Category Archives: Flying

Stories about flying — for pleasure or for hire — and the things I’ve learned.

Unemployment Lasts Just Two Days

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My contract ends and I get another.

My first round of cherry drying contracts went…well, I guess it went well. They were two-week contracts. It rained only two days, but not enough to launch me. So I spent 12 out of 14 days just hanging around and exploring the area. I only spent 2 days prepping the helicopter and remaining on “active” standby. Still, I collected standby pay for all 14 days.

I feel only a little bit guilty for collecting money without doing any real work. After all, because I was required to be in the area with the helicopter, I couldn’t do any other paying work with it. So the compensation is partially for possible work lost. The rest is to cover my expenses, some of which are quite substantial — think insurance and travel costs and that damn fuel tank and the helmet I have yet to wear while flying.

But the first round of contracts ended at sundown on Monday. And my next round of contracts wasn’t due to begin until July 8. That meant I had two full weeks with no potential income and a lot of time on my hands.

It was like being unemployed.

I made a few phone calls yesterday and today. I got a few back. And one of them was an offer for a new contract that would run from June 26 (Thursday) through July 7. A fill-in contract. I jumped on it. So I’d enjoy my unemployment for a total of two days.

The new contract is up in Brewster, WA. That’s about 100 road miles from here but only 50 nautical air miles from here. I can get there in 30 minutes by helicopter, according to Duats flight planning.

Sectional Chart around Brewster, WA

But I’m not moving my camper from Quincy. After all, I have to return for that July 8 contract. My camper is all settled in and the campsite and Internet are paid for. The campground’s full hookup sites are all filled and I know that if I move my camper, someone else will steal my site, despite the fact that it’s paid for. Besides, this area is due for a heat wave starting on Saturday. I’d much rather suffer through that in a motel than in the camper. The camper’s air conditioning works fine, but it makes a hell of a racket.

The motel I’m going to is in Pateros. It’s right on the Columbia River and all the rooms look out that way. They allow pets, so Alex the Bird won’t need to be hidden — although he will cost me an extra $10/day. There’s even a pool. And, if you can believe this, they’ll let me park my helicopter on the grass to the east of the building.

Mike is flying up on Friday. He made his plans yesterday, when we both thought I’d be down here in Quincy, twiddling my thumbs for two weeks. His timing couldn’t be better. He’ll drive the truck up for me on Saturday morning, with Alex the Bird and his rather bulky cage.

Then, on July 7, when Mike is gone, I’ll have to figure out how to get everything back to Quincy for the next three week gig.

Exploring the Columbia River by Air

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Fighting stir-craziness by taking the helicopter out for a spin.

I must have brought Arizona weather — the clear cloudless skies but not the heat — with me to central Washington. Since Thursday, the weather here has been pretty much perfect. Saturday was the fourth beautiful day in a row. It was also the sixth day since the last time I’d flown. And while I could have spent another day in my camper or under its awning, reading or writing, with time off for a walk or a bike ride, I was ready to do something more substantial.

It was time to go flying.

Zero Mike Lima in its Quincy HangarI put it off as long as I could. But by 12:30, I was on my way to the airport, where Zero-Mike-Lima is resting in a rented T-hangar. I put the pilot door back on, stowed my helmet in the big plastic storage box I keep in the hangar to keep dust off my things. Then I installed my POV.1 camera on the helicopter’s nose and hooked it into the audio system. The helicopter had already been pre-flighted on Tuesday when I thought I was going to fly for work, so I just hooked up the tow bar and dragged the helicopter out to the ramp.

I took my time about it. I wasn’t in any rush. Truth is, I still hadn’t decided on where I was going to go. In fact, even when I took off at about 1 PM, I didn’t know for sure where I was going.

I headed southwest, over the golf course and campground where I’m staying. Then I continued on toward the Gorge Amphitheater. There’s a resort/winery near there called Cave B and I wanted to identify it from the air. I’m also hoping to get some tour flights on nice days with some of their guests. (It’s nice to fly, but it’s nicer to fly when someone else is paying you to do it.) From there, I hopped on the Columbia River, making a hard right to follow it upriver toward Wenatchee.

The Columbia River is one of the great rivers of America. It starts somewhere up in Canada and winds southwest through valleys, canyons, and steep gorges, with numerous dams along the way. The dams aren’t in place to hold back water in an arid land. Instead, they’re in place to generate electricity. This gives the residents of Washington State cheap, reliable power. It also makes a little place like Quincy, WA attractive for companies like Microsoft and Intuit, both of which have built data centers among the crops.

Orchard at Crescent BarIn this area, where the river flows in a wide valley, there’s often orchards alongside. The first of these along my flight path was at Crescent Bar, where a cherry orchard stretches up the side of the hill. Crescent Bar is a recreational area, with campgrounds, condos, boat ramps, and a golf course. It was surprisingly quiet that day — a Saturday — and I could only assume that cold water or high gas prices kept boaters out of the water.

I continued upriver, snapping photos of the orchards I was responsible for drying that season. The photos didn’t come out very good; there was a lot of glare in the cockpit bubble. Most of these orchards are not far above water level. It’s warmer at these elevations than it is on higher terrain, closer to Quincy. I’d be drying the higher elevation orchards in the next part of the season. Maybe, if I was lucky, I’d be sent farther north when that was done, perhaps to dry cherries closer to the Canadian border in August.

Rock Island DamI got a photo of the Rock Island Dam as I overflew it. I know it’s not the best photo, but it does give you an idea of the kinds of dams along this river. Most of them are short and wide, spanning the river and allowing the water to drop just a few feet. This is apparently enough to generate mass quantities of electricity. The drawback to all this is the power lines — they’re all over the place anywhere near a dam. This is a hazard for low-flying aircraft. Although I’ve cruised parts of the Colorado River at just a few hundred feet, I’d never do the same here. Too many damn wires!

Approaching Wenatchee from DownriverBeyond the dam was the outskirts of Wenatchee. I took one photo while still downriver, hoping to capture the snow-capped mountains in the distance, but forgot to take any photos while closer. Instead, I let the POV.1 video camera do the job. Here’s a segment of video as I flew along the Columbia River through Wenatchee. East Wenatchee is on the right and Wenatchee is on the left.

(Keep in mind that the video camera is mounted on the outside of the helicopter, on its nose. I have no way to adjust it in flight, so sometimes I mention things that simply are not visible to the camera.)

I continued on up the river, passing over a number of dams and overflying more small communities on the banks of the river. I could have lived in any of those houses — at least in the summer months. I assume the area gets pretty darn cold in the winter.

I reached Chelan Falls about 40 minutes into the flight and followed them up to Lake Chelan. The falls were a beautiful turquoise blue color — probably a trick of the light on the rushing water. The video doesn’t do it justice. I overflew the town and flew partway up the northeast shore of the lake, then made a U-turn and returned back to the Columbia River. I’ll have to explore Chelan another time. (If the weather continues to keep me free from flying duties, I may drive up tomorrow!)

I continued up the Columbia with the vague idea of flying to the Coulee Dam. I was overflying another dam when I checked my chart and realized I still had quite a distance to go. I honestly can’t afford to spend too much unpaid time in the helicopter, so I cut the flight short, climbing up out of the valley to the southeast. At first, I thought I’d go back to Ephrata for fuel, but then decided to beeline it to Wenatchee. I wanted to check out the fuel facility there, since I’m likely to stop there for fuel when drying some of my orchards.

I landed and topped off my tanks at the self-serve pumps. It’s vital that I have full tanks of fuel when I start flying for cherry work, and I brought the level all the way up to the top of both tanks. Then I went inside to chat with the guys in the FBO. One, the guy at the desk, was a “nice young man” kind of kid — 18 years old, friendly, eager to help. He asked me questions about flying helicopters for a living. The other guy, the line guy, was a bit older and kind of crude and bossy. When I mentioned I was in the area to dry cherries, he cut me off before I could finish talking and told me to move my helicopter to the end of the ramp. I told him I wasn’t based in Wenatchee and I think he had a problem understanding that. I tried to limit my conversation to the desk guy, but the line guy kept butting in. After a while, I got tired of it and left.

Upriver from Crescent BarI flew back along the Columbia River as far as Crescent Bar, then climbed up to Quincy. The video below records that 15-minute flight, beginning just after takeoff in Wenatchee.

It had been a great flight with near perfect weather. But I’m looking forward to doing the kind of flying that brought me here. You can bet I’ll report on that when I get a good taste of it.

Flying Again

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I fly for the first time in almost three weeks.

On May 19, I dropped off my helicopter for its annual inspection at Seattle’s Boeing Field. I would be spending the summer in Quincy, 100+ miles to the east, on a series of cherry drying contracts. I wanted the helicopter in top condition for the job and the mechanic in Seattle, Rich, was highly recommended by several Robinson helicopter owners.

From Seattle, I made my way back home on a zig-zag route via airliner: Horizon Air from Seattle to Wenatchee and back to Seattle. Alaska Air from Seattle to Oakland. U.S. Air from Oakland to Phoenix. I had all kinds of business along the way. But I was back in Wickenburg by May 22.

Without a helicopter.

It hit me hard — the sudden realization that if I felt like going flying, I couldn’t. Rain came and the desert flooded and I couldn’t take a quick trip in the helicopter to see it from the air. A potential customer wanted a day trip to the Grand Canyon but I couldn’t provide the service. Fortunately, I kept myself busy with preparations for the long drive from Wickenburg to Quincy (learn more here, here, and here), so I really shouldn’t have goofed off in the helicopter anyway.

I came to Quincy and settled in. Then I began looking for weather window — a date when the weather in both Seattle and Quincy — and all points in between — would be good enough for the hour-long cross-country flight. Complicating the matter was the bad weather in Seattle. Rich had painted my main rotor blades and needed to track and balance them. Trouble is, if he flew in the rain, some of that nice new paint would be worn off. So he hadn’t finished the job.

But my contract date was fast approaching, so there wasn’t any time to wait. My weather window was Sunday, June 8. Rain was a definite possibility on June 9, the day before most of my contracts started. One grower had already told me he might call on June 9. I pushed Rich and he took care of the last details on Saturday evening. Yes, it was raining. And yes, some of that nice paint was worn off. But the job was finished.

I made arrangements with one of the employees at the local golf course where I’m camped to take me from Quincy Airport, where I’d leave my truck, to Wenatchee Airport, where a Horizon flight would take me to Seattle. (He and his wife would make a day in the relatively big city of Wenatchee and I’d give him enough money to cover gas and lunch. A good deal for all.) I’d purposely skipped breakfast so I could eat at the airport cafe. When I arrived and learned that the cafe was closed on weekends, I was extremely disappointed. I had to satisfy my angry stomach with peanut butter crackers from a vending machine.

The flight was on a 37-seat turbo prop airplane. I don’t remember the model number. We took off from Wenatchee and the pilots spiraled us up over the city, climbing to about 20,000 feet to cross the Cascades. Below us were scattered clouds with snow-capped mountains poking through. My seatmate flies the route regularly and seemed interested in aviation, so we chatted a bit. The man beside him, visiting from New Zealand, told us stories about how helicopters are used there. The 30-minute flight went quickly and, before long, we were landing at Sea-Tac.

Rich had kindly offered to pick me up at Sea-Tac and drive me to Boeing Field, which is only 6 miles away, so before long I was riding north on back streets in his Hummer. A while later, I was on the ramp at Boeing Field’s “Pad 6,” looking at a helicopter so clean and beautiful that I couldn’t believe it was mine. Not only had Rich done all the mechanical work for the helicopter, but he’d done some “body work.” He’d painted the main rotor blades and they looked almost new. He’d touched up the side panels damaged by a dangling seatbelt during doors-off operations and had replaced the fairing damaged by a bird strike when the helicopter was only 11 hours old. The bill for all this work was quite staggering, but it was worth it to have the helicopter brought back up to near-factory condition by an experienced mechanic who obviously cares a lot about his work.

I retreated to his office and spent about 15 minutes doing some flight planning. I hoped to follow I-90 from Seattle all the way to the Columbia River, then head south for a stop at Desert Aire in Mattawa. Then I’d head north to Wenatchee to top off my fuel before landing at Quincy. This chart segment gives you an idea of my planned route:

Planned Route

I wanted to have the helicopter in its hangar before sunset — preferably before 6 PM. It was 2:30 PM and I thought I had a good shot at it.

The big question mark was Snoqualmie Pass. It wasn’t a very high pass — only 3,004 feet — but during the past few days, it had been subject to foggy conditions due to low clouds. It was cloudy in Seattle (what else is new?) but it was a beautiful day in Quincy, on the other side of the Cascades. How would the pass be? I called Flight Service and asked. She didn’t have information for Snoqualmie Pass, but she did have conditions at Stampede Pass, just to the south. “Visibility 10 miles” was all I had to hear. I was good to go.

Rich gave me some advice for departure. Ask the tower for a north departure, stay below 500 feet MSL as I climb over the hills, then head northeast to the I-90 floating bridge. Follow I-90 all the way. Pretty easy stuff.

I climbed in, started up, and warmed up. I listened to the ATIS; wind was light out of the south. When I asked for my departure, the tower assumed I wanted to take off into the wind. I asked to depart direct to the north. I was by myself and had plenty of power for a tailwind takeoff — especially one in such a light wind. I was cleared and took off.

I regret not setting up my video camera for the flight. I had excellent views of downtown Seattle as I headed north. I flew low over the hills northeast of the airport, being careful to remain north of Renton’s airspace. I caught sight of the bridge and headed straight for it, climbing to 700 feet. I followed the bridge so I’d have a landing platform in the event of an emergency and crossed the lake. Then I headed up I-90, into the mountains.

Following I-90 from SeattleI took photos as I flew. Most of them didn’t come out very well. The ones you see here are passable. In this shot, I’ve just left the Bellevue/Renton area. You can see the thick clouds hanging low over snow-capped peaks beyond Preston.

The flight was quiet. There weren’t any airports along the way and my iPod’s battery was unexpectedly dead. There was nothing to listen to.

The air was a bit bumpy — a 3 on my 1 to 10 scale of turbulence. (Later, I’d hit a few 8s that would require me to reduce power and speed.) So although flying conditions weren’t perfect, they certainly weren’t uncomfortable.

The scenery, however, was beautiful. As I climbed into the mountains, I got up close and personal with snow-covered peaks and saw more than a few waterfalls. This was a real treat for me. In Arizona, there’s seldom much snow or big pine trees at the altitudes where I fly. And water! It was all over the place!

Snowqualmie PassAs I neared Snoqualmie Pass, the space between the mountains narrowed. I-90 wound along mountain slopes in a canyon. The clouds seemed lower. I began to wonder whether I’d be clouded in after all.

Crossing the CascadesBut then I was through the pass and descending past a series of long, narrow lakes on the east side of the pass. Beautiful scenery. I caught sight of a few grass airstrips along the way and found them on the sectional chart I’d left folded open on the passenger seat. I took a picture of one of them, but it was too out of focus to keep, let alone share here.

Approaching EllensburgI continued my descent. Soon I was coming out of the Cascades, approaching the rolling hills so similar to those around Quincy. I overflew Ellenburg Airport and continued east along I-90.

At this point, you might be wondering why I didn’t just cut to the southwest to my first stop. Unfortunately, there was a Restricted Area alongside the river there. By following I-90 and then turning south at the river, I could pass to the north and east of the area.

OrchardsI crossed the river 1,000 feet above it, just south of the I-90 bridge. Then I headed south through a gap in basalt cliffs. And that’s when I caught sight (and took a photo) of a typically nighmarish orchard setup. In this photo, you see fruit trees separated by tall poplar trees planted as wind breaks. The tall trees might be 80 feet tall; the trees in the orchard blocks between them might be 10 to 20 feet tall. If any of those trees were cherry trees, some poor pilot would be maneuvering between the tall trees after a rainfall to dry the shorter ones. I’m just glad none of these orchard blocks are mine.

I continued south to Desert Aire, a runway in a small planned community alongside the river. I landed at the north end, not far from an R44 parked on the dirt. To spare my blades any more wear and tear, I parked on the pavement. As I cooled down the engine, I called Jim, another pilot who makes and sells Robinson-compatible cell phone adapters. I needed one to stay in touch with the growers while I worked.

I’d never met Jim before, but we hit it off right away. The helicopter pilot community is small and we had several friends in common. He was a great guy who offered a bunch of advice for drying cherries. I soaked it in. We talked for quite a while — until after 6 PM — and I finally told him I needed to go. He gave me one of his units to try out for a while and I hooked it up. Unfortunately, it won’t work with my Bose headsets, which have a special powered jack. I have to use it with one of my David Clark’s. The battery is dead in the one with active noise reduction (ANR) and the helicopter seemed a lot louder than usual on my way north. But I called Mike once I was in the air — press two buttons on the phone and talk, then press a button to disconnect. The setup will also work with my helmet, which doesn’t have ANR either. (I hope I don’t suffer hearing loss by the end of the summer.)

The Gorge AmphitheaterAlthough I’d planned to stop at Wenatchee, I decided to go straight to Quincy instead. I’d fuel up the next day. I was tired and just wanted to put the helicopter away and go home to my camper. So I punched Quincy (80T) into my GPS, flew up the river past the Gorge Amphitheater (shown here), and homed in on Quincy, flying over my trailer at the golf course on the way.

When I landed, I kicked up enough dust to take some more paint off my blades. At least it wore off evenly. I’m glad Rich didn’t see it.

But my day wasn’t over yet. As I was pushing open the hangar door, it jumped its track. It was stuck open 4 feet. I couldn’t budge it. So I called the guy who rented it to me, Mark. He was in town and promised to be there in 10 minutes. He and another guy drove up. The other guy had a crowbar. They pried the door up and back onto the track. Then they realized that the track had a break in it and needed welding. Mark promised to have it done the next day.

They supervised as I backed the helicopter into the hangar. It’s a tricky thing. The hangar is not deep enough to park the helicopter with its blades positioned front and back, as I normally keep them. Instead, they have to be positioned on either side of the cockpit, like wings on an airplane. I have to back in almost exactly centered — too far to either side and a blade would hit the hangar wall. I also couldn’t pull it back too far or the tail would hit the back wall. I was surprised at how easy it was to back it in, despite the restrictions. Unfortunately, it wasn’t deep enough to keep the tow bar on the helicopter. Once the helicopter was in place, I had to disconnect the tow bar and move it to the side. Not ideal and not even convenient, but it works. It’s good to keep the helicopter out of the sun and dust.

By this time, it was 7:30. I hadn’t eaten anything all day except those stupid peanut butter crackers and a Milky Way Midnight candy bar. So I went to eat at one of the local Mexican restaurants. I ate only half of what was on my plate and took the rest home with me.

Alex was glad to see me.

But all I could think about was how good it was to have the helicopter back with me again and how much I looked forward to flying regularly.

The Story Behind Walking the Orchards

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What it’s all about.

If you’ve been following this blog, you might know that I’m currently in central Washington state, preparing for a cherry drying gig. The short explanation is that I’m one of many pilots hired by cherry growers to use my helicopter’s downwash to blow rainwater of cherries during the last three weeks before harvest. If the cherries aren’t dried properly, they’ll split and possibly rot and the growers will lose their crop. I’ve written extensively about this and don’t want to repeat it all here. If you’re interested in this kind of work and my involvement, check out the links at the bottom of this post.

My partner in this endeavor, Erik, advised me to “walk the orchards” before I have to fly them. The idea is to get a firm handle on where the orchards are, where the cherry trees begin and end, and where the obstructions are. It’s good advice.

Now this might sound like an easy task, but it’s not. The trick is finding the orchards. All I have is a single set of GPS coordinates that are supposed to mark a point in the orchard and an aerial photo with the “block” of trees outlined with red china marker. If I were flying, I’d probably find the orchard pretty quickly — provided I could figure out where the photo was taken from. But I was on the ground in my truck. And some of these cherry blocks are buried deep within other blocks of fruit trees.

My original list of orchards included nine blocks of trees. Two of them have been cancelled — a late frost damaged some crops and made them unprofitable to cultivate, dry, and pick this year. (If Washington cherries are expensive this year, this is part of the reason.) Yesterday, I walked four of them; today I walked another two.

I’m not going to provide details about these orchards and their exact locations or names or anything else. I don’t want anyone to get pissed off if readers decide to go exploring based on the information I provide. Instead I’ll be vague and skip the names. As you’ll see, names and exact locations don’t matter.

I started with orchards along the Columbia River. The first was very easy to find: it’s the only orchard — cherry or otherwise — in an area being overrun with housing. I knew exactly where it was without using the GPS coordinates. I parked near one corner and got out with a notepad and my Garmin GPSMap 60c. I turned on the tracking feature of the GPS, wiped out the previous track log, and started walking.

OrchardThe 30-acre orchard climbed up the side of a hill. There wasn’t much in the way of obstructions — just a set of power lines along the road on the bottom edge of the field. I noted that when I dried one side of the orchard, I’d be in the backyards of a few houses on the other side of a chain link fence.

CherriesThe trees looked old, with thick trunks and branches cut by aggressive pruning. The cherries were mostly reddening, although some were still greenish yellow. They looked tasty, but I didn’t touch them. I climbed one side of the field and started across the top, which sloped down. I noticed an empty wire animal trap at the base of a tree. The next trap had a large raccoon in it. It looked healthy enough — at least then. Who knows what the grower would do with it? I don’t want to know.

I came down the opposite side of the orchard where a house was under construction within the block. Probably for the grower. It would be a pleasant place to live, near the river, surrounded on three sides by cherry trees. After checking out a packing area in the middle of the block — I’d been warned about wires stretched to places like that — I finished my walk and returned to my truck.

My GPS and drawn a box around the block, following my exact path. Cool.

The next block was a bit tougher to find — mostly because there didn’t seem to be any access road. I wound up making a right instead of a left and passing through a single-lane tunnel under the main road. Then I drove among various blocks of trees until I found the main office and warehouse area. The 8.6 acre block of trees was adjacent to this area.

ObstructionsI could immediately see that this block of trees would be a nightmare. The trees were planted beneath two sets of high tension power lines that crossed the block diagonally. The wires from one set hung low over the block. A tower for the other set stood in the middle of the trees on one end of the block. And just for good measure, there was a drying fan in the field, too.

There was no way I’d get anywhere near about half the trees with my helicopter.

Lower BlockThe other 10.5 acre block in the same orchard was completely different — and a lot easier to find. It lay in almost flat terrain with just two fans and some low wires on one side to worry about. The aerial photo I had showed tall poplar trees on one side of the field; these had been taken down since the photo was taken. I took this photo from the road that wound down to the river. The outlined area is what I’ll be drying. I was lucky; a road wound all the way around the orchard so I drove it instead of walking it.

The last orchard I walked yesterday was a 28-acre block farther downriver. I made my way to it using the GPS for guidance, following the gravel farm roads until I found the cherry trees. Then I shut off the truck and stepped out with my equipment to repeat my orchard-walking exercise.

I immediately sensed a difference in this orchard. First was the shiny metal ribbons that hung on trees. They’d flash in the wind and sun to scare the birds off. Second, was the sound of the bird cannon — a device that uses compressed air to make a loud shotgun blast sound to scare off birds. Later, I saw a bird trap with about two dozen starlings in it. It was obvious that this grower was very concerned with birds stealing his fruit.

The block was really two blocks, one of which was lined on one side by tall poplar trees. There were no wires and no fans. I was making my way down one side of the field when I heard an ATV approaching. A few moments later, I was introducing myself to the grower. He was a friendly man who told me that he rides the blocks a few times a day to scare off birds. We talked about the work I would do and he told me not to dry a specific area of trees. They were Rainier cherries, which bruise easily. He had ground-based equipment to dry those. We also talked about the apricot trees that were part of the block. I’d been warned not to dry them and was interested in seeing what they looked like from the ground so I could identify them from the air. After a 15-minute chat, we parted ways. I continued my walk; he continued on his bird patrol.

I found the apricot trees a while later. They were shorter and their rows lined up with another row of poplar trees. I felt confident that I’d be able to identify them from the air.

Back at my truck, I decided I’d had enough for the day. It was about noon and I was hungry. Since I was halfway to Wenatchee, I figured I’d just drive up there and check it out. I wound up visiting a Petco for birdcage litter and stopping at a Thai restaurant for lunch. I took the rest of the afternoon off.

This morning, I resumed my orchard walks. It was challenging. Although I only visited two orchards, the blocks I was looking for were both very difficult to find. I had to rely on my GPS to home in on each one, following narrow roads between blocks of trees. Later, when I spoke to one of the growers and told him I’d walked his trees, he said, “You found my cherry trees?” I had to explain my methodology. I think he was impressed.

These two orchards were on higher ground and the cherries were far less developed. They were mostly yellow-green and small. The first 12-acre block was on relatively flat ground with wires on one side of the block and a fan (which I couldn’t see) in the middle of the block. It was the only block that used trench irrigation — water flowed in one of two trenches down the base of each row of trees. The second block, which took more than 20 minutes to find, was 15 acres on a steep slope. I got plenty of exercise on my way back up the hill. The views down toward the Columbia River’s steep rocky shores from among the trees were excellent.

I found another orchard after that, but decided to call my contact to make sure I’d be drying it before I walked it. Good thing I did. This is one of the orchards that wouldn’t need drying. Another orchard was also considering a contract change so he could have a dedicated helicopter pilot — which may or may not be me. Either way, that contract would not begin until July 1, so I had plenty of time to explore the block if I needed to.

I pick up the helicopter in Seattle tomorrow. It’s supposed to be a nice day. But the rain comes back on Monday, so I’m likely to start flying then.

But I’m glad I walked the cherry blocks. Now I feel a bit more prepared.

More about cherry drying in this blog:

Cherry Drying 101

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I learn the basics of drying cherries with a helicopter.

Before I go into some details of the cherry drying training I received last Sunday and Monday, I need to issue a warning to pilots: This article is not intended to substitute for any one-on-one training with a qualified and experienced cherry drying pilot. It’s just a summary of my training experience. As such, it’s likely to give you a rough idea of what kind of flying a cherry drying pilot might have to do. Actual cherry drying work should not be attempted without sufficient specialized training.

And no, my lawyer didn’t make me say that. Common sense did.

Too many people are willing to attempt difficult flying jobs without the proper training or experience. It’s generally agreed that a cherry drying pilot should have at least 500-800 hours of helicopter flight time — if not more. I believe that at least 300 hours of that time should be in type so the pilot has a good feel for how his particular aircraft flies. The more logged helicopter time, the better. Cherry drying should not be considered a time-building job. (Neither should aerial photography, but I won’t go there right now.) Don’t try to con your way into this kind of work unprepared. Don’t become a statistic.

And remember, I cannot guarantee the accuracy of anything here. This article summarizes my training experience — not my actual cherry drying experience. Don’t read this and think you know everything about it. I don’t, so there’s no way this article can explain it all to you.

My Teacher

I was fortunate enough to get an offer of training from a Portland, OR based pilot named Dave who had spent at least six seasons drying cherries in R44 helicopters. He’s friends with my cherry drying partner, Erik, and was one of two pilots who prepared Erik for his first season two years ago. Dave did this for me (and Erik, for that matter) as a favor, offering to tell and show me as much as he could to prepare me for the work. He was not interested in receiving payment for his time or making any kind of logbook signoff or endorsement. In other words, he was doing it as a friend and would not take responsibility in any way if I had problems while working.

I found our arrangement satisfactory. I also considered myself lucky to be able to spend time, both on the ground and in the air, with him.

One more thing: Please don’t try to look up Dave and get him to train you. For one thing, you won’t find him. His real name isn’t Dave. For another, he did this for me as a favor. I don’t think he’d like it if 50 helicopter pilots he didn’t know tracked him down and asked for the same favor. If you want training, make your own contacts among your own friends. Please don’t think this article is an open invitation to approach my contacts or friends. Doing so will only force me to stop sharing experiences like these with blog readers.

Ground School

We started off with coverage of some topics in a discussion over dinner. Dave was joined by George (not his real name), another experienced cherry drying pilot, and I was joined by Louis, the pilot who accompanied me on my flight from Wickenburg to Seattle. Although the conversation wandered quite a bit, Dave was pretty good at getting it back to the topic of cherry drying.

The first thing he told us was that it was the most difficult and dangerous work he had ever done. I got the feeling that it was why he didn’t do it anymore.

He pulled out a notepad where he’d listed a bunch of discussion points. I took notes.

  • Altitude and speed. Varies depending on grower preference, age of trees, and type of cherry, but generally 10 to 15 feet off the treetops moving at 4 to 6 knots. I’d have to eyeball the altitude and monitor the speed with my GPS. The whole time, I’d have my head out the window, monitoring my downwash to see what it was doing.
  • Wires. There are wires at all heights, from simple lines at treetop level to high tension powerlines overhead. Wires criss-cross the orchards and can be anywhere. I should drive or walk the orchard before my first flight over them. Dave drew several diagrams showing the kinds of wires, where they might be, and how I might fly the field to avoid them.
  • Wind. It’s not uncommon to be flying in wind up to 30 knots. More than that and the cherries dry themselves. Because flight is up and down the rows, I might be flying with strong crosswinds or tail winds. At slow speeds, this could easily become a pedal dance.
  • High density altitude. The fields I’ll be drying are at 1,200 to 2,000 feet. Add 95°F to pump up the density altitude. Although this shouldn’t be an issue for my R44 Raven II with just one person on board, it could be an issue in high winds if I bring along a passenger. (I don’t plan on doing that.) It could also be an issue for a lesser-powered helicopter, like an older Raven or Astro.
  • Fans. Some fields have fans for drying cherries. These aren’t very effective, but they do move a lot of air. Dave advised me never to enter a field when one of these fans were going. “Tell the grower to turn them off,” he advised me.
  • Bird cannons. Some fields also have cannons that send out a loud burst of compressed air to scare birds away. The cannons are not dangerous, but they are loud and sound like backfires. I should expect to be startled. (Erik later added that some of these cannons have motion sensors that the helicopter will set off.)
  • People in orchard. While I’m drying, there may be people below me, in the trees, working. They shouldn’t be a hazard, but they’ll be there.
  • Sprinklers. Some of the orchards use overhead watering systems for the early part of the season. The sprinkler heads stretch up higher than the tree tops. (I actually saw these the next day, when I went to Quincy. They’re on poles about two feet taller than the trees.)
  • Other obstructions. Buildings and pump houses, which could be in the fields, almost always have wires going to them. Some fields are surrounded by tall trees planted as wind blocks. It’s necessary to dry the cherry trees that are adjacent to them. Some fields are planted on steep slopes; it’s best to start at the top and work your way down, keeping the main rotor blades in mind.
  • Cherry types. Some cherries can withstand more violent winds than others. Bing, for example, is very sturdy while Rainier cherries bruise easily. You have to know what kind of tree you’re flying over and adjust the velocity of the downwash accordingly.

He gave me some other advice that should be a no-brainer — for example, always know where your tail rotor is. This is especially important with an R44, since its tail is so damn long. Knowing what’s behind the helicopter will determine how I make my turns at the end of a row.

He recommended that if I got into trouble and needed to get out of my current position in flight, I should always try to bail out to the right to use less power. He was very concerned about density altitude. I admit that I’m not quite as concerned, since I almost always fly at higher density altitudes than the cherry drying fields and I’m usually heavy when I do it. (Hell, I live in a higher density altitude than those fields!) I put nearly 700 hours on my Raven II and have a very good idea on how it handles in many situations — which is why I recommend at least 300 hours in type for any cherry drying pilot.

Considering that I’d be operating in the shaded area of the height-velocity diagram for the entire flight, we also talked about what to do if I had a chip light or a stuck valve or a dead mag. His advice was basically to forget what the operating manual said about chip lights and most emergency lights — just land immediately, wherever there was space near the field. If a power loss meant I was going to crash, he recommended aiming for a spot between the trees and pulling the cyclic back a little to land tail first. He seemed to think that the crumpling of the tail would help cushion the impact. Any crash in an orchard would destroy the helicopter; my main goal should be to walk away from it.

Practice Flight

There weren’t any cherry trees in the area, but Dave knew a spot on the Columbia River which was undeveloped and had trees similar to cherry trees in branch strength and consistency. We took off from Troutdale Airport and headed right over the river, eastbound. Dave did the radio calls — Troutdale is towered — and I followed his directions to Reed Island.

I had my POV.1 video camera mounted on the helicopter’s nose for the flight and I turned it on not long after takeoff. I recorded the entire training flight so I could review it later. Here are the first 4+ minutes, which should give you an idea of how low I had to fly over the treetops. The cockpit voices you hear are mine and Dave’s; you can also hear the tower talking mostly to other aircraft.

[Video WAS here but the host, Viddler, has decided to end free hosting of videos and I can no longer access it. I’ll try to find a copy of it on my hard disk, but the chances of that happening are VERY slim. After all, it was done back in 2008. – Maria 5/26/14]

I had my door off for the flight, since Dave recommended that I keep monitoring what was going on beneath and behind me. In fact, in the video, you’ll hear Dave remind me once or twice to look outside. Later in the full-length video, we discuss flying slightly sideways, perhaps pointing the nose at the 1 o’clock position, so I could see what was below and behind me without having to twist my neck so far. If the wind is cooperative while I’m flying, that’s exactly what I plan to do.

In this video, you really don’t see the trees moving at all. That’s because the camera is pointing out the front and the downwash hasn’t reached those trees yet. But beneath and behind us, the trees were going wild — “hammered,” as Dave said. The downwash was even getting between the trees, giving every branch a good shake. I’d have to adjust altitude based on the type of cherry I was drying so I didn’t bruise the fruit.

The speed indicator was my GPS. The airspeed indicator is pretty useless at speeds less than 10 knots. But the GPS clearly showed how fast I was going, in tenths of a knot. Dave seemed to think that 5 knots was a good speed. (Later, on discussion with my main contact for the growers, I was told they preferred 10 to 15 knots. Again, I think it will vary by grower.)

I had no trouble keeping the altitude he wanted, although I did vary my speed as we talked. It’s the old chew gum and walk at the same time problem. I can do precision flying or I can talk, but when I talk, I lose precision in my flying. I kept noticing that my speed was popping up to about 7 knots and I kept slowing down. Sometimes I fixed the problem before he noticed but sometimes I didn’t. I’m hoping that without a companion to talk to, I won’t have to worry about distractions. (I’m also hoping that this kind of work becomes so second nature that I can listen to music or podcasts as I fly.)

Later on in the flight, he showed me some techniques for drying trees that were growing close to wires or taller trees. This basically means moving up rather quickly — maybe at 10-15 knots? — on a tree and then pulling back the cyclic to slow/stop and climb slightly. This directed the downwash forward. It was a lot like doing the flare in a quick stop. It’s important to keep high enough so the tail rotor stays out of the trees behind you, and high or low enough so that your main rotor blades stay out of any wires or tall trees ahead of you. I didn’t include this in the video because you simply can’t see the effect of the maneuver because of camera placement.

We also discussed how to use the wind in your favor when drying trees at the edge of an orchard. If you stay upwind of the trees, the wind will blow the downwash to the trees. Pretty simple stuff. Of course since you can fly in any direction, you can play with this technique to get at most trees in windy conditions — provided you can maintain control of the helicopter at slow speeds in those winds.

We played around with a few other techniques, flying up and down the low trees alongside the river for nearly an hour. When he felt as if he’d drained himself of advice and seemed comfortable with my flying abilities, we decided to call it quits for the day.

I Learned a Lot

I learned a lot about the job ahead of me. I can’t thank Dave enough for taking the time to share his experience with me. Thanks to him, there will be a lot fewer surprises in store for me when I get to work in early June.