys a while I asked about what was inside, and was surprised to learn they were using technology I'd worked on professionally outside of aviation for the better part of the past decade. This is more of a source of personal pride than anything; I have not received any compensation from their use of this technology and do not anticipate it benefiting me financially in a material way in the future, but I felt compelled to disclose that.
With the technology coming into alignment, at a reasonable price, I decided a buy a SkyRadar receiver late last year and have now had the opportunity to use it on a couple of cross-country trips. I evaluated both the SkyRadar's own iPad app and WingX -- currently the only two iPad applications I'm aware of that will display data the receiver picks up. In subsequent posts I'll get into my experiences using the receiver on a few trips. Many screen-shots to come.
In the mean time, AvWeb has put together a pretty decent video comparing the SkyRadar ADS-B receiver and the WingX app (what I'm using) versus an XM weather receiver and ForeFllight:
Weather in the cockpit has been available for some time through XM satellite data subscriptions, billed at a monthly fee. FIS-B in is free (more precisely, we're paying for it through FAA funding). You need a receiver and something to display the data on, though. The weather and other data services broadcast through ADS-B are discussed in the AIM (section 4-5-9, new as of 2011). I had previously seen XM weather in action while riding in other pilot friends' airplanes as well as with instructional clients, but decided against it due to the nature of my flying (sporadic long-distance trips - maybe one every couple months - where its really handy). Buying a receiver, and then having the data for free, was much more palatable in my case.
One of the fundamental limitations of ADS-B is that it is a ground-based system. You must be within line of sight of a ground station to receive the data. When I was learning about all of this in the summer of 2010, coverage was somewhat sparse, but transmitters were being installed in various locations throughout the country. Fast forward 18 months and the coverage was pretty good; you can see a map here (click "ADS-B" and then "radio stations"). Because ADS-B was now largely available in the western U.S, I decided it was time to give it a try. Note that large areas of the inter-mountain west are still without these stations.
Recall that 2010 was also the year the iPad was introduced, and its place in the cockpit was quickly taking root. Going to Oshkosh and back that year was the first big trip I'd taken using chart data on my iPad. There at Oshkosh I also came across the SkyRadar booth. Staffing the booth were the engineers who had built a portable ADS-B receiver, and integrated it with an iPad app, to display weather data in the cockpit.
After chatting with the SkyRadar guys a while I asked about what was inside, and was surprised to learn they were using technology I'd worked on professionally outside of aviation for the better part of the past decade. This is more of a source of personal pride than anything; I have not received any compensation from their use of this technology and do not anticipate it benefiting me financially in a material way in the future, but I felt compelled to disclose that.
With the technology coming into alignment, at a reasonable price, I decided a buy a SkyRadar receiver late last year and have now had the opportunity to use it on a couple of cross-country trips. I evaluated both the SkyRadar's own iPad app and WingX -- currently the only two iPad applications I'm aware of that will display data the receiver picks up. In subsequent posts I'll get into my experiences using the receiver on a few trips. Many screen-shots to come.
In the mean time, AvWeb has put together a pretty decent video comparing the SkyRadar ADS-B receiver and the WingX app (what I'm using) versus an XM weather receiver and ForeFllight:
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Formation fun
With my Alaska trip written up I've come up with several ideas to keep this blog going. Some will be trip reports, some surrounding technical aspects of flying that have interested me enough to further my education on.
...but sometimes, you just have to go out and have fun. I've flown the San Francisco "Bay tour" many times. One day last year, several folks were visiting and a pilot friend and I decided to take them on a bay tour. Why not make it a flight of two? Here's a little clip one of the passengers took near Sausalito.
The sun had just set. Next time, we need to get up there before sunset to get the #2 airplane basking in that "golden hour" light outside the bridge. That was also the flight where I got the image that's presently at the top of this blog -- the sun was just above the horizon then, just past abeam SFO.
Formation flying is a fun challenge. Like many things in aviation, preparation is the key. We had a lengthy preflight brief going over our plan and several what-if-type scenarios. Flying the #2 airplane, I didn't enjoy much of a bay tour at all - my eyes were glued to the lead, who scanned for traffic, talked with ATC (we were treated as a single airplane), and the like. I'm by no means a formation expert but had some good training on it, along with aerobatic flying, shortly after receiving my private pilot license many years ago.
...but sometimes, you just have to go out and have fun. I've flown the San Francisco "Bay tour" many times. One day last year, several folks were visiting and a pilot friend and I decided to take them on a bay tour. Why not make it a flight of two? Here's a little clip one of the passengers took near Sausalito.
The sun had just set. Next time, we need to get up there before sunset to get the #2 airplane basking in that "golden hour" light outside the bridge. That was also the flight where I got the image that's presently at the top of this blog -- the sun was just above the horizon then, just past abeam SFO.
Formation flying is a fun challenge. Like many things in aviation, preparation is the key. We had a lengthy preflight brief going over our plan and several what-if-type scenarios. Flying the #2 airplane, I didn't enjoy much of a bay tour at all - my eyes were glued to the lead, who scanned for traffic, talked with ATC (we were treated as a single airplane), and the like. I'm by no means a formation expert but had some good training on it, along with aerobatic flying, shortly after receiving my private pilot license many years ago.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Alaska Epilogue
Before committing myself to fly to Alaska I wasn't sure if it was right for me, or worth the time and expense. Would it be better to use that time and money to travel to new faraway lands? To seek breadth in the mountains I'd already explored closer to home? Now, a month after returning home, my only regret is not having spent more time in the North, and I have a strong desire to go again. I've been fortunate enough in life to have seen a great deal of the western United States on the ground, in the air, to explore the Pacific coast from the tip of Baja to the Washington coastline, and do to a fair amount of international travel.... yet going a bit further north from home was surprisingly foreign and alluring, and I barely scratched the surface.
If you've just found this blog, I'm writing up a diary of the trip, dating the posts as they were on each day of the journey. If you'd like to follow chronologically (i.e., not the way blogger will display them on its own), this list may be useful (not all the legs have been written up just yet!):
Numbers:
 |
| Trip route & places I landed. |
- So begins the northbound odyssey
- Seattle
- North to the Yukon
- North to the Yukon... the trench
- Weathered in Watson Lake
- Southeast Alaska attempts, and Whitehorse
- Wrangell St. Elias wonder, and Alaska, at last
- Marshes, moraines, mountains, and rain
- Mooney fun in Talkeetna, introduction to Anchorage
- On the ground in Anchorage
- Chugach hikes
- Seward & Exit Glacier
- Back in the air - IFR to Homer
- Heaven is spelled "Seldovia"
- Talkeetna Revisited
- Denali color
- Homeward Bound
- Return to the lower 48
- Home again
Numbers:
- Aircraft: 1966 Mooney M20E
- Number of mechanical breakdowns or things that broke along the way: 0
- Flight time: About 40 hours in the air
- Distance: A bit over 5,100 nautical miles, round trip
- Least expensive avgas: Anchorage Merrill field, $5.09/gallon
- Most expensive: Whitehorse, Yukon, $8.40CDN/gallon
- Nights camping: 9; in hotels/B&Bs: 3; in hostels: 3; couch surfing: 2
- Cars rented: 3
Monday, August 29, 2011
Home again
Days 17-18: Portland, Oregon to Trinity Center, and Watsonville, California
The next day was spent with family in Portland. If there was any doubt about possible culture shock the evening before, today confirmed it beyond a shadow of a doubt. After walking off some outstanding German panckes for breakfast, we walked the Ladds addition and met two of my cousins, uncle and aunt, spouses, and a room full of little kids to catch up. We had a delightful lunch, hosted by my cousin's wife. The call of the wild at Watson Lake was faraway, indeed.
Making our way back to PDX to turn in the car, I firmed up plans to take a
college friend and his wife flying. We'd meet them at Starks Twin Oaks airpark,
barely a 10 minute flight yet a world away from the concrete jungle of PDX.
I decided to delay my takeoff a couple minutes for an arriving C-17 transport
that landed in front of us due to wake turbulence. Twin Oaks, just south of Hillsboro, offered a laid
back place to unload the airplane to accommodate two passengers for a quick
flight around the countryside.
As we set up to leave Starks it was late afternoon. A quick call check weather at home (Watsonville, CA) revealed fog already close to minimums to fly an instrument approach and see the airport. The best approach we have, a localizer, allows a pilot to get down to about 600 feet above the ground, and the summertime fog that usually rolls in during the late evening is often below that.. By the time we got there, three-plus hours from now, there was almost no chance of making it in without a diversion. The summer of 2011 had been a pervasive one as far as the fog was concerned and it showed no signs of abating. For those unfamiliar, September, October, and November are usually the best months to visit the California coast, with the exception of 2011!).
With a diversion assured, it was now time to think of a plan B. I'd had one in the back of my mind already. Trinity Center, in the mountains west of Redding, offers the flyer a peaceful lakeside airport adjacent a warm reservoir of clean water, a peaceful place to camp, and a small community nearby. I'd stopped once before for the evening on a trip north out of curiosity rather than necessity and enjoyed it; I wanted my wife to have a look. There should be just enough daylight to get there by sunset, a necessity as the airport is unlit and in a mountainous area. Its a daytime-only field for sure.
Loaded and fueled once more, we departed for Trinity Center. In contrast to the clear skies over the Puget Sound the day before, there was now a fair amount of smoke from fires burning in the Cascades to deal with as we proceeded down the Willamette valley. It wasn't pretty down low, and the visibility was certainly questionable VFR from 8,000 to well over 11,000', and quite smelly as well. We finally got completely on top of the smoke around 12,000' and cruised south at 13,500' where the air was smooth and clear.
On almost every trip I take to or from the northwest, there is usually some kind of weather change around the California/Oregon border over the Siskiou mountains. This is usually where weather systems get ripped apart leaving California warm, and the Oregon mountains under cloud, precipitation, and icing aloft. Today, the weather was great, but just like magic, the smoke ended as we got to the Siskious. The familiar sights of Mt. Ashland where I'd learned how to ski, Mt. Shasta, Scott Valley, and finally the Trinity Alps greeted our return to California. I delayed descent over the mountains as the sun was now setting, electing to make a few circles over Trinity reservoir, adjacent the airport. We landed with perhaps another 10 minutes of light sufficient to land given the terrain and unlit field.
Pitching our tent in the fading twilight on the ramp next to a picnic table, an SUV drove onto the field. Inside was a gentleman who upheld Trinity Center's reputation as a very hospitable place to visit. He lived in a house further down the field and decided to drive over just to see if we needed anything. He ended up inviting us over for breakfast the next day. During my last visit to Trinity, a family was picking up their son who flew in about the same time as me. They returned in the evening to invite me for breakfast at their home. Here I was, for the second time, invited to a stranger's house for breakfast! Its hard to beat that. Our evening was pleasant - quiet, warm, and with a sky full of stars to feast upon.
The next morning, after a brief swim in the lake, we made our way to our new friend's house for breakfast. He was a retired M.D., who had previously owned several airplanes and had taken several trips to Alaska. Naturally, we had plenty in common to discuss.
"After I got back from Alaska, there was a medial convention in Brazil I was planning to attend", he remarked. "I told my father I was going to buy an airline ticket and he said 'Why not just fly down yourself? You just flew to Alaska and back'." So with that, he flew to Brazil, in the 1960s, in his twin-engine Piper.
After lingering a while we began our last leg of the trip. It seemed apropos to say goodbye to our new friend with a low approach down the runway, but a couple of crows circling near the runway's end kept me from descending as much as I would have otherwise. The way home was positively routine. Light wind, warm atmosphere, California sunshine...all the way to the fog-laden coast, anyway. The fog was just starting to break when we arrived. I requested an IFR clearance to fly a localizer approach, broke out, circled to land, and touched down nonchalantly, as if from any other flight in the local area.
We called my brother in law, who had graciously come to house-and-dog sit for us while working remotely, to pick us up. While waiting, my wife ran into a man I used to work with (outside of aviation) for several years. He had just come down to the airport at random to take a look.
"Where did you come from?" He asked. "Well", I said, "Alaska."
The next day was spent with family in Portland. If there was any doubt about possible culture shock the evening before, today confirmed it beyond a shadow of a doubt. After walking off some outstanding German panckes for breakfast, we walked the Ladds addition and met two of my cousins, uncle and aunt, spouses, and a room full of little kids to catch up. We had a delightful lunch, hosted by my cousin's wife. The call of the wild at Watson Lake was faraway, indeed.
 |
| One last DeHavilland spotting, Starks Twin Oaks |
As we set up to leave Starks it was late afternoon. A quick call check weather at home (Watsonville, CA) revealed fog already close to minimums to fly an instrument approach and see the airport. The best approach we have, a localizer, allows a pilot to get down to about 600 feet above the ground, and the summertime fog that usually rolls in during the late evening is often below that.. By the time we got there, three-plus hours from now, there was almost no chance of making it in without a diversion. The summer of 2011 had been a pervasive one as far as the fog was concerned and it showed no signs of abating. For those unfamiliar, September, October, and November are usually the best months to visit the California coast, with the exception of 2011!).
With a diversion assured, it was now time to think of a plan B. I'd had one in the back of my mind already. Trinity Center, in the mountains west of Redding, offers the flyer a peaceful lakeside airport adjacent a warm reservoir of clean water, a peaceful place to camp, and a small community nearby. I'd stopped once before for the evening on a trip north out of curiosity rather than necessity and enjoyed it; I wanted my wife to have a look. There should be just enough daylight to get there by sunset, a necessity as the airport is unlit and in a mountainous area. Its a daytime-only field for sure.
Loaded and fueled once more, we departed for Trinity Center. In contrast to the clear skies over the Puget Sound the day before, there was now a fair amount of smoke from fires burning in the Cascades to deal with as we proceeded down the Willamette valley. It wasn't pretty down low, and the visibility was certainly questionable VFR from 8,000 to well over 11,000', and quite smelly as well. We finally got completely on top of the smoke around 12,000' and cruised south at 13,500' where the air was smooth and clear.
On almost every trip I take to or from the northwest, there is usually some kind of weather change around the California/Oregon border over the Siskiou mountains. This is usually where weather systems get ripped apart leaving California warm, and the Oregon mountains under cloud, precipitation, and icing aloft. Today, the weather was great, but just like magic, the smoke ended as we got to the Siskious. The familiar sights of Mt. Ashland where I'd learned how to ski, Mt. Shasta, Scott Valley, and finally the Trinity Alps greeted our return to California. I delayed descent over the mountains as the sun was now setting, electing to make a few circles over Trinity reservoir, adjacent the airport. We landed with perhaps another 10 minutes of light sufficient to land given the terrain and unlit field.
Pitching our tent in the fading twilight on the ramp next to a picnic table, an SUV drove onto the field. Inside was a gentleman who upheld Trinity Center's reputation as a very hospitable place to visit. He lived in a house further down the field and decided to drive over just to see if we needed anything. He ended up inviting us over for breakfast the next day. During my last visit to Trinity, a family was picking up their son who flew in about the same time as me. They returned in the evening to invite me for breakfast at their home. Here I was, for the second time, invited to a stranger's house for breakfast! Its hard to beat that. Our evening was pleasant - quiet, warm, and with a sky full of stars to feast upon.
The next morning, after a brief swim in the lake, we made our way to our new friend's house for breakfast. He was a retired M.D., who had previously owned several airplanes and had taken several trips to Alaska. Naturally, we had plenty in common to discuss.
"After I got back from Alaska, there was a medial convention in Brazil I was planning to attend", he remarked. "I told my father I was going to buy an airline ticket and he said 'Why not just fly down yourself? You just flew to Alaska and back'." So with that, he flew to Brazil, in the 1960s, in his twin-engine Piper.
After lingering a while we began our last leg of the trip. It seemed apropos to say goodbye to our new friend with a low approach down the runway, but a couple of crows circling near the runway's end kept me from descending as much as I would have otherwise. The way home was positively routine. Light wind, warm atmosphere, California sunshine...all the way to the fog-laden coast, anyway. The fog was just starting to break when we arrived. I requested an IFR clearance to fly a localizer approach, broke out, circled to land, and touched down nonchalantly, as if from any other flight in the local area.
We called my brother in law, who had graciously come to house-and-dog sit for us while working remotely, to pick us up. While waiting, my wife ran into a man I used to work with (outside of aviation) for several years. He had just come down to the airport at random to take a look.
"Where did you come from?" He asked. "Well", I said, "Alaska."
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Return to the lower 48
Day 16: Watson Lake, Yukon Territory to Portland, Oregon.
One last breakfast burrito north of sixty. The miniature skillet I’d hauled along in my cooler had earned its keep on this trip; too heavy to backpack with, but just right for frying sausage and eggs while airplane camping when an extra pound of weight could be carried.
Before leaving we had a chat with the community radio operator at Watson Lake. This was the one character of the three who worked there that I didn’t talk with during my trip north. I learned some sad facts about Watson Lake and its wartime history that, while I’ve been unable to substantiate with some quick googling after returning home, I am inclined to believe as this gentleman grew up there.
First, there was the petroleum in the ground water, which made the water in the terminal washrooms non-potable. When the military left the airfield at the end of the second word war, the tanks of a fuel farm were intentionally opened allowing thousands of gallons of avgas and diesel fuel to spill onto and seep into the ground. It’s still down there, over 60 years later, moving slowly and is contaminating ground water as it goes. He promised me that the well supplying the spigot at the campground where I’d been drinking from was still safe. Further, barrels of toxic substances were apparently lost in Watson Lake itself.
“A few years back we got this letter in the mail…” he told us “if you’d swam in or eaten fish from the lake, you were to report to such-and-such for some tests”.
It was difficult to tell the specifics of how many people contracted illness or what the precise problem was, but it was clear that someone had found something many years after the fact, and the government became concerned over public health because of it.
After contemplating the fact that I brushed my teeth using that non-potable water a few times before I knew it was non-potable -- and yes, it did taste funny -- we got to planning how to get back to the lower 48 states. The likely options were backtracking southeast down the Rocky Mountain Trench, which I’d followed to get here, taking a more easterly route along the Alcan highway to Ft. St. John and points east of the Rockies, or heading south to Dease Lake just inland over the coastal range before turning east to Prince George.
The weather was surprisingly decent for the Alcan or trench, with broken cumulus with bases 7,000’, tops to 20,000’+, and scattered rain showers until Prince George. Predictably, rain and lower ceilings were pushing in from the coast shutting out a more interesting westward route that would take us to Dease Lake, eliminating that option. Besides the college friends I saw on the trip north, I had several relatives in the Portland area that it would be good to catch up with, and I’d left a message for my uncle and another college friend the night before via Skype saying we might pass through. Taking the Alcan would require us to double back across the mountains adding some time and mountain flying risk, which I figured put a repeat of running the trench at a wash, risk-wise. With this we decided to retrace our steps through the trench. I planned for a stop in Quesnel, B.C., the next town south of Price George where I’d entered on the trip north.
With our flight plan filed with Whitehorse flight information centre and one last load of expensive Yukon gas in the tanks, we departed, swooping out over Watson Lake, the Liard river, and on down to the trench. The weather was initially quite nice – the makings of a pleasant day – but the forecast cumulus buildups were visible in the distance to the south and west. Soon enough we passed over now familiar Scoop and Aeroplane Lakes that provide a gentle hint to the trench’s northwest terminus. I had climbed up to 11,500’ – well above the mountaintops on either side of the trench -- but wanted to follow it precisely should the need arise due to weather. At this point, clouds were scattered and becoming more solidified going south. I decided to give another new Canadian concept a try: Uncontrolled IFR.
Vast swaths of Canada are similar to the relatively small patches of their American counterparts, consisting uncontrolled airspace that stretches from the surface to a relatively high altitude. In this context, “uncontrolled” means that no ATC separation for IFR traffic is available. Therefore, one does not need an ATC clearance to fly in instrument meteorological conditions. In the lower 48 states, such areas are limited to a maximum altitude of 14,500’ (with a few exceptions), but these pockets of airspace are few and far between, lying destitute in mountainous areas, and are for the most part too small to actually go from point A to B. You might climb or descend through one (very carefully) if operating out of an airport in the middle of nowhere, accepting responsibility for terrain and obstacle clearance, while negotiating a clearance from ATC that would be necessary prior to entering controlled airspace. Canada, by contrast, had a whole lot more ‘nothing’, and the uncontrolled airspace went up to 18,000’.
Along the trench, I could fly continuously in this manner for the next two hours until just shy of Price George without needing (or being able to obtain) ATC clearance or separation services to fly IFR. So long as I maintained the appropriate altitude (in this case, odd-thousands), squawked the appropriate code (2000 as I recall, not that it mattered as there was no radar around), and appropriate distance above terrain I was free to fly through clouds. Separation from other traffic is handled via broadcasting a position report on the appropriate frequency, in the blind. That was the theory, anyway.
I’d used this facility earlier on the trip to poke into a cloud here or there, but as I’ve remarked previously, the majority of this trip had to be done clear of clouds due to icing potential. This leg was no exception, as it was a few Centigrade below freezing at this altitude, and the bigger clouds looked full of moisture. On this southeast-bound trip through the trench, my motivation to stay high and poke in and out of cloud was for the nice tailwind at altitude and to avoid the bumps below. I didn’t mind going through a cloud here or there provided I could size it up before going in. Somewhere around the half way point to Fort Ware, the buildups ahead appeared distinctly more ominous: too tall to out-climb, with neighbors on the sides, not allowing me a way to size up what was on the other side, or how big it was. Though my prior sojourns had been ice-free, I did not want to get into a situation where I had ice on the airplane and then had to descend down into the trench with terrain on either side, inside of a cloud. I reverted to VFR and spiraled down below the cloud bases, now about level with the terrain on either side of the trench, before continuing along visually.
Continuing along visually we retraced the remainder of the trench as I had going north. Now the land that had formed such a stark impression in my mind on the way north, from its lack of human contact, slowly reversed itself. Fort Ware appeared, and soon logging roads were visible alongside Lake Williston. The last of the true wilderness flying was behind us, though there were still hundreds of miles with not much going on to go. Along the way the clouds overhead coalesced to mostly overcast cumulus bases, with frequent rain showers.
For the next hour I slowly descended, ultimately being pushed down to about 2,000' above ground until the rain and cloud cover abruptly ended somewhere around Prince George. Suddenly, we were in a beautiful warm late summer's day in central British Columbia, and the ice fields of the St. Elias range felt far away indeed. We picked up and followed the Fraser river to Quesnel (say "kay-nel"), an oasis of warmth, timber, and fields of alfalfa rolled into gigantic cylindrical bales. Here we stopped just long enough for fuel, a bite to eat, and to file a border-crossing flight plan to Bellingham, Washington.
On our way yet again, we followed the Fraser south, now under much more pleasant skies than the foreboding experience that greeted me on the trip north, down to Hope, Abbotsford, and across the U.S. border to Bellingham. On the ground, several GA airplanes were directed to shoe-horn into a box painted on the asphalt next to an Allegiant Airlines jet, for customs inspection. This, too was quick though they wanted to see some of the airplane's documents, which no one had asked for previously. The last time I was flew into Bellingham, in 2000, it was a typical, if sleepy GA airport. Now there were three airliners parked next to me and a new fancy (expensive looking) FBO. Its getting rare to see airports with a lot of growth these days in the US.
We made some quick plans to secure a rental car at Portland's main airport (PDX) where the cheap car offset the slightly higher airplane parking fee, and were on our way, enjoying a delightful sunny afternoon above Puget Sound, and the Seattle skyline. The flying was easy, and though we were growing tired, things were familiar again. I felt home, in the geographic sense, even though we were still some 600 nautical miles away. On the ground, driving the interstate through Portland to a friend's house where we should stay the night, a sense of culture shock set in; returning from the absence of population density over the past two weeks of our travels created a final element of surprise to our Alaska experience.
One last breakfast burrito north of sixty. The miniature skillet I’d hauled along in my cooler had earned its keep on this trip; too heavy to backpack with, but just right for frying sausage and eggs while airplane camping when an extra pound of weight could be carried.
Before leaving we had a chat with the community radio operator at Watson Lake. This was the one character of the three who worked there that I didn’t talk with during my trip north. I learned some sad facts about Watson Lake and its wartime history that, while I’ve been unable to substantiate with some quick googling after returning home, I am inclined to believe as this gentleman grew up there.
First, there was the petroleum in the ground water, which made the water in the terminal washrooms non-potable. When the military left the airfield at the end of the second word war, the tanks of a fuel farm were intentionally opened allowing thousands of gallons of avgas and diesel fuel to spill onto and seep into the ground. It’s still down there, over 60 years later, moving slowly and is contaminating ground water as it goes. He promised me that the well supplying the spigot at the campground where I’d been drinking from was still safe. Further, barrels of toxic substances were apparently lost in Watson Lake itself.
“A few years back we got this letter in the mail…” he told us “if you’d swam in or eaten fish from the lake, you were to report to such-and-such for some tests”.
It was difficult to tell the specifics of how many people contracted illness or what the precise problem was, but it was clear that someone had found something many years after the fact, and the government became concerned over public health because of it.
After contemplating the fact that I brushed my teeth using that non-potable water a few times before I knew it was non-potable -- and yes, it did taste funny -- we got to planning how to get back to the lower 48 states. The likely options were backtracking southeast down the Rocky Mountain Trench, which I’d followed to get here, taking a more easterly route along the Alcan highway to Ft. St. John and points east of the Rockies, or heading south to Dease Lake just inland over the coastal range before turning east to Prince George.
The weather was surprisingly decent for the Alcan or trench, with broken cumulus with bases 7,000’, tops to 20,000’+, and scattered rain showers until Prince George. Predictably, rain and lower ceilings were pushing in from the coast shutting out a more interesting westward route that would take us to Dease Lake, eliminating that option. Besides the college friends I saw on the trip north, I had several relatives in the Portland area that it would be good to catch up with, and I’d left a message for my uncle and another college friend the night before via Skype saying we might pass through. Taking the Alcan would require us to double back across the mountains adding some time and mountain flying risk, which I figured put a repeat of running the trench at a wash, risk-wise. With this we decided to retrace our steps through the trench. I planned for a stop in Quesnel, B.C., the next town south of Price George where I’d entered on the trip north.
With our flight plan filed with Whitehorse flight information centre and one last load of expensive Yukon gas in the tanks, we departed, swooping out over Watson Lake, the Liard river, and on down to the trench. The weather was initially quite nice – the makings of a pleasant day – but the forecast cumulus buildups were visible in the distance to the south and west. Soon enough we passed over now familiar Scoop and Aeroplane Lakes that provide a gentle hint to the trench’s northwest terminus. I had climbed up to 11,500’ – well above the mountaintops on either side of the trench -- but wanted to follow it precisely should the need arise due to weather. At this point, clouds were scattered and becoming more solidified going south. I decided to give another new Canadian concept a try: Uncontrolled IFR.
Vast swaths of Canada are similar to the relatively small patches of their American counterparts, consisting uncontrolled airspace that stretches from the surface to a relatively high altitude. In this context, “uncontrolled” means that no ATC separation for IFR traffic is available. Therefore, one does not need an ATC clearance to fly in instrument meteorological conditions. In the lower 48 states, such areas are limited to a maximum altitude of 14,500’ (with a few exceptions), but these pockets of airspace are few and far between, lying destitute in mountainous areas, and are for the most part too small to actually go from point A to B. You might climb or descend through one (very carefully) if operating out of an airport in the middle of nowhere, accepting responsibility for terrain and obstacle clearance, while negotiating a clearance from ATC that would be necessary prior to entering controlled airspace. Canada, by contrast, had a whole lot more ‘nothing’, and the uncontrolled airspace went up to 18,000’.
Along the trench, I could fly continuously in this manner for the next two hours until just shy of Price George without needing (or being able to obtain) ATC clearance or separation services to fly IFR. So long as I maintained the appropriate altitude (in this case, odd-thousands), squawked the appropriate code (2000 as I recall, not that it mattered as there was no radar around), and appropriate distance above terrain I was free to fly through clouds. Separation from other traffic is handled via broadcasting a position report on the appropriate frequency, in the blind. That was the theory, anyway.
I’d used this facility earlier on the trip to poke into a cloud here or there, but as I’ve remarked previously, the majority of this trip had to be done clear of clouds due to icing potential. This leg was no exception, as it was a few Centigrade below freezing at this altitude, and the bigger clouds looked full of moisture. On this southeast-bound trip through the trench, my motivation to stay high and poke in and out of cloud was for the nice tailwind at altitude and to avoid the bumps below. I didn’t mind going through a cloud here or there provided I could size it up before going in. Somewhere around the half way point to Fort Ware, the buildups ahead appeared distinctly more ominous: too tall to out-climb, with neighbors on the sides, not allowing me a way to size up what was on the other side, or how big it was. Though my prior sojourns had been ice-free, I did not want to get into a situation where I had ice on the airplane and then had to descend down into the trench with terrain on either side, inside of a cloud. I reverted to VFR and spiraled down below the cloud bases, now about level with the terrain on either side of the trench, before continuing along visually.
Continuing along visually we retraced the remainder of the trench as I had going north. Now the land that had formed such a stark impression in my mind on the way north, from its lack of human contact, slowly reversed itself. Fort Ware appeared, and soon logging roads were visible alongside Lake Williston. The last of the true wilderness flying was behind us, though there were still hundreds of miles with not much going on to go. Along the way the clouds overhead coalesced to mostly overcast cumulus bases, with frequent rain showers.
 |
| Short final, Quesnel, B.C. |
On our way yet again, we followed the Fraser south, now under much more pleasant skies than the foreboding experience that greeted me on the trip north, down to Hope, Abbotsford, and across the U.S. border to Bellingham. On the ground, several GA airplanes were directed to shoe-horn into a box painted on the asphalt next to an Allegiant Airlines jet, for customs inspection. This, too was quick though they wanted to see some of the airplane's documents, which no one had asked for previously. The last time I was flew into Bellingham, in 2000, it was a typical, if sleepy GA airport. Now there were three airliners parked next to me and a new fancy (expensive looking) FBO. Its getting rare to see airports with a lot of growth these days in the US.
 |
| Seattle & Mt. Rainier |
We made some quick plans to secure a rental car at Portland's main airport (PDX) where the cheap car offset the slightly higher airplane parking fee, and were on our way, enjoying a delightful sunny afternoon above Puget Sound, and the Seattle skyline. The flying was easy, and though we were growing tired, things were familiar again. I felt home, in the geographic sense, even though we were still some 600 nautical miles away. On the ground, driving the interstate through Portland to a friend's house where we should stay the night, a sense of culture shock set in; returning from the absence of population density over the past two weeks of our travels created a final element of surprise to our Alaska experience.
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