Cherry Drying 101

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.

Wickenburg to Seattle: Day Three

We finish our journey with a flyby of Mt. St. Helens and a hair-raising (for me) descent to Boeing Field.

Other Articles in the
Wickenburg to Seattle Series:

Prepping for the Long Flight
My Co-Pilot
Day One (Wickenburg to Ukiah)
Day Two (Ukiah to Portland)
Day Three (Portland to Seattle)

We’d stopped in Portland so I could get some specialized cherry drying training in preparation for my summer job in Quincy, WA. I worked with Dave, who was kind enough to spend some time with us, on Sunday evening to cover some of the basics over dinner. We flew on Monday morning. I’ll go into detail about that flight — and even show off a bit of video — in another post.

When I was finished flying with Dave, Louis and I reloaded the helicopter and started north. We were on the last leg of our flight from Wickenburg to Seattle and had chosen a relatively direct route. Expected flight time was less than an hour and a half.

The day was overcast, with high clouds masking the sun. A dreary light illuminated the landscape. Although the temperatures were mild — in the 60s — it felt like winter. I didn’t take many photos. The light was just too darn ugly.

As we flew, we had clear views of Mount Hood, Mount Adams, Mount St. Helens, and Mount Rainier, four of the tall peaks of the Cascades. All were covered with thick caps of snow. The photo below shows the south side of Mount St. Helens with Mount Rainier in the background (on the left).

Mount St. Helens and Mount Ranier

Spirit LakeOur course took us quite close to Mount St. Helens. So close, in fact, that when Louis asked if I wanted to fly over Spirit Lake (see photo; Mt. Ranier is in the background), I said yes. Mount St. Helens, which was once just another beautiful snow-capped peak, had a massive eruption in 1980 that blew off its top and most of the north side of the mountain. Nearby Spirit Lake was the recipient of much of the ash and other debris that increased the water level and changed the look of the lake. The best views of the volcano are from the north, where you can see the lava flow and debris field. Since we were so close, it made sense to take a look. Here’s a shot looking back to the south from near Spirit Lake.

Mount St. Helens

By the way, if you’re ever in the area, visiting Mount St. Helens, I highly recommend taking a helicopter ride up the valley to the mountain. The views are up close and personal, much better than the photos here.

Mount RainierI punched Boeing Field (BFI) into the GPS and we got back on course. We passed far to the west of Mount Rainier, then headed inbound. Louis had done much of his training at Boeing Field, which is squeezed into a tight area north of Seattle-Tacoma International (SEA) and Renton (RNT), I so I turned all navigation and communication over to him.

In the meantime, I was getting seriously stressed about the amount of small airplane traffic around us, most of which was showing up as targets on the helicopter’s TIS system. We were flying up in “airplane land” — the same altitude small airplanes fly at when they’re trying to stay under the class Bravo airspace. This wouldn’t have been so bad if we were talking to a controller who could advise us of traffic, but we weren’t. I urged Louis to descend and he did. But it wasn’t until we were cruising at about 500 AGL that I felt comfortable again.

We landed at Boeing Field and set down near Pad 6. The mechanic who was going to be doing my helicopter’s annual inspection, Rich, came out to meet us. A while later, all of our gear was unloaded and they were wheeling Zero-Mike-Lima away. I wouldn’t be seeing or flying it for more than two weeks.

We’d completed the flight from Wickenburg to Seattle in about 13 hours of flight time. Louis was home, but I was only halfway through my travels.

Enterprise Customer Service

Confused, at best.

I had an unsatisfactory customer service experience with my car rental from Enterprise in Wenatchee, WA this past week. Although I normally would have blown the whole thing off, item number 5 in the list below really pissed me off and prompted me to send the following e-mail to Enterprise’s customer service. I’ve omitted the names here out of the goodness of my heart.

I was extremely disappointed with the service I received this past week at your Wenatchee location. Specifically:

1) On arriving at the airport, I called for a pickup to your location. I was told it would take 5 to 10 minutes. The pickup arrived 25 minutes later.

2) It was necessary to go to the downtown location to complete paperwork that could have been done in advance. This wasted even more time.

3) On the way to your location, the driver, who is apparently a new recruit right out of college, hit me with a barrage of questions about my business. What brings me to Wenatchee? Where am I from? Etc. These questions went far beyond simple conversation. The things he asked me were none of his business. And even one-word answers didn’t send him the message that I wasn’t happy about being grilled by him.

4) This same rental guy marked on my agreement that the car had 3/4 tank of gas. The car, in fact, had less than that. So I was obliged to return it with more gas than I got it with.

5) After returning the car to the airport the next day, I began receiving phone calls from someone named [omitted#1]. He left two messages on my cell phone’s voicemail system to say he was calling “about the car.” No specifics. I had no idea why he was calling and I kept missing his calls, since I was traveling and attending to other business in California. I began to worry that something had happened to the car after I dropped it off, but I had no time to return his calls to straighten the matter out. When I finally got through to the office this morning, [omitted#2] said that [omitted#1] had probably made a courtesy call to follow-up on the rental. What’s so courteous about leaving two cryptic messages on my voicemail with a callback request? Do you people think I have nothing better to do than to chat about my rental experience?

I will NEVER rent a car at your Wenatchee location again. And frankly, I’m unlikely to rent at any Enterprise location that is not based at the airport of my arrival.

The only positive thing about the experience was the car itself: the small Ford was comfortable, practical, and easy to drive and park.

You have no idea how items 1, 2, and 3 pissed me off. If it had taken 5 minutes more to complete the rental, I would have gone ballistic on the spot. I hate having my time wasted for no real reason. And being grilled by this kid right after the long wait really got on my nerves. I could have spent an extra $20 on a rental from Hertz at the airport and been out of there without any bullshit.

Postscript: after speaking to the Enterprise office in Wenatchee this morning, [omitted#1] had the nerve to call back. That’s three calls to waste my time. What is it about these people that they just don’t get it?

Update, May 27, 2008: Over the weekend, I received a bill from Enterprise charging me for 1 day plus 1 hour of rental time. I had the car less than 24 hours. So I had to waste more of my time calling Enterprise customer service to clear this up. Turns out, the idiot who checked me in swiped my credit card improperly, so they had no credit card on file for me. For some reason, they decided to bill me for 25 hours of use rather than the less than 1 day I had the car for. (They claimed I returned the car at 1 PM when, in fact, I was in Seattle getting on another plane at that time.) But my complaints to the main office seem to have made an impact. I was told to disregard the bill and that Enterprise would pick up the cost of this rental because of the screw-ups throughout. At least someone there understands customer service. But no, I’m not likely to rent from Enterprise again anytime soon.

Wickenburg to Seattle: Day Two

A relatively uneventful flight north.

Other Articles in the
Wickenburg to Seattle Series:

Prepping for the Long Flight
My Co-Pilot
Day One (Wickenburg to Ukiah)
Day Two (Ukiah to Portland)
Day Three (Portland to Seattle)

Sorry about the delay in documenting the second day of our trip. I’ve been exhausted and busy and, frankly, when I’m not in front of a computer, I don’t want to be.

Our stay in Ukiah was quite pleasant. My room was comfortable and I slept well. Best of all, I walked across the parking lot the next morning in my t-shirt and lounge pants and was the first customer in Starbucks. In other words: I had a decent cup of coffee.

The helicopter was all fueled and ready to go. Louis did a very thorough preflight and, after saying goodbye to the FBO guy, we climbed in and started up.

Our route would have us following Route 101 north, through an area of low mountains and rivers to the coast at Eureka. From there, we’d follow the coast past Newport and head inland to Portland. That was the plan, anyway.

Northern Sonoma ValleyThe morning was cool with a very gentle breeze as we headed north. We were at the northern end of Sonoma Valley, where it narrowed. We climbed into the hills.

Bridge Under ConstructionAs we climbed, the landscape changed. There were tall pine trees, rocky outcroppings, and rushing rivers below us. At one point, we crossed over a new bridge under construction. Louis circled it at my request so I could get a decent picture of it.

Approaching EurekaWe continued up route 101 until it dumped us into a valley at Eureka. In the distance, beyond numerous farm fields, we could see the ocean with a marine layer moving it. It appeared that we’d have the same coastal clouds we’d had the day before, farther south. I wasn’t interested in flying over the tops of clouds along unfamiliar coastal terrain. I wanted to go inland. But with fuel at half tanks, I also wanted to top off fuel before we changed course. According to the chart, Murray Field at Eureka had fuel. So we headed in and landed at the field.

The FBO gal greeted us on the radio when Louis set down near the pumps, telling us she’d be right out. Murray didn’t have a fancy self-serve system. In fact, it had the sort of system we had at Wickenburg when I ran the FBO — completely manual. The FBO gal came out to keep us company while we fueled. She was soon joined by a man who, after exclaiming that a “flying tomato” had landed, struck up a lively conversation about Eureka, the Phoenix area (where he’d once lived), and alternate routes.

Clouds on the CoastBy this time, the wind was coming off the ocean, bringing clouds inland with it. You could see wisps of clouds speeding east, over the airport. We were advised to head north along the coast until we got to Crescent City, then follow route 199 (I think) inland to Grant Pass. That’s where we could pick up I-5 north to Portland. I was doubtful; I really didn’t want to fly over the clouds for the 50 to 60 miles to Crescent City. But I decided to take a look. We said some quick goodbyes and started up. I took off, climbing steeply at 1000 feet per minute through a scattered 200-foot ceiling of clouds. From that vantage point, it was easy to see where the clouds ended and the land began. Sometimes the clouds would be out over the ocean. Other times they stretched inland into the mountains. I handed over the controls to Louis and we continued north along the edge of the cloud bank at about 1,500 feet.

We didn’t even realize that we were passing over the Redwood forest until Louis asked me about it and I checked the chart. The tall trees didn’t really look special from above. But when you looked down into the forest, you could clearly see that one kind of tree towered above the others. From down on the ground, these trees are amazing. From 1500 feet above sea level, passing over them was a non-event.

Crescent City, CAThe cloud bank had shifted out a bit to the ocean by the time we reached Crescent City. It was very tempting to continue north along the coast. But when I looked out beyond the nearest clouds, it seemed to me that the clouds were thickening, climbing higher into the sky. I didn’t want to have to climb with them. And I certainly didn’t want to lose sight of the ground. So I decided to head inland, following the advice of the guy at the FBO. We turned east, found route 199, and followed it.

This route wound along a number of valleys and canyons past tree-covered hills and mountains. The streams and rivers below us were gushing with white water from snow melt. The northwest had had plenty of snow during the winter months and the recent record high temperatures were melting that snow quickly. Later, I’d hear on television about the flooding expected in Portland, Seattle, and other communities near rivers and streams.

After a while, we broke through the mountains into the valley at Grants Pass. We picked up I-5 and headed north into more hilly terrain. I noticed on the chart that a local mountain pass had its own automated weather observation system (AWOS) and I tuned into the frequency to get weather information. A similar station on my route between Seattle and Wenatchee would be useful when it was time to move the helicopter to Quincy for June and July.

At Myrtle Creek, the mountains ended, dropping us into a broad valley. The highway straightened and we followed it. By this time, I was pretty hungry and fuel was dipping to quarter tanks. It seemed like a good time to look for lunch and fuel. As we approached Creswell, just south of Eugene, I heard other pilots talking in the pattern. I asked if there was a restaurant and was told that there was a sandwich place just a quarter mile away. We headed in for landing.

The fuel pumps were decidedly helicopter-unfriendly. Maybe you know the kind: they’re situated at the edge of the ramp and have a shade cover over them that extends out to the ramp area. The shade’s height is about even with a helicopter’s spinning blades. The trick is to hover close enough for the hose and static reel to reach but not close enough to hit the shade with your blades. Louis did a marvelous job, landing to one side so that airplanes could still roll up next to us. I was hoping to leave the helicopter parked while we went to get some lunch.

The hose just reached the helicopter — Louis had to stretch it out while I fueled. I topped off the tanks. Then we used the facilities and I went in search of someone who could tell me where the food was. I found two people in a small trailer that seemed to house a flight school. It turned out that the restaurant was more than a quarter mile away — on the other side of the airport, as a matter of fact — and that he wanted us to move the helicopter before we walked there. I wasn’t interested in either the long walk or moving the helicopter. So we decided to continue on, with the promise of a Chinese restaurant right at the end of the runway at Albany. I like Chinese food and rarely get an opportunity to eat some.

We continued north along I-5. I should mention somewhere here that we caught glimpses of some of the Cascade Peaks along the way: Mount Jefferson, Mount Hood, and later, Mount St. Helens — all huge snow-covered peaks towering above the terrain. We were getting rather close to Portland. It seemed stupid to land at Albany and waste an hour when we could press on to Portland, arrive by 3 PM, and get some food there. So we decided to skip lunch. We snacked on the sugar snap peas I’d brought along and kept in my little cooler.

Portland, ORAbout 20 miles south of Portland, I dialed in Portland Approach and told them where we were and where we wanted to go. Although we were landing at Portland, it wasn’t Portland International. It was Troutdale (TTD), which sits on the Columbia River just east of Portland. Neither Louis nor I knew the area, so I used the magic word: “unfamiliar.” We got a squawk code for our transponder and vectors toward Troutdale. When we got closer, we were handed off to Troutdale Tower. I told the controller we wanted to land at “TV Land” — which is what I’d been told — and he guided us in to a ramp near the east end of the runway. The grassy field I’d been told to park in was clearly visible and I told the controller we’d land there. Louis set us down and we shut down.

Helicopter Mileage

Not the most fuel-efficient ride.

I had a conversation with a friend of mine the other day about the fuel burn rate and “mileage” of my helicopter. It’s actually an interesting calculation.

First, consider my “best range” cruise speed. According to Robinson Helicopter Company (RHC), the best cruise speed for a Robinson R44 Raven II is 100 knots or 115 miles per hour.

Now consider the fuel burn rate. RHC claims 14 gallons per hour, but I’m getting closer to 16 these days. When you do the math (115 ÷ 16), you come up with 7.19 miles per gallon.

Now that doesn’t sound very good, but there’s another calculation to do to equate this to car miles. That’s the “straight line” factor — as I like to call it. RHC, in its Operating Costs document, estimates that because a helicopter can fly in a straight line and roads over long distances are seldom straight line routes, each air mile is equal to 1.5 road miles. I think this is pretty reasonable as an average. On certain routes, that number would be smaller while on other routes, it would be much larger. So if you do the math (7.19 x 1.5) you come up with 10.79 miles per gallon.

This isn’t much worse than my redneck truck, which gets about 15 mpg.

Of course, 100LL fuel, which the helicopter burns, costs anywhere from $4.50 to $7.00 per gallon. Regular gasoline, which my truck burns, is currently about $3.50 per gallon.

I just flew from Wickenburg, AZ to Seattle, WA by way of the California coast. We covered the estimated 1,500-mile distance in about 13 hours of flight time. I spent over $1,000 on fuel. Not exactly a cheap trip, but with highlights like an overflight of the Golden Gate as the marine layer moved in, it’s one I’ll remember for a long time.