What It’s Like to Tow a 15,000-lb Fifth Wheel Trailer 1,500 miles

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Or why I’ll never be a long-haul trucker.

I’m writing this from the relative comfort of the desk in my RV. I just completed a 3-1/2 day drive from Arizona to Washington State and am parked alongside a very large garage adjacent to a private heliport at a friend’s house in Auburn.

I’m resting.

The drive was a lot more difficult than I imagined. Difficult enough for me to blog about it. In detail.

No, I’m not going to give you turn-by-turn driving instructions and list the sights I saw along the way. No one really wants to read stuff like that. If you’re at all interested, you can read about the first two days of the drive here. I wrote that two days ago when I was still relatively fresh.

Instead, I’ll tell you why I’m exhausted and why I’m glad I don’t have to drive again tomorrow.

Towing: the Basics

My RV is a 36-foot long Montana Mountaineer fifth wheel. Because our 2001 Chevy Silverado 3/4 ton pickup already had a gooseneck hitch receptor on it, I converted the RV’s hitch to a gooseneck. Well, I didn’t do it. The folks I bought the RV from did it. It makes it a bit tricky to hook up — still not sure how I’m going to line it up when I need to hitch it alone — but it does keep the pickup’s bed free of a bunch of extra hardware.

The trailer is 15,000 pounds max gross weight. I didn’t weigh it before this trip — I wanted to, but didn’t get around to it. (There’s a scale at the local dump in Wickenburg, so it wouldn’t have been so tough. Weigh the truck alone, then weigh the truck with the trailer and do the math.) I don’t think it’s fully loaded, but I bet it still close enough to 15,000 pounds to make the weight debate moot.

The truck can pull the weight. Its manual says it can and it can. I push a button on the gear shift lever to turn on the towing package feature and the Duramax diesel and Allison transmission do the rest. It stays in a lower gear so I can get it up to highway speed and then shifts back down into a lower gear when I brake for engine braking.

It takes a while for the truck to get up to highway speed. Normally, the truck is remarkably peppy for a diesel. That’s one of the things I like about it. But add 15,000 pounds and it’s working hard. 0 to 60 takes about 30 seconds. If I’m on flat road. Add an uphill climb and I might not even get it up to 60.

Add a downhill coast and I’ll have trouble keeping it below 60. And that’s the problem.

The Trick is to Avoid Using the Brakes

Imagine a freight train barreling along at 50 miles an hour. Now imagine some idiot stalled at a crossing on the tracks. He’d better get his ass out of the car and hope his insurance is up-to-date.

I once spoke to a train engineer for Conrail in New Jersey. He told me that if there’s something on the tracks, they don’t even bother trying to stop. Why? Because they won’t be able to stop in time anyway. It could take over a mile for a freight train moving at cruising speed to come to a complete stop. Why? Because of the inertia of all that weight moving at cruise speed.

As I gained experience at the helm of my own personal freight train, I quickly learned that my main goal should be to drive in such a way that I minimized the use of the brakes. There are three reasons for this:

  • It takes a long time to stop — or even to slow down. The less often you need to stop or slow down, the better off you are.
  • Using the brakes wastes fuel. Look at it this way: you pump a lot of fuel through the engine at high RPMs in a lower gear to get the damn thing moving. If you hit the brakes, not only are you throwing away all the stored energy in your weight and speed, but the engine is going to downshift again and use more fuel at high RPMs to slow you back down. May as well punch a hole in the fuel tank and let it drain out.
  • Using the brakes wears down the brakes and works the engine. You have to press harder on the brakes to get a reaction out of them. That means you’re wearing them down more. And with engine braking, the poor engine is working hard even when you’re slowing down. Is that fair?

It’s the Stress that Exhausted Me

The difficulty in slowing down or stopping is where all the stress comes in.

The entire time I was driving, I was on alert. I needed to know that I had to stop or slow down before I had to stop or slow down. So I looked at every other vehicle around me — as well as traffic lights and stop signs when I wasn’t on the freeway — with a critical eye. Is that guy in front of me going to hit his brakes? Is the idiot next to him going to cut me off? Is that traffic light up ahead going to turn yellow before I get to it? Is that school bus up ahead going to stop?

Even when I was on straight, flat freeway with no other vehicles around me, I couldn’t relax. At one point, a dog ran into the freeway in front of me. A dog! Like that freight train engineer, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop in time. If he didn’t get out of the road, I’d run right over him, just like a freight train. There’s no way I’d try to swerve at 60 MPH with all that weight behind me. I leaned on the truck’s horn. Fortunately for the dog, he ran back where he came from without becoming my victim.

So all day long, hour after hour, I was tensed up, fully alert and ready to react before I needed to. It exhausted me.

Now Add Some Mountains

The route I chose was mountainous. In Death Valley, I was 230 feet below sea level. Near Mammoth Lakes, CA, I was at over 8,000 feet above sea level. For three days, it seemed like all I did was climb up and down mountains.

Up wasn’t a big deal. Press the pedal and burn fuel in second or third gear, trying to maintain a decent speed so as not to annoy the people behind me. It didn’t matter if there was a curve up ahead — I probably wasn’t going fast enough to make negotiating it a problem.

But down…well, that’s another story entirely. The Chevy has never been a good coaster — my 1994 Ford F150 is far better at that — but add 15,000 pounds and gravity can turn anything into a coaster. I had to use the brakes going downhill just to prevent the speed from climbing higher than I could handle. The transmission did its part, of course, but that wasn’t enough on the 9% grade (not a typo) coming down into the Panamint Valley in Death Valley National Park. In second gear, with the engine red-lining, I was still pumping the brakes to keep the speed below 50 miles per hour as I negotiated curves on a two-lane road that hugged the side of a cliff.

You want to talk stress? I can’t imagine anything more stressful than that.

Add Rain

Actually, I can: wet pavement on those curvy downhill stretches.

The rain started on Day 3 and haunted me for the whole day. That’s the day I descended from the mountains in Northern California into southern Oregon. There was this one stretch just south of Ashland on I-5…a lengthy downhill ride hugging the side of a mountain with curves marked for 50 mph. Bad enough dry, but nightmarish when wet and surrounded by tractor-trailer trucks. Who the hell designs highways like that?

I’m an Arizonan. I don’t drive in rain because it doesn’t rain. When it does rain, the roads are slick because of oil accumulation. It’s terrifying. How slick were these roads? I didn’t know and I didn’t want to find out. I just struggled to keep my speed down, imagining the horrific crash if the trailer decided to slide a different direction than the truck was going.

Overreacting? Perhaps.

Reading this, you probably think I’m a sissy. But I have a lot of miles under my belt — I’ve driven clear across the country more times than I can count and have made 3-1/2 round trips from Arizona to Washington since 2005. I’ve driven everything from motorcycles to this rig, including hundreds of different rental cars.

But driving this rig was unlike anything else I’d ever driven. It wasn’t like my Ducati, which I could whip around curves by tossing my weight around. It wasn’t like my Honda S2000, which red-lines at 9,000 RPM and has just the tiniest bit of body roll in curves. It wasn’t even like the Chevy without its load, able to accelerate or stop quicker than you’d think a truck should.

Just the knowledge that slowing down or stopping was going to be so tough had me on edge the entire time.

And that’s what kept me safe.

But when it’s time to return to Arizona, I know one thing for sure: I’ll be planning the route with the straightest, flattest roads I can find.

Congratulations! You’ve made it to the end of yet another lengthy blog post here on An Eclectic Mind. If you got this far, you must have gotten something out of what you read. And isn’t it nice to read Web content that isn’t full of annoying ads?

How about doing something to show your appreciation? I’d love it if you’d add a comment at the end of this post to share your feedback with me and others. But I’d really love it if you’d visit my Support page and chip in a few dollars to help cover the cost of hosting this blog and motivate me to keep writing new, interesting content. It’ll only take a moment and I really would appreciate it!

 

On the Road Again

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Notes from halfway down the long drive from Wickenburg to Seattle.

I’m writing this from a Walmart parking lot. I’m propped up in a queen sized bed with three pillows behind my back and my laptop on my lap. It’s 3:30 in the morning and I’m pretty much wide awake after just over five hours of sleep. It isn’t noise that woke me — this Susanville, CA parking lot is remarkably quiet. I guess I’m just done sleeping for the night. But it’s too early to continue my travels along winding mountain roads, so I figured I’d share an update on my blog.

This isn’t a pleasure trip — although parts of it have been very pleasant. It’s for work; I’m repositioning a truck and my new RV from Arizona to Washington State for the summer. The RV will be my home away from home as I work on cherry drying contracts for central Washington growers. The truck is needed not only to pull this massive fifth wheel trailer but to carry the refueling system I need to meet my contractual obligations.

The Truck

I’ve written about my new RV elsewhere in this blog, so I won’t repeat that here. But I’ve probably neglected the truck. It’s my husband’s truck: a 2001 Chevy Silverado 3/4 ton pickup. It has a Duramax Diesel engine with towing package and an Allison transmission. A “man’s” truck, capable of towing more than 15,000 pounds. (We bought it new in 2001 to tow a horse trailer with living quarters that I’ve since sold.) Inside, it has many creature comforts, including heated leather seats, power windows, and stereo system with iPod connection. The truck runs well and is up to the task of towing my home away from home over 1,000 miles.

I’ve mounted my old Garmin 60c GPS over the dash and have it wired into one of the DC power outlets. I’d loaded in topo maps (my preferred map type) for my entire route and then some. I’m using it mostly as a trip computer, to calculate distance driven, average speed, etc. I’m keeping close track of fuel consumption so I can calculate burn rates.

I’ve also clipped my cell phone case to the visor and connected it to another DC outlet. I’m wearing my Bluetooth earpiece for most of the trip for safer hands-free communication — when I can get a signal. Verizon has the best network — which is why I use it — but even Verizon doesn’t cover some of the places I’ve driven through on this trip. I can hear the signal fade in and out with beeps in my right ear as I drive.

The Route and Stops

Track Me!
If I’m traveling — whether by helicopter or on a long drive — you can usually follow my SPOT Messenger track online at tinyurl.com/FindMaria

Every year I choose a different route for this drive, shunning freeways as much as possible. This year, the route included stops to visit with friends in Las Vegas and Reno, NV, and Ashland, OR. The route began in Wickenburg, AZ and headed west on route 60. What followed was a numeric alphabet soup of route numbers: 72 and 95 to Parker, 62 and 95 to Needles, 40 and 95 to Boulder City, 95 and 215 to Las Vegas, etc. You get the idea.

In Vegas, I visited with my friends Jim and Judith. Jim is a helicopter pilot who flies a Hughes 500c. He and his wife, Judith, lived in Wickenburg for quite a while but, like most of our other friends, bailed out when the saw the reality of the situation there. They moved to the San Diego area for a while, then various places in California, and finally in Las Vegas.

Jim, an airline pilot who took early retirement years ago — luckily, before the airline went belly up — is an inventor. He designs, manufactures, and sells power external aircraft power units called StartPacs. They’re used primarily for starting turbine engines, although he has a whole range of power products now, from power sources a pilot can use while fiddling with his avionics on the ground to big, self-propelled APUs for bizjets. When they left Wickenburg, they took their business with them. They now employ a handful of people in their Las Vegas office and manufacturing facility. Jim gave me a tour after lunch on Monday and showed me some of the new designs he’s gotten patents for.

I left Vegas and headed west and then north through Pahrump. Another road took me west again. By 4 PM, I was in Death Valley. Although the temperatures should have been topping 100°F there this time of year, it was unseasonably cool, in the high 80s, with plenty of cloud cover. There were also signs of rain coming from the clouds, but the ranger at the Visitor Center assured me that it was unlikely for any drops to reach the ground.

On one ranger’s suggestion, I made my way to Panamint Springs. After a long, slow climb up over the mountains, I experienced a harrowing descent down a 9% grade. The truck’s tow package really helped out, downshifting to 2nd gear automatically to reduce my need to ride the brakes. Note to self: avoid Route 190 between Stovepipe Wells and Panamint Springs when towing a 36-foot RV.

Panamint Springs is still inside Death Valley National Park, but it overlooks the Panamint Valley, which is one valley west. It consists of a motel-like lodge, restaurant, and dirt lot dressed up as a campground. I paid $15 for a water-only hookup for my RV for the night. (I didn’t bother hooking up; I didn’t need water.) I had a heck of a time getting the RV into its pull-through spot. Although it was plenty long enough, the campground designers had placed large boulders at either side of the driveway. Making the turn without damaging the RV’s underside was tough. But I eventually managed and Alex the Bird and I settled in for the evening. I watched the changing light on the mountainsides from a patio table at the restaurant. At night, it was dead quiet and very dark. I stepped outside to admire a sky full of stars with a crescent moon before turning in for the night.

The next morning, I was on the road at 7 AM, continuing west on Route 190. After fueling up just outside of Lone Pine, I continued north on Route 395. I didn’t realize that route was so mountainous. After leaving Bishop, the truck did a lot of climbing, eventually reaching over 8,000 feet elevation. (This was the day after descending to -230 feet in Death Valley.)

On the urging of my friend, Rod, I detoured to the Ghost Town of Bodie. That required me to negotiate 14 miles of narrow, windy road, the last three of which were unpaved. I was extremely pleased to see that the parking area was large enough to make a U-turn in without having to back up. I put Alex in the camper while I went to explore the townsite on foot with my camera. I’ll likely write about that in another blog post, when I get the photos off my camera.

I met Rod for lunch in the Reno area, not far from where route 395 intersects with I-80. Rod lives in Georgetown, CA; I’d visited him and his wife, Liz, there by helicopter several times in the past. This time, I was on the other side of the Sierra Nevada mountains and wasn’t planning on crossing. But Rod made the 2+ hour drive from Georgetown to Reno to meet with me. Rod’s also a helicopter pilot — he flies fires in twin-engine helicopters like Hueys — in the summer. The rest of the year, he does odd jobs around home. We had a very late lunch in a Chinese restaurant in Sparks, NV.

Then I continued my drive north on route 395, ending up here in Susanville.

Highlights of the Trip

I’ve driven through some beautiful scenery over the past two days. Snow-capped mountains, sheer granite cliffs, dry lake beds, sand dunes, layered rock thrust up on an angle and eroded to expose lines of color. Blue lakes, rushing rivers, puffy white clouds in otherwise clear blue skies. Herds of wild burros, pastures full of horses and cattle, deer. The ruins of a town in the middle of nowhere that once was home to over 10,000 people.

It’s all a blur. A trip like this on a route like this shouldn’t be crammed into a few days. It should be slowed down and savored, with stops here and there to take in the sights and sounds and smells. This isn’t quality sightseeing — it’s motoring. I may as well be on a freeway.

Later today, I’ll drop down from the mountains to I-5 near the Oregon border. From there, I’ll follow the Interstate north into Oregon. After another lunch with another helicopter pilot friend, I’ll make my way north to the Seattle area. I’ll camp out in yet another helicopter pilot friend’s yard. Whether I can get there today depends on how twisty and mountainous the roads between Susanville and I-5 are; I’ll know by lunchtime.

E25 to BFI by Helicopter on Google Earth

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My four-day trip, plotted.

I’m a geek. Everyone should know that. This just proves it again.

I use a gps logger to track my GPS coordinates when I’m out and about taking photos, mostly so I can geotag my photos. But on long flights, I often turn the GPS logger on and let it collect my coordinates as I fly. The logger I use has a huge memory and was actually able to accumulate GPS coordinates for my entire helicopter flight from Wickenburg, AZ to Seattle, WA.

Helicopter Flight on Google EarthThe image shown here shows the four days of my flight. Day 1 was Wickenburg to Page, AZ. Day 2 was a photo flight on Lake Powell followed by a flight from Page, AZ to Bryce Canyon, UT. Day 3 was Bryce Canyon, UT to Salt Lake City, UT and then on to Yakima, WA. Day 4 was a bit of scud running to get to the other side of the Cascade Mountains, from Yakima to Seattle, WA.

If you’d like to look at the track points in detail on your copy of Google Earth, you can download them. They show altitude, too, so you can get an idea of how high or low we were for various stages of the flight. You can probably even do some kind of flyby if you have the right software.

Pretty cool, no?

Wickenburg to Seattle by Helicopter: Day 2

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Page, AZ to Bryce Canyon, UT.

I’d flown to Lake Powell on Thursday afternoon so I could be ready for a photo flight at 6 AM on Friday.

I spent the night at the Holiday Inn Express in Page. I’d been there before and when I was there this time, I remembered why I hadn’t been back: the damn walls are paper thin. My room was at the far end of the hall, adjacent to a back entrance. The ice machine was in a corridor there, up against my wall. Not only did I hear the sound of people filling their coolers at 3 AM, but I heard the sound of the machine filling with water and the damn motor running. Add the guy upstairs walking at odd hours and you can figure out why I didn’t get much sleep.

But at 5:30 AM, I was at the airport, preflighting the helicopter. At 6 AM, I met my client and flew him and his wife around the lake for 1.3 hours. When he canceled his afternoon flight due to the unseasonably cold weather, I found myself done for the day at 8 AM — a full 12 hours before I expected.

I went back to the helicopter, put the door on, and tied down the blades. Then I headed back to the hotel. I was expecting the weather to deteriorate, so I didn’t see any point to staying in Page. After all, I lived there for two months back in 2008 so it wasn’t exactly a tourist destination for me. I started thinking about heading north, but wasn’t anxious to spend the night in Salt Lake City. Then I considered flying as far as Bryce Canyon, which was on the way and less than an hour flight. I worked the phone and the Web via my iPad. A while later, I had reservations for a cabin at Bryce Canyon Lodge and a rental car at Bryce Canyon Airport.

I packed up and checked out. I had some second thoughts when I stepped outside and saw what a beautiful day it had become, but my room at Bryce was expensive and non-refundable. I was committed.

Wahweap MarinaI was airborne by 10 AM.

I flew northwest at first, eager to check out the new resort that was built not far from Big Water, UT. I’d heard a lot of buzz about it and had actually met someone who worked there the night before at Blue Buddha. From the air, it didn’t look like much, tucked away against some sandstone cliffs. I still don’t understand what all the hoopla is about.

After flying over, I dropped down low and turned north toward Wahweap Creek. I crossed Highway 89 just east of Big Water and dropped down even lower, into the creek bed. I knew the area well. There were no wires and no homes. I great spot for some low-level canyon flying on a beautiful day with minimal winds.

I followed the course of the creek — which was mostly dry, of course — northwest, passing the famous Wahweap Hoodoos at low level. (You can see a video of one of my canyon flights here.) Then I continued up the canyon, beyond where I’d ever flown before. It twisted and turned, rising gently into the flat-topped mesas beyond it. My GPS had Bryce Canyon punched in, so when it appeared the canyon was taking me too far off course, I pulled back gently on the cyclic and began climbing out. I needed a 2000-foot climb to clear the mountains around me. That put me over some typical high-desert terrain with lots of rocks and scrubby trees. In the distance, I could see more mountains — and weather.

I didn’t realize it then, but weather would haunt me for the entire flight from Wickenburg to Seattle.

Sedimentary Rock RidgesI was now squarely in the middle of my middle-of-nowhere route from Page to Bryce Canyon. There were absolutely no signs of civilization below me or anywhere within sight. Instead, an ever-changing terrain revealed itself below me. Hills and mesas were cut deeply by canyons of exposed red rock. Sedimentary rock thrust up from the ground at odd angles, forming layered ridge lines that stretched for miles. Ancient sand dunes turned to rock stood revealed by the erosive forces of wind and rain over millions of years.

Ancient Sand DunesThe view seemed to change every five minutes, revealing wonder after wonder. I wanted to detour and explore. I wished more than ever that I’d installed my helicopter’s nose camera before departing Wickenburg the day before.

As I look at these hastily snapped photos now, while writing this blog post, I realize how truly amazing the terrain in the desert southwest is. I’m spoiled — I see this kind of stuff all the time. While dramatic rock formations still amaze me, I can compare each of these photos to a similar scene somewhere else I’ve flown. The tilted ridge line repeats itself over and over north of the San Juan River in southeastern Utah, not far from Mexican Hat. The solidified sand dunes can also be found near the Glen Canyon dam, atop the Paria Plateau near The Wave, and throughout Capital Reef National Park.

Discovering amazing new formations while flying from point to point is a treat. But it makes me sad that I do these flights alone. I can’t seem to sell folks on the wonder of flight through this area. They’d rather spend their money being one of thousands on a cruise ship or fry on the beach at an all-inclusive resort than experience a unique, once-in-a-lifetime journey through the southwest, 500 feet above the ground in a helicopter. These photos hint at what they’re missing.

But I digress.

As I flew, the clouds thickened. I saw the same signs of rain or snow in the clouds ahead of me. I was heading right for the weather. Tuned into Bryce’s common traffic advisory frequency (CTAF), I heard a charter plane make a call for landing. Still 20 miles out, I asked the pilot what the conditions were. She reported that there was weather to the west of the airport but visibility at the airport was still good. I checked my power settings to make sure I was getting my best speed. I was moving at 110 knots airspeed with a slight tailwind. I wanted to be on the ground before the weather moved in. There were no airports between me and Bryce.

Near Bryce CanyonI finally began seeing signs of civilization: paved roads, ranches, towns. There were plenty of red rock cliffs and hoodoos with roads — paved and unpaved — winding around them. Funny how people go to National Parks to see the sights when the same sights — or better ones — can be found right down the road.

I climbed with the terrain and was finally able to pick up Bryce Airport’s (KBCE) AWOS frequency. Winds 8 MPH gusting to 15, good visibility. But I could see a storm moving in from the west and wondered whether it would beat me to the airport. I looked at my GPS anxiously; I was only 4 miles out and still couldn’t see the airport. But then I spotted the big old hangar and zeroed in on my landing zone on the ramp. I made my radio calls, crossed the approach end of the runway, and landed in a T-spot.

You can see my approximate route on SkyVector by clicking here.

I shut down, gathered my things together, tied down the blades, and locked up. Then I went into the terminal to place a fuel order and arrange to get my rental car.

I’d spend the rest of the day exploring Bryce Canyon National Park on horseback and by car. But that’s another story.

Another Lake Powell Photo Flight

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Perfect conditions, except for the cold.

It was a photo flight that brought me to Page and Lake Powell on my annual trip from Wickenburg, AZ to Seattle, WA for cherry drying season. Although I usually depart Arizona mid-May, when this flight came up, I figured I’d use it as a springboard to start my trip. Rather than return to Arizona, I’d use the ferry fees to take me two hours closer to Seattle. Not exactly a direct trip — it would likely add at least an hour to my total flight time — but it was something.

I flew to Lake Powell on Thursday afternoon so I could be ready for the photo flight at 6 AM on Friday. I planned to spend Friday night in Page as well, since our second flight of the day was scheduled for 6 PM.

So at 5:30 AM, I was at the airport, preflighting the helicopter. It was already light; the sun rose while I was working. There was a thin layer of clouds to the east and it filtered the sun, softening the light. Exactly the kind of light my best Lake Powell photo client likes.

Fifteen minutes later, I was waiting in my rented car in front of the terminal. I own a hangar at Page — it’s for sale if anyone’s interested — so I have a key card to get onto the ramp. I figured I’d pick up my passengers in front and drive them out to the helicopter. I’d then leave the car out there until we got back.

My passengers were on time. The photographer was a big guy, weighing in at 240 pounds. His wife was much smaller and thinner; only 130 pounds. We said our introductions and I drove them out to the helicopter. I pulled the front passenger door off and put it in the trunk of the car. Then I gave them a safety briefing and handed out the life jackets. (I always make my passengers wear life jackets over the lake.) They were Russian — it seems that most of my Lake Powell photo clients are — but they spoke English well. I don’t speak any Russian.

It took a while to warm up. The temperature had dropped down near freezing overnight. But by 6 AM sharp, I was pulling pitch and taking off. We climbed out and I turned uplake.

That’s when I realized that my photographer client had no idea where he wanted to go. He told me to take him to places that I knew were good. Places I’d taken other photographers. And Rainbow Bridge.

Gregory ButteSo we did a quick circuit around Gunsite Butte and Alstrom Point, then hustled up the lake toward Rainbow Bridge. Although the forecast had called for 50% overcast and morning winds up to 10 MPH, the sun was bright but filtered and the wind was not an issue at all. Flying toward the sun, the views weren’t very good, but glances to the left or right as I turned showed stunning morning views of the lake and red rock cliffs. My client didn’t provide much instruction, so I didn’t waste his time by being a tour guide. (Note that this photo and all the others that appear in this post were taken at other times; I can’t take pictures while I’m flying with clients aboard.)

I should mention here that it was bitter cold. With my heat not functioning — it had triggered a carbon monoxide warning the day before — and a door off, the cold morning air rushed in. I had a hat, scarf, and three layers of long sleeves on, but no gloves. My client was out in it. His wife sat behind me and didn’t say much, so I don’t know how she was taking the cold. But I figured that Russians were probably a lot more accustomed to cold weather than thin-blooded Arizonans.

Rainbow BridgeWe had a bit of a tense time when my client asked me to fly lower near Rainbow Bridge. The problem is, Rainbow Bridge is at the bottom of a narrow canyon. I know that I can get down to 5,000 feet MSL safely, so that’s what I always shoot for. He wanted me lower. That would bring me very close to a canyon wall. When I pointed that out, he backed down. I think he may have been spooked. But I gave him a good look at the bridge and was satisfied to hear his camera clicking right through his microphone.

Afterwards, he told me he wanted to go into a canyon he’d seen on the way up. But we were so close to Reflection Canyon, which everyone loves, that I asked if I could take him there. It added about 10 minutes total to the flight. He seemed happy with what we saw. The light was breaking through the clouds by then and although it was still soft, it was brining out the colors of the lake and the rocks.

We headed downlake and I reminded him several times that all he had to do was direct me and I’d fly wherever he wanted me to. We went into Wetherall Canyon on the south side of the lake, but he turned me around after only a few minutes. Then back to the main channel. Another side trip up Rock Creek’s main branch and back. Then another trip up Last Chance Bay and back. And some time over Padre Bay. There was a lot to see and the light was good, but he didn’t direct me to do much. I just flew, trying to enjoy myself, trying not to worry about my client not getting his money’s worth because he didn’t tell me where to fly.

Horseshoe BendHe asked me to take him to Horseshoe Bend and I headed out that way. I purposely swung past the Glen Canyon Dam, putting it on his side of the aircraft so he could take photos. I heard his camera snap. Then I climbed — Horseshoe Bend is best seen from at least 6,000 feet — and headed downriver. A few minutes later, I pointed out Horseshoe Bend and began making a climbing circle to the left around it. I was about 270° into it when he told me we were done.

I dumped the collective and started a steep descent, banking east toward the airport. I landed on the taxiway as a National Park Service patrol plane took off.

Here’s a look at our route on the official Park Service map:

Photo Flight

My client jumped out while I was cooling down the engine. He snapped a few pictures of the aircraft as his wife got out and joined him. Then I shut down, got the blades stopped, and climbed out. We’d flown 1.3 hours.

I brought them back to the front of the terminal. My client told me that he was going to cancel the evening flight — it was just too cold. I was shocked. He’d paid me for 5.3 hours of flight time but had only been airborne for 1.3 of those hours. A second flight would cost more, but it would also help spread the cost of the ferry time and help him get his money’s worth.

But who was I to argue? The wind was supposed to kick up later in the day and I wasn’t eager to be out over the lake with the wind howling around the canyons.

So at 8 AM, I was done for the day.

Two hours later, I was heading toward Bryce Canyon. But that’s another story.