Tips for Flying at Lake Powell: Lake Powell and the Airports

The first of a four-part series about flying at Lake Powell.

I’ve been at Page, AZ on the dam end of Lake Powell for about a month now. Although I already knew quite a bit about flying at the lake from numerous photo jobs here, I’ve picked up quite a bit in the past month, mostly from my pilot neighbors at the campground. Since I have enough material to blog about it, I figured I’d write about it, mostly to get my mind off politics and the tech book I’m working on.

Anyway, this will be a four-part series and this is the first part. I have notes for the other three parts, so I’m sure I’ll get them done — probably within the next week or so.

About Page and Lake Powell

Glen Canyon DamPage is the town built in the late 1950s to house the workers on the Glen Canyon Dam, which was under construction at the time. It sits atop a mesa to the east of the Colorado River. The current population of the town is about 7,000, but it attracts approximately 3 million visitors a year.

The dam was completed in 1963 and water began collecting behind it in what would become Lake Powell. It took 17 years for the lake to reach its high water mark at 3,700 feet elevation. Since then, the water level has fluctuated considerably over the years. As I type this, the water level is at 3,629 feet, a full 71 feet below full pool. Around the water line is a tall white line: the so-called “bathtub ring” that marks the high water line.

Lake Powell with CloudsLake Powell is outrageously beautiful. Its clear, blue water reflects the clear Arizona/Utah sky. Its red rock canyons, buttes, and other formations change throughout the day with the light. Deep, narrow canyons cut into the desert, making mysterious pathways for boaters to explore. When the wind and water is calm, the buttes and canyon walls cast their reflections down on the water. In the rare instances when weather moves in, low clouds add yet another dimension to the scenery.

I love the lake.

Flying at Lake Powell

The best way to see Lake Powell is from the air.

On the LakeSure, it’s wonderful by boat — especially by houseboat over 5 to 7 days with a bunch of good friends or family members — but views are limited from the ground and distances take a long time to cover. Let’s face it: the lake’s surface area is 266 square miles (at full pool) and it stretches 186 miles up the Colorado and San Juan Rivers. You could explore the lake by boat for a year and not get a chance to visit each of its 90 water-filled side canyons.

So if you have a plane (or helicopter) or feel like splurging on an airplane tour, you’ll get a special look at the lake that few people see. I highly recommend it.

[Air]Ports of Entry

There are technically four airports along Lake Powell. You can see them all on this pieced-together sectional. (The lake straddles the Las Vegas and Denver charts.)

Airports at Lake Powell

  • Page Municipal (PGA) is the main airport. It’s on east side of the mesa where the City of Page sits, and has two runways. Runway 15/33 is the more commonly used runway; it’s longer. But for strong crosswinds, there’s also 7/25, which does not have a parallel taxiway. There are two FBOs competing for the fuel business (AVFuel and BP). There are tie-downs and a mechanic on the field.
  • Bullfrog Basin (U07) is at the Bullfrog Crossing marina. I haven’t landed there (yet), but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have any facilities. It does, however, have transportation to the marina, where you might be able to get lunch.
  • Cal Black Memorial (U96) is 10 miles from Halls Crossing. It’s a nice airport with a good, lighted runway and 24-hour fuel pumped by Maury, who lives there. (Maury’s getting over some surgery as I write this, but I hope he’ll be there if you stop in an visit. Tell him Maria with the red helicopter says hello.) There’s a shuttle to Halls Crossing, where there’s a lodge and boat rentals, during regular business hours.
  • Hite (UT03) is near Hite Landing. This is a very scary runway — narrow and perhaps slightly crooked — and it’s marked “hazardous” on charts. The last time I drove through the area in 2005, the Hite marina was high and dry and the area was deserted. It might be a bit more active now that the water level is up a bit.

Landing at PGAMost people fly into Page, since it’s the only airport near a town. If you come in from the northwest and land on Runway 15, as we are in this photo — well, we’re actually lined up for landing on the taxiway — you’ll make your descent right over the lake, west of Antelope Marina. (The town is all that green stuff to the right.) Taking off on Runway 33 has you shooting out over the edge of the mesa and lake. Pretty dramatic stuff. I have a lot of fun with it since I don’t really “climb out” after takeoff. The airport is at 4316 feet and the lake is currently at 3629 feet, so there’s no reason to gain altitude if I’m just cruising the lake.

Cal Black has the distinction of being the closest fuel to Monument Valley — about 25 miles away, I think. I made quite a few fuel stops there on a 3-day photo job at Monument Valley and even flew in before sunrise one morning. (Scary stuff; there’s nothing else out there.) I don’t know enough about Bullfrog to provide any tips, but I’d recommend staying clear of Hite.

If you’re a helicopter pilot and think you can set down anywhere near the lake or on one of its islands or buttes, think again. Lake Powell is in the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area and off-airport landing is prohibited. If you’re caught doing it, you will get in serious trouble with the National Park Service and the FAA. I don’t think it’s worth it, do you?

Coming Up

In the next three parts of the series, I’ll cover the air tour operations, which all pilots flying in the area should be aware of. Then I’ll tell you about some points of interest on the lake. Finally, I’ll tell you what to expect if you fly uplake, beyond the Confluence of the San Juan.

Meanwhile, your comments are welcome here. I’m especially interested in hearing from pilots who have landed at one of the four airports along the lake. Save your tips about points of interest for Part III or IV.

Mike at Rainbow Bridge

Hold on. More to come.

My husband, Mike, joined me in Page for the weekend. I did some work, but we also had some fun. Yesterday, we rented a boat and went out to Rainbow Bridge, the world’s largest natural stone arch. Rainbow Bridge is only accessible by boat from the lake or by a grueling hike from a trailhead near Navajo Mountain. Even by boat, there’s currently a 2/3 mile hike from the dock to the Bridge. But that doesn’t stop hundreds of people — mostly on the three daily tour boats — from visiting.

Mike Holds up Rainbow BridgeI have a lot more to say about this day trip, but I can’t stop to write about it now. I’m terribly behind on a book project — partially because I took yesterday off — and I need to get the darn book done already.

But I leave you with this photo of Mike, apparently holding up the bridge. We took this photo in response to Mike’s friend, Bob Holds Up UnisphereBob, who recently sent a photo of himself holding up the Unisphere, a New York City landmark.

Exploring Lake Powell…from the Ground

A drive to Romana Mesa.

Yesterday, after finishing Chapter 7 of the book I’m working on, I took the afternoon off. I really needed a break and yesterday seemed like a good time to take it.

I drove out to Romana Mesa. These days, as some of you know, I’m living in Page, AZ, where American Aviation is booking photo flights and day trips for my helicopter. I only want 5 to 10 hours of flight time a week, and that’s just what they’re giving me. It gives me plenty of time to work on my book and, when I need a break, I can take it.

Romana Mesa is on the north side of Lake Powell, across the lake from Tower Butte. It’s a high mesa, about 1,000 feet of the surface of the lake. The tour planes flight right over it and use it as a reporting point. On a recent helicopter flight, I saw a truck out there. I figured if someone else got a truck out there, I could, too.

So I did some research and, with the help of Google Maps, discovered which back roads would get me there. I had no idea of the condition of the roads, but I had Mike’s 4WD Chevy pickup which I figured would be able to handle most conditions. I used Garmin’s MapSource software to load area topo maps into my Garmin GPSMap60c — I’d had Washington maps in there — and packed up some food and clothes (in case I got stuck), my camera and tripod, and a cooler full of ice and drinks. At 3 PM, I headed out.

This segment of the Lake Powell Map shows my route. The purple line traces my route in and out.

To Romana Mesa

I drove out on highway 89 to Big Water and turned right onto the only road that ventured north east along the north side of the lake. The road soon turned to dirt. I drove through Wahweap Creek, which wasn’t much more than a puddle. Further on, I was surprised to find a sign that pointed me toward Utah Route 12, which I knew ran east/west far north of the lake. Evidently, there was back road access to it.

The road wasn’t in bad shape, but it obviously hadn’t been graded since the last rainstorm. The mud had been deeply grooved by trucks and other vehicles that had been out there when it was still wet. That mud was now dry and rock hard. The going was easy enough, but it jarred my bad back in more than a few places. I wished I had my Jeep, which offers a softer ride on roads like that.

There were signs at each intersection. I followed the one to the Grand Bench, then turned right on route 264. By this time, I’d climbed to mesa-top level. The road struck out over flat terrain studded with small bushes and grass. Very easy going, despite the fact that the road had narrowed down to a single-lane cut through the sand and rock.

About four miles down the road, I got to my first viewpoint. I was rather surprised to find a white Jeep Cherokee (or some other SUV; I really wasn’t paying attention) out there. I chatted with the woman while her husband walked to the edge of the cliff to snap photos. They were from Boston. I got the impression that she was nervous about being so far away from roads and people. She stuck with her vehicle, then followed me as I went to the cliff edge to take some photos. I gave her some ideas for photographing Lower Antelope Canyon and Horseshoe Bend. They moved on down the road while I took a break for some cold water.

The road got weird. It was all rock in one place with deep cracks and fissures. The road was invisible — no tire tracks in sight. But beyond that area I could see the road continuing on toward the end of the mesa. The people from Boston gave up and turned around. I kept going. I found a path over the rocks and joined up with the road again. A while later, I had to repeat the same process in another spot. The road forked off in a few places, but I stuck with the main road. It ended a few minutes later, less than a mile from where the Bostonians had turned around. I parked and got out.

Lake PowellI was on the edge of a cliff, looking down at Gunsight Butte. There were houseboats down below me and a few powerboats cutting wake into the otherwise calm water. I walked around a bit and took pictures. Then I settled down to wait for the light to change.

It had taken me close to two hours to get out to the edge of the mesa — a distance of about 40 road miles and less than 10 air miles. I wanted to take photos in the late afternoon light. There was a storm out to the west and the sun would soon be sinking behind it. There was another storm to the east, which appeared to be moving toward me. I couldn’t stay until sunset because, if I did, I’d be driving at least 25 miles of unimproved, unmarked dirt road in the dark. My night vision is pretty crappy and I knew that would not be a good idea. So I decided to wait no longer than until 6 PM.

While I waited, I took photos and drank cold beverages and ate cherries. I also took this video:

I’ll be putting the photos I took in my Photo Gallery, http://www.FlyingMPhotos.com/.

I left the area at 6:10 PM. It took 30 minutes just to drive the 5 miles to the turnoff for the mesa. The sun set while I was about 2/3 back. My headlights came on when I reached pavement. It was about 7:40 PM when I rolled back into the campground.

Would I do it again? Definitely. Would I recommend it to others? Yes. But on a cooler day. (It was 95°F out there.) Bring plenty of water. An overnight camping trip out there would be incredible, too.

A Perfect Storm

Why I’ve been neglecting this blog.

I don’t have much time to write this — and that’s the reason I haven’t been writing more regularly. I like to compose at least 5 blog posts a week, yet this is only my third in just over a week. The last post — a video — doesn’t really count, since I didn’t write anything.

So why the neglect? As I mentioned above: time.

Every once in a while, life throws a perfect storm at us. You know what I mean — it’s a period of time when everything seems to go crazy at once.

In my case, it was the following, which have all occurred since July 29:

  • Completion of the annual revision of one of my books (ongoing throughout this period).
  • Reposition my helicopter from Quincy, WA to Seattle, WA.
  • Reposition my camper from Quincy, WA to Page, AZ.
  • Brief 3-day catchup period at home in Wickenburg, AZ.
  • Distribute the animals among multiple boarding facilities.
  • Trip to Seattle, WA.
  • Reposition helicopter from Seattle, WA to Page, AZ.
  • Set up housekeeping in my camper in Page, AZ.
  • Entertain an overnight guest in a very tiny camper.
  • Deal with FAA, airport manager, and local tour operators in Page regarding tour, photo flight, and charter work in Page, AZ (ongoing).
  • Provide moral support for my sister, who has been laid off from her banking job.
  • Three photo flights from Page to Monument Valley.
  • Start of new book with August deadline.
  • Three trips to medical facilities in an attempt to diagnose some severe back pain.

It’s this last thing that’s really gummed up the works. I did something to my back while I was home and the pain became unbearable after the commercial flight to Seattle the next day. I was in an urgent care clinic there where I got prescriptions for drugs I couldn’t take because I had to fly. The pain has varied from annoying but bearable to absolutely crippling every day since then, with one day so bad I was in the hospital emergency room. It hurt to sit and since I need to sit to write, I couldn’t work on the new book — let alone write blog entries.

Miraz hit the nail on the head in her Twitter comment to me, when she said, “Pain is so time consuming and draining.” Wow. I’d never really thought of it like that — probably because I’ve never been in such severe pain for so long.

So now I’m behind in just about everything, racing against the clock to finish a book that’s due tomorrow. (It ain’t gonna happen.) The pain is under control — yesterday was the first day that it was tolerable throughout the day — and physical therapy starts on Monday.

Please bear with me. I do have lots to write about. When I get this book off my plate and catch up on my FAA stuff, I’ll be back with some interesting (I hope) new content here.

Real Scud-Running

Scud-running, defined.

In a recent post titled “Almost Scud-Running,” I recounted a flight through Snowqualmie Pass in Washington with low clouds and limited visibility. I said that was “almost” scud-running. But what we did on departure from Seattle’s Boeing Field (BFI) on Saturday was definitely scud-running.

So I guess a definition is in order here. This is my definition — other pilots might define it differently.

To me, scud-running is flying in weather that is so questionable that you’re required to alter your course to get around it. I’m not talking about an alteration planned before takeoff — we did that, too. I’m talking about multiple in-flight course changes to find your way around weather you can’t fly through. And that’s what we did on Saturday morning.

The original flight plan had us going through the pass again and, from Ellensburg on the other side, to Walla Walla and down into Oregon. But there were low clouds over Seattle that morning and a check with Duats and the Seattle FSS confirmed that Stampede Pass had just 1/4 mile visibility. Stampede Pass is one pass over from Snowqualmie and roughly the same altitude, so if it were fogged in, Snowqualmie probably was, too. (Stampede has an ASOS; Snowqualmie does not.) We could wait for the weather to lift – which might not happen that day at all — or take another route. Since I was suffering from severe back pain due to a possibly herniated disk, I wasn’t interested in waiting around. I wanted the flight over with. So we planned to go due south and find a path around the west side of Mt. Rainier and Mt. St. Helens.

Louis was flying and would do 95% of the flying for the entire ferry flight from Seattle to Page, AZ (Lake Powell). He’s familiar with BFI and handled the radio communications with the tower there before guiding us through the narrow corridor between Renton and Seatle airspace. Then we were heading south with the clouds just above us. We had perfect visibility ahead of us, but the mountains were obscured to the east.

How I Run the Scud

I have a technique I use for scud-running in mountainous terrain. This is a technique that’s easy in a helicopter — which has the ability to slow down, stop, descend almost vertically, and make very tight turns. I do not recommend using this technique in an airplane. Actually, I don’t recommend doing any kind of scud-running in an airplane.

In my technique, I fly as close to the desired course as possible as long as I can see the next upcoming ridge or mountain top. When I get near that ridge, I peek over the top of it. If I can see the top of the next ridge, I cross over and continue. If I can’t see the top of the next ridge, I fly parallel to the ridge in the direction of clearer skies, which is normally opposite the direction I really want to go. As soon as I can see the next ridge, I hop over the one beside me and head to it.

Of course, if the skies aren’t clearer in any direction, I just look for a landing zone, preferably an airport where there’s a lounge, restrooms, and vending machines or a restaurant. I do not want to get boxed in by the clouds with no options except down in mountainous terrain. And I’m not stupid enough to fly my helicopter in clouds, even if I wanted to punch out through the top.

I’ve used this technique safely in an attempt to get across the pass at Tehatchapi at the southern end of California’s Central Valley. That attempt was not successful — the pass was completely fogged in — but it did allow me to get close enough to make an informed decision without putting myself in any danger. I subsequently crossed out of the valley at Grapevine after landing at an airport and talking to the local FSS.

On Saturday

That Saturday, I guided Louis on a scud run using the technique discussed above. I had a sectional chart with me and always knew exactly where we were. There were lots of valleys that looked promising, but in quite a few cases, the chart clearly showed that these valleys would simply climb up toward either Mt. Rainier or Mt. St. Helens, both of which were hidden in the clouds. Sucker valleys. It was a good thing that there were two of us up front. If I’d been alone and unable to really study the charts as I flew, I would have tried more than a few of them and wasted a lot of time.

Scud RunningMike took this photo from the back seat when we were nearly out of it. It was pretty bright at this point and easy to see that the cloud tops weren’t far above us. It was tempting to punch out through a hole to the top. But I don’t like flying when I can’t see the ground. If the engine quits I want to see my spot right after entering an autorotation — not seconds before we hit the ground.

The result of all of this was that we wound up going nearly due south to avoid the weather. Here’s the track from my SPOT Messenger; ignore the numbers and just follow the track from Seattle south and then east:

Scud Running in Washington

Bonneville DamAll this groping around added an hour to our flight for the day and shifted our flight path to the south. The weather was still iffy with low clouds in the Columbia River Gorge between the Cascade Locks and Hood River. You can get an idea of the situation in this photo of the Bonneville Dam that Mike took when we flew by.

But by the time we got to The Dalles, it was clear and sunny — another beautiful day on the east side of the Cascade Mountains. We left the Columbia River behind and headed toward our first fuel stop at Pendleton, OR.