So begins the northbound odyssey

Days 1-2: Santa Cruz, CA, to an island in the Columbia river

I departed Watsonville, CA alone on Friday Aug 12, one day later than planned, due to general laziness in final preparations and in maintenance availability to give the Mooney a quick firewall-forward inspection. My inspector found a few small items which were corrected with a few minutes' work, mostly in preventing things like wires from chafing on hardware. I'd been borrowing tools and the FBO's beater airport truck occasionally to work on the airplane, and thought it would be a good idea to fill it up. Between the gas and picking up some auto parts for my inspector, there was no labor charge; it’s great to have relationships like that in this day and age.

The first leg of the journey took me to the Portland, Oregon area. The plan was to hitch a ride with one of a large group of friends from my college years who were doing an annual camping trip that I'd missed every year since 2002. Being on sabbatical, I had no excuse not to attend this year and thought that the 500+ nautical mile trip north would make a good launch-off-point for Alaska. The trouble was, most folks were getting there Thursday due to the logistics of the camping trip. Each year, one particularly well organized individual set up the trip by scouting out a suitably remote location and maintaining a web page to collaborate on planning. This year an island in the Columbia river was chosen. The precise location is not important, but the logistics were: 20 people gathering together, who collectively had access to one ~20' sloop, one 10' aluminum dinghy, one electric trolling motor, and one set of oars to get everyone and their gear in and out. The closest boat ramp was only a mile away from the site, and the sailboat was berthed in a harbor about 20 miles away. There was one other person making the drive out from Portland after work Friday, and he graciously offered to pick me up at Scappoose airport after work. With the delay in my departure, it was him for a ride or miss the trip.

Bt the time I left the ground it was 1:30pm, the Mooney relatively well-packed with camping gear, food, survival equipment, Canadian charts, a 12-gauge shotgun, freshly-filled oxygen tank, parts to do an oil change in the middle of nowhere (I would buy a case of oil at some point), and the usual set of tools, hardware, tie-down ropes, chocks, and oil that normally reside in the airplane. I figured I'd have room for my wife who would join me later, and her backpack, assuming that was all she brought. The skies over the Monterey bay area had been particularly foggy. I was used to departing IFR to climb through the thin stratus layer, but at this hour of the afternoon blue sky was visible a couple miles north of the field. I took off VFR, leveled briefly to remain clear of the fog bank, and blasted up into the warm sunshine and hot atmosphere above the marine inversion.

I climbed to 6,500' initially, punched in KSPB into the GPS, and pointed the airplane's nose toward Livermore, a slight dog-leg and a bit lower than normal to stay under the flow of traffic inbound to SFO from the east. This seemed to satisfy ATC who let me do as I pleased. Clear of Livermore, I resumed climb to 10,500 and flew a 339-degree magnetic course that would take me over land I'd flown and driven over many times -- up along interstate 5, past the Sutter Buttes where Mt. Shasta usually comes into view, Red Bluff, Redding, a couple miles west of Mt. Shasta, and into Oregon. The wind aloft, initially forecast to give me a slight tailwind was more from the north, and robbed precious groundspeed; would I have my hour of fuel reserve in Portland? It was looking iffy. Somewhere around the Oregon border, the wind swung around to the southwest, and finally south, and boosted groundspeed from 135 knots up to 160; my true airspeed somewhere around 145. I climbed to 12,500' abeam Klamath Falls and Medford. The wind didn't get any better, but the Mooney cruises at about the same airspeed on slightly less fuel. Between all of this I had two hours' fuel at Scappoose; no worries.

Downtown Portland, Oregon

The remainder of the flight was relaxing. Started descent just past Eugene. Portland approach wanted me to keep clear of their arrival and departure routes, so I overflew PDX at midfield and got a nice view of downtown before turning to the west for Scappoose. I arrived after just under four hours, and my friend was driving onto the field to pick me up as I taxied in.

At that point I learned that arriving on Friday was a good thing: The borrowed dinghy was woefully underpowered for the amount of ferrying needed, and last night the trip organizer and sailboat owner drove to the dock, and sailed up the Columbia river with about half of the trip attendees, a trip that took all night. At 630am, they ran aground on a sandbar and had to wait for a rising tide to get un-stuck. This much I learned from the friend who picked me up at the airport. We arrived at the dock at 630pm, right on time, and it wasn't until 8, just after sunset, that we saw the dinghy rowing toward us to pick us up. The sailboat now safely moored off the island, the owner did not want to risk getting stuck again as this was the following low tide.

The one-mile journey out to the island took a long time. The electric trolling motor was good for about 1.5-2knots, but was battery powered. A portable generator and battery charger in the boat kept it turning, in addition to charging the battery. Unfortunately, about half-way to the island the motor quit all together, and it was time to take turns rowing. By this time twilight had passed and it was dark, but a waxing moon one day short of being full had risen majestically above the tree-lined ridge providing an idyllic evening. I enjoyed rowing for about 15 minutes, getting a nice workout, before it became apparent that the rate of progress (against the incoming tide which makes the Columbia flow backwards) was almost nil. Fortunately we were abeam a beach on the island and resorted to running along in the shallow water towing/pushing the dinghy with our gear. At least one ship passed up-river while we were rowing, making me wonder about just how much wake would be generated, and how the tiny craft would handle it.



Despite the logistical trouble in arriving, the island was a wonderful place to camp. The island was almost entirely sand -- except for a few spots of muddy soil that appeared along the shore at low-tide. I don't think anyone found a rock. Even so, it was considerably wooded with a mix of conifers and deciduous trees alike, with copious amounts of blackberry bushes making the forested areas impenetrable without getting scratched up. Thus, the few acres' of sandy soil with only a scattering of trees and bushes provided a wonderful place for a group to enjoy themselves in solidarity. The next two nights were spent around the campfire, reconnecting with old friends and getting to know newcomers to the group.

I'm no botanist.. what kind of berries are these? Edible?

The sunset at 46'N was noticeably later than at 37'N where I departed from. This simple act - a predictably-later summer sunset, further fueled my thirst to continue north.