Arizona to Washington by Helicopter, Again

About 950 nautical miles in one day.

I flew commercial down to Arizona on April 11 to pick up my new old helicopter, N7534D. If you missed my blog post about my purchase process and what went into the decision to buy this helicopter, you can find it here. This blog post pretty much picks up where that one left off.

Flying South

I treated myself to a first class ticket, which I sometimes do when I’ve got a job ahead of me that might or might not be difficult. And instead of departing Wenatchee on the 5:55 AM flight, which, via a connection through Seattle, gets into Phoenix at 10:43 AM, I took the 11:35 AM flight with a connection at 1:42 to arrive in Phoenix at 4:30. Unfortunately, weather moved into Seattle that morning and they delayed our flight from leaving Wenatchee. For a short time, it looked like I’d miss my connection. But Alaska Air had my back (at least this time). Not only did they automatically add a booking on the next flight to Phoenix, but they made sure they gave me a first class seat there, too. So even if I missed my flight, I’d travel in the comfort I paid for.

Flying First Class
I had the salad. It was good. And have I ever mentioned how much I enjoy flying First Class? (Another perk of the single lifestyle; only one plane ticket to buy means airline travel is more affordable.)

But I didn’t miss the connection. I was the third to last person on board. I felt bad for Penny since I didn’t let her out of her bag — as I usually do — when hurrying across the airport to make the connection. She settled under the seat in front of me, still in her bag, on the Seattle to Phoenix flight while I settled in to a spacious and comfy seat and accepted the lunch menu the flight attendant handed me.

I enjoy flying First Class on Alaska Air. (Not so much with other airlines.) The food is always good and they have an excellent Bloody Mary mix. The seats are very comfortable. And I’ve discovered that the best way to make a long flight shorter — no matter where you’re sitting — is to watch a movie on a tablet. This time, I watched Coco, which I highly recommend.

Some Lurking Stress

Watching the movie also got my mind off the stress of my upcoming meeting with a new helicopter. There were a few things feeding it.

First, I hadn’t flown since my accident back on February 24. That was about six weeks. I’ve gone a lot longer between flights — heck, I went from December 4, 2017 to February 15, 2018 (ten weeks) and October 30, 2016 to February 22, 2017 (nearly four months) — but this was different. It was the elephant in the room — my crash — and the uneasiness was growing on me every day.

Logically, this didn’t make sense. I knew what caused the crash and I could easily prevent it from happening again. I had no uncertainty about my skills or the aircraft. But I think the people who were encouraging me to “get back in the saddle” were starting to make me wonder why they thought I wouldn’t. Maybe I was missing something?

This nagging concern got to a head about a week before I was supposed to pick up the helicopter. I actually asked Paul, the Director of Maintenance at Quantum who was handling the sale, to schedule a flight instructor to fly with me for about an hour before I left with the ship. Why not get a little refresher?

The other stress had to do with my route home and the weather. I’d been thinking a lot about my route for the flight and even blogged about the pros and cons of each option. I was very motivated to minimize flight time, but I was not interested in crossing the vast emptiness of central Nevada, which was the shortest route. And then there was a perceived need to go through California to pick up my old cockpit cover and floor mats, which were still in the custody of the aircraft salvage guy.

The trouble was, the forecast was calling for crazy high winds on Thursday and Friday. A front was coming through on the night of my arrival and the forecast was showing winds as high as 40 miles per hour. Although I tried to change my schedule to come in early on Wednesday for departure the same day, hoping to beat the winds out of the area, it was pretty clear that I would hit those high winds somewhere on my route . Besides, the helicopter wouldn’t be ready. The earliest I could pick it up would be Thursday, right when those high winds were scheduled to really ramp up.

Normally, a day or two delay wouldn’t matter. After all, I was staying with some friends in Gilbert, AZ and it was always nice to hang out with them. But on this trip, I’d be accompanied by my good friend Janet, who would then stay a day or two with me in Washington before flying back to Phoenix on Alaska Air. Her 5:55 AM Tuesday ticket could not be changed and I was really hoping to have her as a guest for more than just a day. In addition to that, I had some freshly hatched chicks in the brooder of my chicken coop and didn’t like the idea of leaving them for longer than absolutely necessary. Leaving Phoenix on Saturday would probably mean getting home by Sunday. And there was unsettled weather forecasted for northern Oregon and Washington on Sunday that could delay us further.

So the long flight home and weather-related delays were stressing me out, too.

And then there was the added stress of flying a helicopter that wasn’t mine. How would it fly? What would it sound like? I knew every quirk in the late, great Zero-Mike-Lima but didn’t know this one at all. (And yes, every aircraft has quirks.) That was made a little worse by a friend suggesting that there might be issues with the “rigging” (WTF?) and that I should fly it around locally before leaving the area in case anything needed to be fixed. More delays?

I kept telling myself that with Paul in charge of maintenance and the aircraft always being owned by Quantum, there wouldn’t be any mechanical issues. There was no way Paul would let an aircraft go that wasn’t perfectly safe and functional. That’s why I’d bought this helicopter instead of one of the other options — it came with peace of mind. Quirks were quirks and I’d figure them out over time.

Still, all these little things were accumulating in my brain, giving me more stress than I really should have had. Fortunately, I was able to switch off that stress on the flight to Phoenix and for the rest of the evening, which I spent with my friends.

The Pickup

The forecast was right. The wind kicked in on Thursday morning. I still had hopes of picking up the helicopter and getting it to Wickenburg — which is where I’d be meeting Janet — before things got too rough, but Paul texted to say that they’d found a small problem with the radios and the avionics guys still had to do their inspections. So I waited at Falcon Field, the Mesa airport where my friends have a flight school, watching the flag I could see through the window. The wind got rougher. They started cancelling their flights.

We went out for Thai food for lunch. Then back to Falcon Field. The helicopter was ready, but I probably couldn’t fly away. Still, I had paperwork to do and there were a few things I could do to prep the helicopter for its departure. My friends gave me their car keys. I loaded Penny up and we drove to Chandler.

The wind was very bad there. And because Chandler is close to the edge of the desert, the blowing wind had kicked up a lot of dust. Visibility was down to about a mile: IMC (Instrument Meteorological Conditions). No one was flying. Quantum’s door was locked with a sign to knock. When the girl at the desk came to open it for me, she explained that the wind and air pressure made the door swing open if it wasn’t latched.

I saw Paul and Doug and Neil, all of whom I’ve known since my primary flight training days in the late 1990s. We did the socializing thing. Then Paul brought me out to see the helicopter I’d come to buy. It was optimistically hooked up to the tow cart, parked right in the middle of the hangar.

First Look at N7534D
N7534D was waiting for me when I arrived. And I don’t know why, but almost every photo I take with my iPhone makes the helicopter look black. It isn’t. It’s actually a dark blue with a flat black stripe. Also parked in the hangar: at least three R22s that I’d flown during my flight training in 1998 through 2000; two of them have over 20,000 hours!

I went over for a good look. When I opened the pilot door and looked at the interior all worries about it not being my helicopter were washed away. It was virtually identical to Zero-Mike-Lima, from the tan carpeting and leather seats to the layout of the instrument panel. The only difference I saw — and didn’t even notice until I was nearly home — is that the Hobbs meter and clock are switched on the instrument panel. Paul had even installed the bar across the footwell on the pilot’s seat where I’d use RAM mounts to install my phone and iPad.

There were differences, of course. The gyros, which switched on automatically when Paul turned on the master switch, were louder. The glass on a few of the instruments looked a little hazy. There were tiny bits of damage on the pilot seat, almost like cigarette burns. Just enough to remind me that it wasn’t Zero-Mike-Lima. But it was close enough that any worries I’d had about flying again immediately went away. Of course I could fly this.

Penny in N7534D
Penny wanted to sit in the helicopter so I put her in there. Note that I’ve already got my hat hung on the cyclic. Home sweet home?

I put Penny in the front passenger seat, where she really wanted to sit, and did a walk-around with Paul. He answered any questions I had. Then I took the canvas bag I’d brought with two headsets and my RAM mounts and began setting up the cockpit for my flight. It was a real relief to see that the helicopter had been hardwired for Bose headsets, since the ones I use in the front two seats are Bose without battery packs.

Meanwhile, Paul gathered up the paperwork and other things that came with the helicopter. This included a brand new, still in its original packaging, full cockpit cover, blade tie-towns, and ground handling wheels. (All of a sudden, I had no pressing need to fly though California on my way home.) I stowed all of it under the rear seats so I’d have plenty of room for luggage on top of the seats.

Sometime while all this was happening, I handed over the big certified check I’d picked up from the bank the day before. The purchase price did not include the cost of the USB ports Paul had put on that bar to keep my iPad and phone charged in flight and a few other things, so I fully expected to pay a bit more. But I did have money on account with Quantum for Zero-Mike-Lima’s core returns during overhaul the year before. So they cut me a new check for $700+, which I actually forgot about until I found it just yesterday.

Back in the office, I filled out forms and signed papers. I chatted with Paul and Doug and Neil. I looked out the door and saw the thick blowing dust. I knew damn well I wouldn’t be flying to Wickenburg that afternoon. I told them I’d be back in the morning, probably around 7:30 AM. Although the wind was supposed to pick up again, I was hoping I could get it out of the Phoenix area before that happened.

Then I hopped back into my friend’s car and went back to Falcon Field, stopping for a DQ hot fudge sundae along the way.

Chandler to Wickenburg

I spent a second night with my friends in Gilbert. We went to the Monastery, a local pilot hangout, for drinks after work, when back to their house for leftover Chinese food. It was nice to relax. I felt good about my upcoming trip, although I still didn’t know when I’d be able to head out beyond Wickenburg and which route I’d take. Heck, I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to leave Chandler.

But in the morning, the wind was relatively calm and the sky was clear. I had coffee with my friends, turned down their offer for a ride to Chandler Municipal because I didn’t want to wait or have them drive so far out of their way on the way to work, and caught a ride with Lyft instead. I was at Quantum’s unlocked door at 8 AM.

Doug came in just as I was heading to the hangar with my wheelie bag with Penny in trail. But the helicopter was gone. One of the guys in the hangar told me they’d put it outside for me. The big hangar door was closed. I went through a man door to the ramp. N7534D was parked right there on one of the pads.

N7534D
It almost looks blue in this photo. I should mention here that the N-number is painted on in the same black as the stripe. Can you see the stripe? Well, the painted N-number is just as visible. Because the FAA would definitely balk at that, Paul used decals cover them with the same numbers in white.

To my surprise, Penny ran right over to it. Well, why shouldn’t she? It was ours, after all.

I was pleasantly surprised to find a small pile of Quantum swag on the front passenger seat, including a slick-looking jacket, two tee shirts (one long sleeve and the other short sleeve), and two baseball caps. I put on the jacket — it was cold that morning! — and stowed the other things in my suitcase.

I put Penny inside on the front seat on the small dog bed I’d brought along for her. (She doesn’t like sitting on leather.) Then I loaded up the luggage and did a preflight. The oil dipstick, which is shorter than the one in Zero-Mike-Lima was, showed just under 7 quarts of very clean oil. Robinson are funny about oil. The manual says 9 quarts, but if you put in more than 7, it usually just blows it out when the engine is running. I kept Zero-Mike-Lima’s right at 7. I figured I’d check this one again when I got to Wickenburg to see if it got lower. But I did go back into the hangar and ask Doug if I could buy some oil. He gave me two quarts of W100Plus; according to the log book I had on board, that’s what Paul’s team had put in it. (It’s also what I’ve always used.)

By this time, the wind was about 12-15 miles per hour out of the northwest — just the direction I had to go. Out on the edges of the ramp, two or three R22s were practicing hovering right into the wind. It was blowing right up my helicopter’s tail. That meant my first pickup in this ship would be with a nice little tailwind. Nothing like getting back into the saddle — on an unbroke horse.

I got my iPad EFB all set up with my flight plan filed. Then I started it up. It caught on the second try; I knew it would be a while before I learned exactly how much priming I’d need in different conditions. The engine sounded different. The blades spun up silently — no squealing drive belts! The idle was low. When the needles matched, I had to add throttle to keep it at 55% RPM until the clutch light went out.

My mind noted all of these things automatically. It was different from Zero-Mike-Lima, but not wildly different. I listened to Chandler’s ATIS on the GPS radio while the engine warmed up. Although I felt as if I should be in a hurry, I reminded myself repeatedly that I was not. I dialed in both of Chandler’s tower frequencies on the main radio in case I needed to switch when I crossed the runway. I listened to the tower frequency; there was just one plane on the radio and he landed before I was ready to take off.

I brought the RPM up to 100% and carefully lifted the collective, mindful of that strong tailwind. My feet were firm on the pedals, prepared for the dance I might have to do. But if there was any dancing, it was instinctive. I picked it up off the ground smoothly with virtually no yaw or wiggle. I gave it some right pedal and turned around smoothly, pointing it into the wind.

Just like riding a bike.

I called the tower and asked for departure to the north. He asked if I wanted departure from present position or from the helipad. I told him I preferred present position; I really saw no reason to waste time or fuel hover taxing over to the pad. He gave me the usual “departure is at your own risk” disclaimer and cleared me northbound over both runways. Somewhere during our exchange, I used the wrong N-number and quickly corrected myself, adding “new helicopter.” Then I was airborne above and between the two light posts on the north edge of the helicopter parking area, climbing away from Quantum.

I took one of my “usual” routes to Wickenburg — north just outside of the Phoenix surface airspace, then west along Camelback Road, then northwest direct to Wickenburg. I hit some moderate turbulence between Camelback Mountain and North Mountain that were likely caused by wind over the mountains north of me, but that cleared up by the time I passed Piestewa (formerly Squaw) Peak. There was a little more turbulence along the way. Otherwise, it was a pretty uneventful flight. I skirted around the special Luke Air Force base surface training area southeast of Wickenburg so I wouldn’t have to talk to Luke Approach. The flight path was familiar — I’d flown it at least a hundred times when I lived and flew regularly in Arizona.

Chandler to Wickenburg
My route from Chandler (CHD) to Wickenburg (E25) on Friday morning.

When I got within radio range of Wickenburg, I flipped on the AWOS on my second radio. Winds were 15 gusting to 23. Whatever. I flew over my old house — which I have to say looks a hell of a lot better than when I lived there with my wasband — but didn’t see any sign of Jeff or Mary, who now live there. I came in over the golf course and made a short right base to the taxiway parallel to Runway 23.

I set down temporarily near the taxiway as my friend (and insurance agent) Dave towed his helicopter past on a cart for departure from the helipads on the far west end of the ramp. Then I hover-taxied over to one of the two fuel trucks parked near the big fuel tanks adjacent to the parking area and shut down. I caught Dave on the radio just as he was taking off. “I thought the new helicopter was red,” he said as he made his departure toward Scottsdale.

I’d hear that a lot over the next few days, and likely in weeks to come.

Overnight at Wickenburg

I got fuel and although I’m tempted to tell you the saga of the Town of Wickenburg’s stupidity at installing a costly fuel system that won’t work property, I won’t waste your time or mine. Short version is, fuel came from a truck that can’t move and when fueling was done, I was told I couldn’t keep the helicopter parked there overnight, despite the fact that I’d purposely parked it out of the way. Okay. I wasn’t sure if I’d be spending the night anyway. I was told I could park there until noon; if I needed to stay longer, I’d have to move it. Fair enough.

The good news is, the fuel was only $3.95/gallon. They’re trying to empty the tanks so they can get them fixed in June. The bad news is, it was a short flight so I didn’t need much fuel to top off both tanks.

I called my friend Janet to come get me, then locked up the helicopter. That’s when I discovered that the front passenger door wasn’t seated quite right. I suspect that whoever put the swag into the helicopter that morning had let the door get caught by that tailwind. It would need some work with a screwdriver and pair of pliers to fix it. I also discovered that that door lock was kind of funky; normally you turn the key 1/4 turn to lock it but this one has to turn 1/2 way around.

Remember what I said about quirks? I was learning them.

I went to a late breakfast with Janet in town. While there, I checked the weather. No matter which way we went, we’d hit high winds that day. So after breakfast and a few errands, we stopped at the airport so I could reposition the helicopter on a far east ramp that hadn’t existed when I was based at Wickenburg. We used the brand new blade tie-downs and the tailgate of her truck to secure the blades against the wind. Then we headed out to the off-the-grid ranch she and her spouse, Steve, and their animals were living at.

The wind howled all day, making it very unpleasant outside. We chatted in the living room of the fifth wheel they now live in full time. I made a piece of jewelry. She read. We met with Steve when he returned from riding drag on a horseback ride for four city slickers. Janet cooked the pizza we’d picked up at the supermarket.

Meanwhile, I kept checking the weather — I had a barely acceptable connection on my iPad that switched from 3G to LTE — and thinking about routes. We planned to depart by 8 AM the following morning. I was starting to lean toward the one route I hadn’t completely done before: the western Nevada route. The weather looked doable, but I didn’t like the forecast nearer to home for Sunday. I’d want to get as far north as possible before stopping for the night.

I left them to spend the night in the little travel trailer they’d bought for small trips Janet often needs to make throughout the year. I had the whole place to myself and slept like the dead.

The Long Flight

I was already awake when the generator went on just before 6 AM. I immediately plugged in my iPad, then went out in search of coffee.

By this time, I had pretty much decided on the western Nevada route, which would save at least 2 hours over the California route. Time is money, especially when flying a helicopter.

Both Janet and I were ready to go at 6:30, so rather than sit around and waste time, we loaded up the truck and let Steve take us to the airport.

Using the truck tailgate again — I really do need to get my collapsible stool on board — we pulled off the blade tie-downs. I did a preflight and added a quart of oil, kind of surprised to see that there was absolutely no sign of dripping under the ship. (Most Robinsons let a few drops of oil go from the drain port when parked; this was a quirk I could certainly live with.) Then we loaded up all the luggage, moved Penny’s bed to the back passenger side seat, and prepped to go. Steve watched us start up and take off.

I flew over my friend Jim’s house but saw no sign of life.

Then we were on course northwest bound, heading 301° toward our first fuel stop in Pahrump, 209nm away. We were originally supposed to stop at Jean for fuel — that’s just southwest of Las Vegas on I-15 — but unlike too many other pilots, I did read the NOTAMs, which informed me that there was no fuel at Jean until June. (I didn’t believe the NOTAM, so I called the phone number and got connected with someone at Henderson Executive Airport who confirmed there was no fuel.) Seriously, pilots: read the NOTAMs. (There’s also this old blog post about an idiot pilot who didn’t read the NOTAMs and unsuspectingly flew into a busy airport hosting an EAA Young Eagles event.)

Wickenburg to Pahrump
Our route from Wickenburg (E25) to Pahrump (74P) cut through miles of empty Arizona and Nevada desert, crossing the Colorado River at the south end of Lake Mohave.

Our flight path put us just east of Route 93 to the west of Alamo Lake. And that’s the only place we hit turbulence — a pretty good roller coaster ride as we passed near some hills about 10 minutes out of Wickenburg. My first thought was: this better not be an all-day thing. Janet later told me that it bothered her a lot more than she let on. I suspect that’s because after many years of flying with passengers in all kind of conditions, I’m very careful to never look annoyed or scared in turbulence or other weather-related conditions. Passengers take their cue from the pilot; if the pilot doesn’t look bothered, there’s obviously nothing to worry about.

There were pilots landing at the dirt strip out at the Wayside Inn south of Lake Alamo. I didn’t see them, but I heard them on the radio. Weekend pilots, meeting up for breakfast. I wished, in a way, that we could stop and join them.

We passed the old grid of lots in the big, broad valley east of Crossman Peak (east of Lake Havasu). It’s flat and sparsely populated and I can bet it was full of blowing dust the day before. I’d been over the area before and was always amazed that people would buy land all the way out there. It had to be 10 to 20 miles or more on graded dirt roads to get to any pavement in any direction. And even then, where was the closest town with a supermarket and other services? Needles, NV? Kingman, AZ? People think I’m crazy living 10 miles from the nearest supermarket but that’s only because they haven’t seen these middle of nowhere homes. It’s all relative.

I talked briefly to Bullhead City’s tower, telling them I wanted to transition on the east edge of their space northwest bound. Then we crossed the Colorado River just upstream from the Davis Dam, at the south end of Lake Mohave. We had entered Nevada.

We crossed a few more mountains and I climbed to avoid the possibility of mechanical turbulence. It also gave me a chance to play with my radio altimeter (which I never wanted). As I consulted it periodically through the trip, I soon learned that it lagged in its readout of altitude changes and would be, as I suspected, completely useless in my operation. I’m sure the manufacturer of the device is still patting itself on the back for successfully lobbying the FAA to require them. How much additional revenue have they managed to squeeze out of VFR pilots who don’t need such a device for safe operation?

We passed to the east of Searchlight, NV; I saw it’s huge American flag fluttering in the breeze.

Janet pointed out the big solar farms in California near Primm. I remembered driving past those on I-15 just a few weeks before. They use mirrors to focus sunlight on a tower that heats oil (I think) to run a turbine and generate electricity. As the VFR sectional chart for the area warns, there’s the possibility of “ocular glare” from the tower which glows brightly in the desert.

We passed over the top of Jean and kept going. We could see Las Vegas off in the distance. Then we were flying up the valley west of the Spring Mountains and Mount Charleston, over Pahrump for landing at Calvada Meadows (74P).

Of course, just before landing, there was a guy on the radio who reported in at about the same position we were. I tried to get him to provide his altitude or other information that would help me spot him, but he had a heavy accent and I think he was having trouble understanding me. I kept slowing down and flying lower and lower; helicopter pilots know that airplanes generally don’t fly below 500 feet AGL. Finally, I was abeam the airport and needed to fly across the runway. I looked both ways and darted across. It wasn’t until we’d taxied up to the weird little fuel ramp that Janet pointed out a powered hang-glider — is that what you call those things? — about a mile from the airport. I don’t know where he landed, but it wasn’t near us.

N7534D at Pahrump
Here’s Janet, sitting in the front passenger seat at Pahrump. Okay, so it looks blue here. Kind of.

I let Penny out and fueled up while Janet used the restroom, which was an ancient looking port-a-potty. She said it was pretty gross. I had to go so I wound up using it. I’d been in a lot worse ones than that.

A small twin came in and pulled up behind me on the one-lane ramp. A car came out to meet him. By the time I’d checked the oil — which seemed low but was hard to read because it was so darn clean — and was ready to go, he was parked on the dirt beside the ramp. There are tie-downs there and I hadn’t even seen them.

We took off and continued northwest, now heading 307°. Our next planned fuel stop was Hawthorne, NV, only 186nm away. I had originally been worried about making this leg from Jean, but when we switched to Pahrump, the distance got shorter. We probably could have stretched the leg out to Silver Springs. But I had already told my friend Jim to let our mutual friend Betty at Hawthorne know that we were coming. So with Betty expecting us, I had to stop there.

Pahrump to Hawthorne
Our route from Pahrump (74P) to Hawthorne (HTH), NV took us over some pretty barren desert.

The stretch between Pahrump and Hawthorne was pretty remote and kind of dull, especially when you’ve already spent hundreds of flight hours low-level over southwestern desert. The only highlight I can think of was near Beatty, NV, when I drifted off course and Janet caught sight of the old ghost town of Rhyolite. I’d been there on the ground twice and this time I dropped down to fly over it so Janet could have a look. Then we climbed out of the dead end valley, over some hills, and into the area known as the Sarcobatus Flat, just west of route 95.

The terrain was typical desert with a mixture of rocky outcroppings, eroded hillsides, dry lake beds, and sand dunes. There were few roads and even fewer paved roads. We caught sight of another Solar Farm off in the distance to the east. We skirted around mountains rather than going over the tops of them. My GPS showed a tailwind that ranged from 5 to 20 knots. There was no turbulence.

It wasn’t long before we were descending over the hills and old munitions storage areas to the town of Hawthorne, with Walker Lake beyond it. Although I’d driven through Hawthorne at least twice — most recently in late 2016 — I’d never flown in and had trouble finding the airport. But then I saw it and with almost no wind came in for landing on the ramp near the very large and impressive fuel island. Betty, who had heard my radio calls, was waiting in a golf cart to greet us. It was about 11:30 AM.

If you’ve never stopped at Hawthorne, it’s worth it just to meet Betty. I don’t know how old she is, but she’s probably got at least 15 years on me. She’s tiny and she knows everything about the airport and most of the aircraft that come and go. My friend Jim, who used to fly for Continental (and then United) met her on a cross-country trip in a general aviation aircraft with a friend and became friends with her. He used to talk to her from 30,000 feet when he overflew the area in a jet. (Ever wonder how pilots kill time in the cockpit on those commercial flights?) She’s not an airport employee — she’s a volunteer — but she’s worth her weight in gold and is more enthusiastic and helpful than just about any airport employee I’ve ever met.

After helping me figure out the quirks in the fuel system and chatting with us as I fueled, she drove us over to the FBO building and handed over the keys to the courtesy car. We drove over to McDonalds to grab a quick lunch from the drive up window and brought it back to the airport to eat. Betty kept us company, telling us about her new Doberman puppy. Then, after an hour had gone by, I reminded everyone that we had more distance to cover before nightfall.

Betty drove us back to the helicopter. I checked the oil and it looked the same. We loaded up and took off. Betty took pictures of our departure, which I fully expect to see in the newsletter she publishes every week.

N7534D at Hawthorne
Here’s N7534D, still not looking very blue, at Hawthorne. It was a gorgeous day there.

The next leg was from Hawthorne to someplace called Lakeview, on Goose Lake, just over the Oregon border on a heading of 326° for 231nm. We didn’t fly it exactly as planned. Instead, we went up the east side of Walker Lake and the west side of Pyramid Lake. (I really don’t like flying long distances over open water.) By the time we got near the Oregon border, we’d drifted so far west of our plotted course that we wound up west of Eagle Peak and the South Warner Wilderness area, which turned out to be a good thing.

Hawthorne to Lakeview
Here’s our plotted course from Hawthorne (HTH) to Lakeview (LKV). We wound up flying mostly a little west of this course.

Of all the legs of this journey, I think this was the most interesting — at least to me. I really enjoyed flying up the two lakeshores, especially up Pyramid Lake, which I’d never flown or driven by before. (My only Pyramid Lake experience was on my so-called “midlife crisis road trip” back in 2005, but I’d drive up the valley to the east of there, up the longest dry lake bed I’d ever driven along.) Looking down at the folks camping and fishing along the shore — especially near the town of Sutcliffe — I really wished I could just drive up with my truck camper and boat and join them.

After Pyramid Lake, the scenery got kind of dull and then interesting and then dull again. It’s the monotony of the desert terrain. Just when it starts to get boring, all of a sudden you notice a change and then it’s interesting again. In this area, it was most mostly weird colors and erosion patterns in the desert that caught our eyes.

And then, in the northeastern corner of California, just west of the South Warner Wilderness area, I caught sight of the first herd of wild horses. I pointed them out to Janet, who didn’t see them right away, and then lowered the collective, pulled back on the cyclic, and started a descending left turn to go back to them, putting them on Janet’s side. Thinking back on that moment now, the entire maneuver — which was far beyond the straight and level flying I’d mostly been doing all day — was done without a moment of thought. Heck, why not? How many times had I done the same thing in Zero-Mike-Lima? This helicopter responded exactly the same way and I didn’t give anything a second thought. I wanted to slow down, swing around, and descend for a closer look and my hands and feet did what needed to be done to make that happen.

Janet saw the horses and then another bunch and another. Soon we realized that the entire desert was covered with small herds of horses. Janet figures at least 50 horses, but I think there had to be over a hundred in the multiple groups I spotted from the air. I got back on course, feeling happy about it. After all, who doesn’t like seeing wild horses in the middle of nowhere from the air?

We passed to the east of Alturas, CA, and flew up the east shore of Goose Lake. The wind had picked up a bit but it was still a tailwind. We were making good time. I approached the airport, making all my radio calls, and came in from the west, landing into the wind in front of the fuel island.

The place was nearly deserted. There was a big hangar with its door open and a guy working inside on the shell of an old Huey helicopter. A partially disassembled R44 was parked beside it. Later, when I went in for a chat, I’d see that the R44 had bright red leather seats in perfect condition.

I fueled while Janet and Penny stretched their legs. Janet had been having some back pain and really needed to move around. I added that second quart of oil. I went to chat with the guy in the hangar — I really can’t remember why. I might have been looking for Penny. Then, with nothing much else to do, we loaded up and headed out.

The next leg was also short and it was supposed to be the last for the day: Lakeview to Madras, OR. I had already called ahead and discovered they had a courtesy car we could use overnight. I figured we’d fuel up, park, and drive into town for dinner and a motel room.

But it was still early in the day and sunset at home wasn’t expected until 7:50 PM. I wasn’t sure how long the leg from Madras to Malaga was, but it couldn’t be longer than 2 hours. If we got to Madras before 5 PM and I still felt fresh enough to fly, maybe we’d continue the trip and get home the same day we left. Was that even possible?

We still had to get to Madras, though. That was just 154nm away heading 337°. I took off into the wind and got right on course.

Lakeview to Madras
Our plotted course from Lakeview (LKV) to Madras (S33), OR. We pretty much followed this route exactly.

More boring desert mountains and valleys. Honestly, I was really done with it. It was only the lava fields that perked us up. They started when we were abeam the half-full Summer Lake and reappeared sporadically all the way to Redmond.

By the time we got near Redmond, we were back in civilization. We flew over a bunch of really nice homes along the river just east of Redmond that looked impractically large for anyone with fewer than a dozen kids but also beautiful. I talked to Redmond tower to tell them I wanted to transition along the east side of their airspace to Madras and got permission to do so. The only other pilots flying were flight school students with heavy Asian accents.

By this time, I was back over familiar ground. I’d flown Zero-Mike-Lima between the Wenatchee area and Bend, just south of Redmond, at least a dozen times. Although I had never landed at Redmond or Madras, I’d visited both on my midlife crisis road trip. (I really need to repost all the blog posts I wrote way back then and explain again why I made that trip.) Even though I was still quite a distance from home, I felt like I was close.

We touched down at Madras at about 4:30 PM.

Other than a backache from sitting in the same position for so long, I felt fine. I fueled up and worked Foreflight to plan the last leg of the trip. It told me the total flight time would be about 90 minutes. Shit. That was a no-brainer. I could certainly do another hour and a half of flying. We’d get home long before sunset, save the cost of a night in a motel, and be able to have a nice relaxing dinner at home. Best of all, I’d be able to sleep in my own bed and we could get an early start at fun things the next morning.

Janet agreed. Seriously, I think Janet is the best travel companion I’ve ever had. She’s realistic, adventurous, and has good ideas. And unlike one person I’ve traveled with extensively in the past — and he knows who he is — she doesn’t start an argument over every change of plans by saying, “But I thought we were going to….” [Insert eye roll emoji here.]

So after stopping in the very nice FBO to tell the woman there that I wouldn’t need the courtesy car after all, we climbed back on board and headed the rest of the way home. That meant steering 359° and flying just 166nm.

Madras to Home
He’s the last leg of our trip, plotted on Foreflight.

This was mostly very familiar terrain. Although I’d flown this way before, I’d never started from Madras, so my flight path was a little farther west than it normally would be. We got great views of the Deshutes River that I normally don’t get. We still passed right over the top of Biggs, OR before crossing the Columbia River. That’s when Janet got her first glimpse of our extensive wind farms; there are literally hundreds of wind turbines between northern Oregon and the Wenatchee area.

I think it was on this leg that we started talking about a name for the helicopter. Janet names all her vehicles; I seldom name mine. But although Three-Four-Delta is pretty easy coming off the tongue, it just doesn’t seem quite right. We talked about naming it Blue or Blew or Bleu. Or one of those with “Mr.” in front of it. That got me thinking of the old ELO song, Mr. Blue Sky. Now that might seem like a deep cut to you, but I was an ELO fan and really loved this song — back in the 1980s. The chorus seems right:

Hey there mister blue
We’re so pleased to be with you
Look around see what you do
Everybody smiles at you

(Weren’t the 1980s grand in a funny sort of way? We were so innocent back then.)

Anyway, that’s what I was thinking of. I don’t think I mentioned it to Janet. I didn’t think she’d know the song. As I write this, I think Mr. Bleu might be a good name. Not Mr. Blue because the damn thing doesn’t look blue in most of the photos I take.

Meanwhile, the weather was deteriorating. The sun had been behind clouds for much of the previous leg of the trip and came out for a short time in northern Oregon. Then it slipped behind the clouds again. We caught a few glimpses of the top of Mount Hood but didn’t see any sign of Mount Adams or Mount Rainier, both of which would be in-your-face visible on a clear day. The only wind was a tailwind and there was no turbulence. But the farther north we got, the closer the clouds were to the ground. There was mountain obscuration west of Goldendale (hiding Mount Adams) and I started wondering whether we’d have to make any detours on our planned route.

Meanwhile, we saw wild horses on the Yakama Indian Reservation, which is no surprise to me. I always see wild horses there. There are actually stretches where you can see them from the road (route 97) when you’re driving though.

South of Yakima, I called the tower and told them I wanted to transition on the east side of their space. The controller cleared me and I continued north. I showed Janet where a big pieces of a mountainside has been sliding and will likely come down within the next few years, blocking the freeway and possibly the Yakima River there. (It’s been on the news.) The drop was pretty easy to see from the air.

Then we were flying up the Yakima River toward Ellensburg. When we flew over the last mountain ridge before the valley at Ellensburg, I could see the back side of Mission Ridge. The clouds were touching the ground there. I’d be crossing the ridge not far from there, but so far, it looked clear enough to keep going. So I did.

We climbed with the terrain, always staying east of where the clouds were touching the ground. I had hoped to come over Jumpoff Ridge just behind my home, but miscalculated and came over west of there, not far from Stemilt Hill. So I descended as I steered northeast, flying past my neighbors homes on the west end of the road to announce my arrival. The few that heard me told me later that they were happy to see me back with a replacement helicopter. (There are only a few Seattle-spoiled NIMBY assholes here who give me grief.) I showed Janet my home from the air and then came in for a landing at a neighbor’s home nearby. We’d already established a landing zone for me so I came right in and set down where I was supposed to.

Mr Bleu
Mr. Bleu in its temporary parking space. I shot this the other day when I went back to put in its cockpit cover.

It was 6:30 PM.

We’d been traveling for just under 11-1/2 hours and, if you figure the time spent on fuel stops, the total flight time was about 9-1/2 hours. I was tired, but not exhausted. It was glad to be home, glad not to have to deal with finding a decent hotel room at a decent price at a place that wouldn’t give me grief about staying with a dog. And I was especially glad to not have to fly again in the morning. I had had enough.

We unloaded the helicopter and loaded up my truck. I used the tailgate to put on the blade tie-downs. I locked the doors. I’d put the cockpit cover on another day.

Ten minutes later, we were home and I was opening a bottle of sparkling wine to celebrate the new arrival of Zero-Mike-Lima’s replacement.

Planning the Long Flight Home

I begin flight planning for the trip from Phoenix, AZ to Malaga, WA with my new helicopter.

I haven’t been blogging much about flying lately, but that’s because I haven’t been doing any lately. It took me about a month to find a good replacement for my old helicopter and, truth be told, I haven’t even gone to see it in person so I don’t have any good stories or photos to share. I’m thinking of discussing the purchase in a separate blog post and if life doesn’t stop hurling distractions at me, I might just get that done. But it’ll be a complete piece — from the start of the search to the pickup of the replacement helicopter — and since that process isn’t complete yet, I can’t very well write about it.

So instead I’ll give you an idea of what’s going through my mind this weekend and week as I plan to fly the replacement helicopter home from the Phoenix area.

Planning a Flight in the American West

The one thing that city folks — and people from areas areas that are normally or densely populated — don’t get is that out west there can be very long distances between points. And since there aren’t as many people here outside the big cities, there can be a whole lot of nothing on a long cross-country flight. Or even on a relatively short one. Heck, when I was first building time in my R22, I once flew solo in a straight line 85 miles east to west just north of the Grand Canyon’s airspace and didn’t cross over a single paved road for the entire distance. Can you do that in New York?

I used to fly between Arizona and Central Washington twice a year. From 2008 to 2013, I lived in Wickenburg, Arizona and spent 7 to 16 weeks every summer in the Wenatchee area of Washington for cherry drying. In May, I’d pack up the helicopter and fly north and in July or August, I’d pack it up again and fly south. I often had a pilot interested in building time in an R44 at the stick to help cover flying costs; once (I think) it was my future wasband, who got the flight time for free on a flight that included a good part of the Oregon coast.

There are basically four good routes — five if you count the California/Oregon coastal route — to get from the Phoenix area of Arizona to Central Washington State. Those routes are determined primarily by terrain, fuel availability, and airspace restrictions.

The Shortest Route

By far, the shortest route is through the middle of Nevada. Going north from Wickenburg (E25), it’s Mesquite, NV (67L), Elko, NV (EKO), Burns, OR (BNO), to Wenatchee, WA (EAT). Note that those legs are pretty long — 2-1/2 or more hours each. But it’s only 891 miles total and I’ve done the whole flight in a single day twice with another pilot on board.

The Shortest Route
Here’s Foreflight with the shortest route plotted in. I added a waypoint to route me around the Grand Canyon’s airspace, which I can’t fly through. There’s a whole lot of nothing on this route.

Pros:

  • Short route; it can be done in less than 10 hours without headwinds.
  • The shortest route is also the cheapest route.
  • Only three fuel stops also speeds up the trip; stopping for fuel takes at least 30 minutes.
  • Between Elko and Burns, there are many herds of wild horses.

Cons:

  • Not many options for fuel if headwinds slow you down. Rerouting along the way could make the trip a lot longer.
  • Flight crosses miles of empty desert with absolutely no sign of civilization. For example, there’s a stretch between Elko and Burns where there are no roads, buildings, or even fence lines for more than 90 minutes of flight time. So if you need to land because of a problem, you’re pretty much screwed.

The Salt Lake City Route

Salt Lake
My GoPro nosecam captured this amazing image of Salt Lake on my last flight southbound through the area in October 2016.

When I flew the late, great Zero-Mike-Lima south to get its overhaul back in 2016, I took what I call the Salt Lake City route. This route follows roads pretty much all the way. Zero-Mike-Lima’s engine was nearly 12 years old and an oil change had uncovered more than the normal amount of metal fragments in the filter. If the engine was going to give me trouble, I wanted to be able to land somewhere close to where I could get help and that meant near a road. An example of this route goes from Wickenburg (E25) to Page, AZ (PGA), Salt Lake City (Skypark), UT (BTF), Burley, ID (BUR), Pendleton, OR (PDT), and Wenatchee (EAT). This comes out to a minimum of 985 miles.

The Salt Lake City Route
This is what I call the Salt Lake City Route, IFR edition. I’ve added waypoints beyond the fuel stops listed here, to guide me around the Grand Canyon’s airspace and keep me over roads for most of the way.

Pros:

  • I can be an IFR (I Follow Roads) pilot. There are very few stretches along this route that can be considered remote.
  • There are corner-cutting opportunities to save time and fuel. For example, if I don’t mind flying over Salt Lake, I can go direct from Salt Lake City to Burley. (I really don’t like flying over water so I’ve only done that once.)
  • There are many potential fuel stops along the way. And many options for short detours to get to them.
  • The first 2 hours of this flight takes me over my old stomping grounds in northeastern Arizona, including the Navajo Reservation and Lake Powell.
  • My friend Megg lives in Salt Lake City and has, more than once, provided overnight accommodations.

Cons:

  • It’s not the shortest route. I don’t think it can be done safely by one pilot in a day.
  • It crosses over a lot of high elevation terrain. In April, that means there’s a real possibility of snow or icing conditions that I can’t fly in. Getting grounded because of weather wastes time and gets expensive.

The Western Nevada Route

Another way to go that successfully avoids the restricted airspace in Nevada is up the east side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and up into Oregon. In looking at this route, I realized that I’d never done the whole thing. Once I traced the Tonopah (southeast of Hawthorne) to Wickenburg part of this route with my wasband on board when we had to abandon the coastal route, stopped for the night at a friend’s house in Georgetown, CA, and came over Echo Pass near Lake Tahoe. We might have cut through Death Valley along the way. The route I’m looking at now is at least 942 miles: Wickenburg (E25), Jean, NV (0L7), Hawthorne, NV (HTH), Lakeview, OR (LKV), Yakima, WA (YKM), and Wenatchee (EAT).

Western Nevada Route
The western Nevada route is one I’ve never done before, but it looks like it might work out.

Pros:

  • Relatively short route.
  • Not completely familiar so I’d get to see new sights.
  • A stop at Hawthorne would mean getting to see Betty, the unofficial airport greeter there.

Cons:

  • Not completely familiar so I’d have to be even more prepared for the unexpected than usual.
  • Fuel stops are limited so monitoring fuel consumption and planning well in advance is vital, especially with headwinds.
  • There’s some remote terrain. Help might not be close in the event of a problem.
  • There’s some high elevation terrain. Winter weather could be an issue in April.
  • With restricted airspace and high mountains on either side of the Nevada portion of the route, there aren’t many opportunities to divert for fuel or overnight accommodations.
  • The Central California Route

    The longest two routes take me through California. The shorter version goes up the Central Valley of California. I basically head west through the Arizona and California deserts, then pop over the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains at Tehachapi and fly up the Central Valley. Then I continue North through Oregon on the East side of the Cascade Mountains. A flight plan might be Wickenburg (E25), Apple Valley, CA (APV), Porterville, CA (PTV), Woodland, CA (O41), Redding, CA (RDD), The Dalles, WA (DLS), and Wenatchee (EAT). That’s a minimum of 1100 miles.

    Central California Route
    The Central California route is long but very familiar. The stops shown here are just an example; there are plenty of options for fuel and overnight stay in the Central Valley.

    Pros:

    • I know this route really well. I can’t tell you (without looking in my log book) how many times I’ve flown either the entire thing or parts of it.
    • There are lots of places in California’s Central Valley for fuel and overnight stops.
    • More than half the route is through heavily populated areas. Plenty of places to get help if needed.
    • There is very little high terrain so winter weather is not likely to be an issue.
    • Weather is nearly always perfect — although it could be windy — in the desert areas.
    • I can stop along the way to pick up the cockpit cover for my old helicopter, which is somewhere in the Sacramento area of California.

    Cons:

    • The route is long. Enough said.
    • There’s a chance that you won’t be able to cross into the Central Valley at Tehachapi because of low clouds on the Central Valley side. The wind seems to funnel the weather south and when the clouds hit the mountains there, they just stop and accumulate. I’ve had this happen to me twice. The options are to wait it out or detour farther west to Grapevine.
    • Just under half the route is through sparsely populated areas.
    • There are limited fuel stops in the desert areas and in Oregon.
    • Did I mention that the route was long?

    The Coastal Route

    Bonneville Dam
    When I fly back from the coast, I usually fly along the Columbia River. Here’s a nosecam shot of the Bonneville Dam. I can’t get my hands on any of my coast photos right now.

    If you’ve never flown in a small aircraft, low and slow up the coast of California and Oregon, you have no idea what you’re missing. When the weather is good, the flight is absolutely amazing. I’m talking about tiny seaside communities, waterfalls plunging off cliffs into the Pacific Ocean, and odd rock formations just off the coast with waves crashing picturesquely against them. If time and money is no object, this is the way to go. A typical route might be Wickenburg (E25), Apple Valley, CA (APV), San Luis Obispo (SBP), Half Moon Bay, CA (HAF), Eureka, CA (EKA), North Bend, OR (OTH), Tillamook, OR (TMK), The Dalles, WA (DLS), and Wenatchee (EAT). Those aren’t all fuel stops; they’re just points along the way where fuel is available. This flight is over 1300 miles long if you follow the coast as closely as possible. It’s a lot longer if you join the coast at a point south of San Luis Obispo — for example, Santa Barbara (SBA) or Long Beach (LGB).

    The Coastal Route
    Got money to spend and time to kill and you don’t mind gambling with Mother Nature? Then do the coastal route. The extra waypoints I plotted in here are just to keep you on the coast as much as possible. You’d have to calculate and pick your fuel stops.

    Pros:

    • The scenery! There’s none better.
    • Lots of fuel stops — if you plan properly.
    • Did I mention the amazing scenery?

    Cons:

    • Weather. The chances of being able to stay on the coast for the entire distance from San Luis Obispo to Tillamook are about as close to zero as you can get without hitting zero. The marine layer is real and it will definitely force you inland for at least part of this route. That means you need to have an infinite number of Plan Bs. And there’s nothing worse than flying out of your way to get to the coast and then having to backtrack because it’s socked in with fog.
    • Possibly flying over water. I hate flying over water.
    • Some of the coastal areas are quite remote. So even if you’re flying over land, if you have a problem and need to land you might not be anywhere near help.
    • You can’t stick to the coast in certain wildlife refuge areas unless you want to climb to 2000 feet. I get nosebleeds up there.
    • The airspace gets a little crazy around San Francisco, especially if you have to come inland.
    • And seriously: 1300 miles for a trip you can do in less than 1000 miles on at least two other routes? A bit extravagant, no?

    Picking a Route

    Those are pretty much the options I’m looking at. I was leaning toward the Central California route until I started looking at the Western Nevada route in more detail. It definitely has possibilities and I shouldn’t write it off just because I haven’t done it before. If it saves me 2 hours of flight time, that’s hundreds of dollars in ferry flight costs. While I don’t think I can do it in a day, it’s definitely feasible.

    In the end, there are just two things that will help me make the decision: the weather forecast and whether I can stop in California to fetch that cockpit cover. And although my flight is scheduled to begin on Friday, April 13 — yeah, I know — it’s still to early to get a reliable forecast. I’ll likely decide by Wednesday or Thursday — and be prepared to change my mind.

    That’s how flight planning goes.

    Helicopter Flight from Washington to Arizona, Day 2: Desert Heat and Familiar Terrain

    Descending into the desert’s warmth and well-known flight routes.

    I woke at around 5 AM. Actually, Penny woke me up that early. She left the bed and for a while I just lay there, half asleep, wondering where she’d gotten to in the vast attic guest room. Then I remembered that I hadn’t closed the door and realized that she might have gone downstairs. I jumped out of bed and headed down to find her.

    She was in the kitchen at the back door with the other three dogs. I opened the door to let them all out. The morning was cool and the sky was clear with the waning gibbous moon hanging high in the western sky. The autumn leaves rustled in the gentle breeze. I waited patiently, then got the dogs back in, one at a time, and closed the door.

    Megg was awake, getting ready for work. We talked quietly in the kitchen for a few minutes before she headed off to the shower and I headed back upstairs.

    A while later, Megg was upstairs to say goodbye. I wasn’t sure how long we’d stay — it depended on when Jeremy could be ready — and she knew she wouldn’t be home until at least 10 AM. I hoped to be in the air by then. So we said goodbye, possibly until July, and she headed off to work.

    Meanwhile Jeremy was still asleep and I wanted coffee. Megg had told me about a place walking distance from her home, Alchemy Coffee. I checked it out on Google Maps and saw that it was only 0.6 miles away and opened at 6:30 AM. I got dressed, grabbed my coat and Penny’s leash, and headed out for a walk — or more like a mission — in the predawn light.

    Salt Lake City Capitol Building
    I got a neat view of the Capitol building as I walked back to Megg’s house. There was something kind of surreal about the way the first light illuminated the flag outside.

    Megg lives in Salt Lake City proper, not far from Capitol Hill. If you think it would be very urban, you’d be wrong. It’s a really nice residential neighborhood with lots of houses of various styles and ages. Sidewalks on both sides of the street keep you off the road as you wander past front yards, often under overhanging trees. It wasn’t a long walk at all, but there was one steep hill, about two blocks long, just as Megg had warned me. I passed within two blocks of the Capitol building and arrived at Alchemy right around 7 AM.

    I had my latte and an almond danish while sitting at an outside table with Penny. By that time, it was fully light, although the sun hadn’t cleared the mountains to the east yet. The coffee shop did a brisk business, with about half of its patrons parking briefly at the curb while they ran in for their coffee.

    I caught up on Twitter and Facebook activity while I slowly drained my cup. I also checked in for my flight out of Phoenix the next day, very pleased that I’d gotten a First Class upgrade again. I switched my seat from an aisle to a window seat using the Alaska Airlines app. (Does anyone other than me remember the red paper tickets we used to have and waiting on line to change a seat?)

    I texted Jeremy to let him know that I wanted to head out by 9 AM. He agreed that an early start would be best. Then I headed back on a slightly different route, really enjoying the variety of architecture along the way.

    Back at the house, I let the dogs out again as Megg had asked me to. Her son was still asleep and I tried not to bother him. Jeremy was packing up. When he was ready to go — I’d already packed up before leaving for coffee — I used my phone to call an Uber. A car was at the curb less than 5 minutes later.

    We talked Uber along the way. I’d recently become an Uber driver but didn’t drive much, mostly because demand was so low in Wenatchee that it was a waste of time to hang out in town waiting for a call. I learned a few things from the driver’s point of view. Unfortunately, he had trouble finding Skypark and I had to direct him the last mile or so. The fare was only around $12, which I thought was good for a 7-mile drive.

    Leg 4: Salt Lake City to Bryce Canyon

    After preflighting and adding a quart of oil — I added either a quart or half quart at every fuel stop — we loaded up the helicopter, climbed on board, and started up. It was probably about 9:15 when we got airborne.

    TAC for Salt Lake
    This closeup of the Salt Lake TAC shows how close Skypark is to Salt Lake City’s surface airspace.

    The first challenge was crossing through the surface area of Salt Lake City’s Class Bravo airport along the I-15 freeway. I had to get clearance and I wasn’t able to make contract until I was airborne. Because Skylark is right next to Salt Lake City’s surface airspace, I had to head due east to make contact and get clearance. I called on the wrong frequency (of course) and had to switch to another one, which I managed to screw up once. So I was orbiting a bit out there until we got it sorted out and I got the clearance I needed. Then it was an easy flight south.

    The only thing I regret is not turning on the GoPro. Although I had remembered to turn on the wifi and camera, I’d forgotten to turn the camera on. It’s a real shame because I think I could have gotten a few nice shots as we flew past downtown Salt Lake City.

    The last tower I had to talk to — at least for a while — was Provo. Again, I asked for and got clearance to follow I-15 south. Using a landmark like a freeway makes it very easy to tell a tower what you want and make sure you both know exactly where you’re supposed to be.

    Leg Four
    The fourth leg of our trip, recorded by ForeFlight.

    Past Provo and abeam Spanish Fork, I veered to the east a bit to enter the valley that would take me along route 89 to Bryce Canyon. That put us in a series of long, relatively narrow valleys between mountain ranges that rose up to 9,000+ feet on the west and 11,000+ feet on the east. There were a few towns along the way and lots of farmland. Very rural, almost remote. And then another narrower, more remote valley with 11,000+ foot mountains on either side. It was 213 nautical miles from Skypark to Bryce Canyon and it took us nearly 2-1/2 hours to cover that distance. I’d been hoping to refuel at Page, AZ, but it didn’t look like we’d make it so we stopped at Bryce.

    Bryce Hangar
    The old log hangar at Bryce Canyon Airport.

    The last time I’d been to Bryce Canyon Airport had been way back in January 2013 on a photo flight with a good client. He’d been assigned by Airpano to get pictures of Bryce Canyon in winter for their panoramic image project. We flew up from Phoenix and wound up getting snowed in for two nights before we could do the shoot. You can read a bit about it here. On that last visit, the airport guy had been extraordinarily helpful with weather-related problems — so helpful that my client and I had each tipped him $100. I still have the t-shirt he gave me when I wanted to buy one; I call it my “hundred dollar t-shirt.” I was looking forward to seeing him, just to see if he remembered me. But he wasn’t there. It was a different guy who was older and not quite as friendly. I think he was put off by Penny, who first came into his office off-leash. Oops.

    Anyway, he fueled us up while we used the bathroom. I was out on the ramp again chatting with him when the local sheriff’s office guy came up, in uniform. I wondered if we’d done something wrong but couldn’t imagine what it might be. But he was just there to chat with his airport buddy, to kill time on a nice day.

    And it was a nice day — unseasonably warm for October, especially at Bryce’s 7590-foot elevation. The kind of day you’d want to sit out in the sun on one of the chairs they had on the FBO porch. In the 50s, at least. I didn’t even need my jacket.

    Leg 5: Bryce Canyon to Sedona

    Of course, Bryce Canyon Airport is only a few miles from Bryce Canyon National Park, so there’s no chance we’d leave there without a nice little flyby. I felt bad for Jeremy, who’d really hoped to visit friends and his daughter on the way south. I thought of Bryce Canyon, which he’d never been to, as a sort of consolation prize.

    Bryce Canyon is really a misnomer; it’s not a canyon at all. It’s basically a cliff face where Mother Nature has eroded rocks with wind and rain, exposing the red sandstone layers and carving out towers called hoodoos. These are visible from various lookout points along a rim road on the top of the cliff as well as from the air to the southeast of the park itself. At least one tour operator does helicopter tours there. Although the airspace is clearly marked for the National Park, I know the rules: pilots are requested to avoid flight within 2,000 feet of the ground or cliffs (or hoodoos) within that area. That doesn’t mean flight is forbidden. So a quick flyby wouldn’t break any rules and likely wouldn’t bother many tourists. After all, there’s a tour operator likely flying by multiple times in a day for a lot longer and a lot closer.

    And I did keep it quick. I made a big loop out toward Tropic and then came in closer with Jeremy’s side facing the park. He shot a bunch of photos. The nosecam didn’t really get any good shots, but one was sharable. Then we continued on our way.

    Bryce
    Keep in mind that I was turning when the nosecam captured this image of Bryce Canyon.

    It was around then that I first caught sight of Navajo Mountain. This is a huge landmark for me. It means coming home, returning to a place that I know very well: Lake Powell. I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve spent over the lake with photographers on board. Easily over 200. I missed it and I wanted to fly it again, but I wasn’t interested in flying over it with a nearly timed-out engine that was making metal shavings. I’ve tentatively planned a photo shoot there in April 2017, before I bring the helicopter back to Washington from its California frost contract. If you’re interested, you might want to check this out. And tell your friends.

    West of Page
    Typical terrain west of Page, AZ. If you look closely at the horizon, you should be able to see Navajo Mountain off it in the distance.

    We took an almost direct route to Page, AZ from there, taking a slight detour to visit the Wahweap Hoodoos. Then we flew past the Glen Canyon Dam, over Horseshoe Bend, and down toward Lees Ferry. I skirted the edge of the Grand Canyon Airspace, flying over the Navajo Reservation, seeing wild horses and the remains of old hogans. All of this was familiar to me but new to Jeremy. For some reason, the helicopter felt lighter, happier, faster. Probably my imagination, but maybe it knew it was returning to familiar terrain?

    Horseshoe Bend
    Horseshoe bend from about 700 feet up. Not nearly as impressive as it is from much higher looking almost straight down.

    Vermillion Cliffs
    Lees Ferry with the Vermillion Cliffs behind them.

    Marble Canyon
    Marble Canyon looks like a giant crack in the earth as it winds across the plateau toward the Grand Canyon.

    We reached the Little Colorado River Gorge and I flew along the top of it, keeping the nosecam in mind for a different view. I think I could have gotten better shots from higher up, with the camera pointing more down. Next time?

    Little Colorado River Gorge
    The Little Colorado River Gorge, heading toward the Grand Canyon.

    Then we climbed up onto the Coconino Plateau and I steered almost due south toward Sedona. There’s a lot of nothing out there, but Jeremy managed to spot some wild horses where I’d never seen wild horses before.

    Closer to Flagstaff, the air was smoky. There were fires burning but because there were no TFRs in the area, I assumed they were controlled burns. We dropped down into Oak Creek Canyon just west of Flagstaff Airport’s airspace. It was a bit bumpy as we followed the canyon down. We were flying into the sun again, so the nosecam didn’t capture any good images. I can’t remember, but I’m pretty sure this was Jeremy’s first time in Sedona. I think he was impressed by the red rocks.

    Leg 5
    The fifth leg of our trip, as recorded by ForeFlight.

    We lined up to land along the taxiway. I was just looking for parking on the ramp when I remembered that they liked helicopters to park in the remote helicopter landing area far to the southwest corner of the field. I decided to try landing with the planes, which was much closer to the terminal and restaurant. I chose a spot in the last row, isolated from the parked planes, with my tail rotor out toward the taxiway so I didn’t have to worry about anyone walking behind me. In the old days, someone would get on the radio and tell me to move. But that day there was silence. There was someone mowing out by the helipads and I figured they either didn’t care or weren’t using them that day. So I shut down.

    Of course, the woman operating the mower came out to scold me when the blades had stopped. She claimed it was “safer” for me to park down in no man’s land. (Okay, not what she called the helipads.) Safer? I couldn’t see how, especially since it required us to walk along an active taxiway to get to the terminal. I feigned ignorance and said we’d be gone soon anyway. Knowing she couldn’t expect me to start it back up just to move it for an hour-long stay, she left us, looking frustrated and annoyed.

    Parking at Sedona
    I don’t see what’s so unsafe about this parking spot.

    I ordered fuel and we chatted with the pilot of a Cessna on floats that was on a cross-country from Minnesota (if I remember correctly) to California. Seaplanes are pretty rare in Arizona (although the state does have more boats per capita than any other state in the country).

    We went to the restaurant and got a table outside so Penny could sit with us. Our waiter, whose name was Ferrari, was very pleasant but not a very good waiter. It took forever for him to bring our drinks. (Penny actually got water before we did.) We were all famished so I ordered an appetizer to share. We both ordered salads. The food, when it came, was good and really hit the spot. I shared some of the chicken from my salad with Penny. I also had one of their mango cake desserts, which was just as delicious as I remembered it being. Jeremy picked up the extremely large tab, I paid for gas, and we headed back out to the helicopter.

    Leg 6: Sedona to Phoenix

    By this time, my dinner date in Wickenburg had been cancelled and I’d made arrangements to meet my friend Mike at his airpark home near Phoenix instead. He had to go to work so time was limited. Still, I couldn’t resist detouring through Wickenburg. Since my old house was sold in 2015, I’d become friends with the new owners. They’d made some improvements to the house since moving in and although I’d seen a few pictures, I hadn’t actually seen the house itself since I left it in May 2013. I thought it might be nice to do a flyby. Maybe Jeremy could get some nice aerial photos that I could pass along to the new owners.

    So we left Sedona flying northwest, along the red rock cliffs. Although the light wasn’t quite right for photos, I did manage to get a few good images.

    Sedona from Airport Mesa
    Here’s a look at Sedona right after departing northwest bound from the airport, which sits atop a Mesa.

    Sedona's Red Rock
    The red rocks of Sedona, west of town.

    After crossing Sycamore Canyon, I headed toward Prescott on a path that took us within sight of Jerome. From there, we transitioned the southeast side of Prescott’s airspace and followed the Hassayampa River all the way down to Route 93 in Wickenburg. I adjusted my course to intercept Cemetery Wash and followed that up past my old home. It looked great from the air — the new owners are really taking good care of it. I was amazed by the size of the Mexican fan palm in the side yard — I remember planting that tree when it was shorter than me and now it stands at least 30 feet tall. I circled the house and Jeremy shot photos. I still haven’t seen them, but I’m sure he got at least one good one to share.

    From there, we headed southwest toward Vulture Peak. I did a quick flyby, pointing out the trail that wound up to the saddle for Jeremy’s benefit. I looked forward to hiking the peak in a few months when I was back in town with friends.

    Then I headed southeast toward Hangars Haciendas, the airpark where my friends Mike and Cheryl live. I worked the GPS and radio. I had to connect with Luke Approach to enter and transition the jet training area northwest of Glendale. That was the biggest challenge since I was flying only about 700 feet up — my usual cruise altitude — and had to call from so far out that they couldn’t pick up my transmission. That meant climbing. We finally connected and I got a squawk code and transition instructions. They asked for my destination and I told them Hangars Haciendas.

    “What airport is that near?” the controller responded.

    “It is an airport,” I replied. “A residential airpark southwest of Sky Harbor.”

    Leg 6
    The sixth leg of our trip, recorded by ForeFlight. This was the scenic, time-wasting portion of the flight.

    Clearly, he had no clue where I was going, but he understood that I had to go through Goodyear’s airspace so he handed me off to that controller when I got closer. That guy cleared me to transition eastbound along I-10. There was a tense moment when he pointed out an aircraft in downwind and I couldn’t see it. I offered to stay north of I-10 and he accepted that. Jeremy saw the plane before I did and it really was no factor. But I could tell by the controller’s voice that he was concerned. I’m sure he was glad to cut me loose.

    Of course, Hangars Haciendas does not appear on my Garmin GPS, although it is on ForeFlight. I used that to zero in on it. It was very difficult to find! I finally caught sight of it and eventually saw Mike, in his uniform, waving us in to his concrete hangar apron. I landed in the corner and immediately popped my door open. It was hot!

    Mike Waves Me In
    The nosecam caught this photo of my friend Mike waving me into parking on his hangar apron.

    I cooled down the helicopter while Penny and Jeremy got out. It’s kind of funny when you think about it — the next stop would be the engine’s last stop before overhaul. Why bother doing a proper shutdown? Well, why not? Surely I could spare the extra two to three minutes to take care of an engine that had been so good to me for so long.

    Parked at Mike's House
    Zero-Mike-Lima parked in front of my friend Mike’s hangar.

    Mike only had about 20 minutes to spare for us. He’d been on standby and had actually been called in to work. He needed to leave before 5 PM. So he wasted no time showing off his new plane and helicopter, both of which were tucked into his hangar. I also got a chance to see his home, which was still in its final construction phase the last time I’d been there. I didn’t get a chance to see his wife Cheryl because she was basking in the sun in Hawai’i that week. She’d be home later in the week, just before he left for China.

    We parted ways a short while later. Mike drove off to the airport while Jeremy, Penny, and I went back to the helicopter for the last leg of our journey.

    The Last Leg: Phoenix to Chandler

    I have to say that the last leg was kind of bittersweet for me. Not only would it be the last time I flew until January or February, but it also marked the end of my helicopter’s first life. Its tired airframe, engine, rotor blades, and other components would be stripped down, rebuilt, and replaced. When I got it back, it would be the same helicopter, yet different.

    We took off heading almost due east along the north side of South Mountain. Jeremy spotted another helicopter at our altitude nearby — he’s actually a pretty good flying companion — and I tuned into the Phoenix Air-to-Air frequency (123.025), which I hadn’t used in three years, to make a call. The pilot of the other helicopter, with a Firebird call sign — I’m thinking either DPS or Phoenix Police — responded immediately. They were doing some training work, hovering over a South Phoenix neighborhood. We exchanged pleasantries and I continued on my way.

    South Mountain
    Flying eastbound along the north side of South Mountain near Phoenix. I don’t miss Phoenix’s smog layer at all. That day was actually clearer that most.

    After I crossed I-10 and made my first radio call to Chandler tower, I turned on the cockpit GoPro, which had been set up for the entire flight but never turned on. I figured I’d document this last leg of the flight. I started off chatty enough, but soon lapsed into silence. I guess I didn’t have much to say. You can see for yourself in the video below. It’s a shame that the setting sun over my right shoulder puts so much glare into the cockpit.


    For some reason, I thought it was a good idea to document the last leg of our flight with a video.

    Last Leg
    The last leg of our flight was very short. See it on ForeFlight.

    It was a very short flight — less than 15 minutes from takeoff to landing. Again, cooled down the engine before shutting down. I patted the controls and talked to the helicopter. (Yeah, I do talk to my machines, even though none of them have names or genders.) When the blades had stopped, I got out with Penny and went to find the Director of Maintenance, Paul.

    Post Flight

    Into the HangarPaul wheeled the helicopter into the hangar where the overhaul work would be done.

    The next hour or so was spent helping Paul bring the helicopter into Quantum’s big hangar, talking to him about the little problems it had that needed attention, and discussing core and replacement options. Together, Jeremy and I unpacked the helicopter, separating everything in it into three piles: his luggage, my luggage, and the stuff that would stay with the helicopter in the wheeled box I’d brought along. I was glad that my day pack had been lightly packed for the trip because I did have to take a few things home with me — my GoPros, Penny’s bed, and my Square card reader equipment. Finally, everything was organized and packed for taking or leaving. The sun was down and we were ready to leave.

    I didn’t take one last photo. After all, I’ll see Zero-Mike-Lima again in December. I know they’ll have started work by then and it’ll be partially stripped. That’s okay. I’d rather remember it from the last few photos I took during that final flight. I left it parked between two other R44s, knowing that it was in good hands.

    The folks at Quantum gave us a lift to the hotel I’d reserved off I-10. The driver was studying to be a helicopter mechanic and working toward his private pilot license. He refused to take the tip I offered when he dropped us off.

    We checked in and got information about a restaurant with an outside patio that was within walking distance of the hotel. I was very pleasantly surprised by how comfortable and clean my room was. This was a Quality Inn — which allows dogs — and the room rate was only $65 with tax. I had very low expectations and was so glad they delivered a much nicer room than I expected.

    We walked to the restaurant, which turned out to be a very nice Italian place in a strip mall. We sat outside, where the evening air was comfortable and cool. I had two drinks to celebrate the end of the journey. We had a light dinner — mostly because we’d eaten so much at lunch — and walked back to the hotel.

    I slept like a log.

    Helicopter Flight from Washington to Arizona, Day 1: Over the Mountains, IFR

    A flexible flight plan, weather, and then smooth flying to someplace other than where I expected to be.

    It was overcast with a handful of low-level clouds as we headed southeast from Wenatchee Airport at about 11 AM on Monday morning. Not very promising weather for the first day of our trip south.

    Leg 1: Wenatchee to Baker City

    Leaving Wenatchee
    It looked pretty dreary when we left the airport heading southeast on Monday morning.

    We left the Columbia River for the first time at the Gorge Amphitheater south of Quincy, WA. (We’d cross the twisting river two more times before leaving the area.) The air was really smooth and I found it difficult to believe that such high winds lay ahead on our planned route. But instead of taking that route, I headed toward Hermiston, which was closer to Pendleton than our original route would have taken us. I could always steer west again if I wanted to get back on that route.

    The weather in Pendleton was moving northeast — per radar on my iPad — and it looked as if it might be gone by the time we got to Hermiston. I could check the weather at various points on my iPad as I flew and I did so, trying to decide what to do. But it wasn’t until we crossed over Benton City that I pretty much decided a more eastern route would be better; the winds at Benton City bounced us around in light turbulence that had Jeremy talking about the weather again. If a few bounces like that were bothering him, he’d either be sick or terrified when we hit the moderate turbulence forecast up ahead on our planned route. And although I was unlikely to be either, I still didn’t want a long day flying in turbulence. Been there, done that.

    Fortunately, the weather that had been in Pendleton had moved off. I plotted a course for the airport there. We could clearly see rain in various places around us, but there was no lightning and the air was smooth. I talked to the tower at Pendleton and was cleared to cross over the field. The runways looked soaking wet. But what pleased me to no end was that I could clearly see the tops of the Green Mountains to the east. We’d have no trouble climbing them to follow the I-84 corridor.

    Yes, IFR = I Follow Roads.

    First Leg
    Our first leg was from Wenatchee to Baker City. This is an actual track log from ForeFlight.

    The next hour or so was a mix of sun and clouds and even some light rain as I plotted the straightest route I could that kept us within sight of the freeway. I turned the helicopter’s nosecam on and off depending on how nice it looked outside. When we were flying into the sun, the pictures are generally crappy with bad exposures so I didn’t have the camera on much. I had a GoPro 3 Black up there that I could control from my phone. It was set up to record HD video with still images every 10 seconds. With a 64 GB mini SD card and USB power source, it would last the entire length of the trip. The aerial photos throughout this post are from that camera.

    Meanwhile, Jeremy was shooting pictures almost nonstop whenever there was something interesting to see. I felt kind of bad that he had to shoot through the plexiglas, which I knew could be very reflective. But taking a door off would be uncomfortable and slow us down. And because we had so much junk in the back, there was no place to store it on the flight anyway. The only good thing is that the occasional rain showers we passed through sometimes cleaned the bugs off the front windows.

    Skeleton Crew
    The folks at Baker Aircraft are serious about Halloween decorations. Photo by Jeremy.

    FBO at Baker City
    Yes, the fridge at the Baker City FBO is completely covered with airplane panels. How cool is that? I’ll let you fly in to discover what happens when you open the door.

    We stopped for fuel at Baker City, OR. (I always stop at Baker City, whether I’m driving or flying.) I parked to one side of the pumps and the fuel guy came out and fueled me up while Jeremy and I made a beeline for the bathrooms. I asked about the courtesy car and they handed over the keys. After paying for fuel, we drove into town for lunch. I always eat at Sumpter Junction, a great little restaurant with a huge model train that passes by the booths at one side of the restaurant and that day was no different. They have a great breakfast all day; I had chicken fried steak and eggs. Back at the FBO, I bought some snacks — Pepperidge Farm Milano Cookies and some almond chocolate biscotti — for the flight.

    Leg 2: Baker City to Burley

    Before leaving, I texted my friend and former editor Megg, who lives in Salt Lake City, telling her that we might be overnighting in the area and asking if she was available for dinner. I knew Bountiful Skypark from having landed there several years before, and figured we could grab an Uber to a hotel for the night. It’s always good to have a plan, even if the plan changes.

    Then it was back in the air, heading southeast through Oregon along the I-84 corridor again. More sun and clouds and light rain. Some snow around us (but not on us). Lots of green. Very few bumps. I was very happy I’d made the route change.

    In Oregon
    Along the I-84 corridor east of Baker City.

    In Oregon
    A bit further along the road. The weather was constantly changing but never became an issue for flight.

    Leg 2
    The second leg of our flight, as recorded by ForeFlight.

    After about an hour or so, we finally dropped out of the mountains into the flatlands around Boise. We were back in civilization again, with lots of airports to monitor and traffic to see and avoid. (I didn’t have the nosecam running because we were pointing into the sun and the images would have been awful anyway.) I steered us through the Caldwell and Nampa airspaces, making calls along the way, then steered us eastbound, south of the Boise Class B airspace, partly because it was the most direct route, even though it took us away from I-84, and partly because I just didn’t feel like talking to a controller. We monitored the frequency, though, and heard the planes coming and going.

    Then it was back out into the mostly flat lava fields east of Boise. The sky had cleared considerably and although there were still isolated rain showers in the area, it was very pretty and pleasant flying weather.

    Over Idaho
    We crossed over a few wind farms, including this one east of Boise. Jeremy got a great picture out the side window as we passed one of them. This is from the nosecam.

    We fueled in Burley, ID. It’s another airport I’d stopped at before. I think it was back in 2008 when I was flying from Wenatchee, WA to Page, AZ with my wasband and another pilot. We’d overnighted there in a hotel not far from the airport. This time, we just fueled up as quickly as possible.

    Leg 3: Burley to Salt Lake City

    Megg had texted back with an invitation for us to spend the night at her house. I was eager to see her new home and spend more time with her so after conferring with Jeremy, I texted back that we’d try to get there before sunset. We were airborne minutes later.

    East of Burley, ID
    The nosecam picked up this image as we climbed out of the airport at Burley, ID.

    By this time, it was nearly 5 PM local time and sunset at Salt Lake would be about 6:30. I did not want to fly in that area in the dark. So I put the pedal to the metal (so to speak) and cut some corners along the way to shave off a few minutes of flight time.

    The light was magnificent for photography so I turned on the nosecam and left it on for the remainder of the flight. I picked up more than a few nice images along the way. The air was still smooth and we had a bit of a tailwind that hurried us along. We broke from the freeway corridor when we entered the Salt Lake basin, mostly to shorten up the route and avoid other airports along the way. There was fresh snow on the mountains and parts of the lake that we flew over were smooth enough to reflect the sky.

    Heading toward Salt Lake
    Heading south along on I-84 toward Salt Lake City in late afternoon.

    North of Salt Lake
    Although I cut some corners to save time, I was never very far from the freeway.

    Salt Lake Basin
    Dropping into the northeast corner of the Salt Lake Basin.

    Reflections in Salt Lake
    This is my favorite photo of the trip. I am such a sucker for reflections and will actually plan a route over water if it looks like the nosecam might get a few good shots.

    I did have to talk to two towers along the way. The first was Ogden, which is north of Salt Lake City. To keep things simple, I asked for a transition along the I-15 freeway. The controller directed me to overfly one of the runways, basically cutting the corner and shortening up my flight path. He then handed me off to Hill Air Force Base tower, where I got clearance to continue my transition along I-15. Easy peasy.

    Leg 3
    Third leg of our trip, as recorded by ForeFlight.

    We made remarkable time to Skypark. I tuned into the frequency, heard another plane in the pattern, and kept clear until I could see him. Although I probably could have darted across the runway to land on the ramp before he turned final, doing so would have had me looking right into the sun, making it difficult to see where I was going. So I joined the pattern in the downwind and followed him in to land.

    Landing at Skypark
    We landed at Skypark about 20 minutes before sunset. Can you see the plane landing in front of us? He’s about halfway down the runway.

    I taxied over to self-serve fuel and topped off the tanks while Jeremy and Penny stretched their legs. I texted Megg to let her know we’d arrived; she said she’d be with us in 30 minutes. Then I fired up the helicopter and repositioned it over to an end parking space near the taxiway, leaving enough space between me and the next tied down aircraft to prevent complaints.

    At Salt Lake City

    Zero-Mike-Lima at Bountiful
    Zero-Mike-Lima, parked at Bountiful Skypark at sunset after a long day of flying.

    We unloaded the helicopter and I locked it up for the night, leaving the GoPro on the nose right where it was. We waited for Megg by the main terminal building. The light in the mountains to the east was spectacular.

    Megg came and we exchanged hugs. I introduced her to Jeremy. She tried to pet Penny, but Penny danced around as usual. We loaded our luggage into Megg’s car and headed off to pick up her son at Boy Scouts. I could not believe how much he’d grown! He was 13 now — hell, I remember when he was born! — as tall as me, and had ditched the glasses in favor of contact lenses. We all went out to dinner at Cafe Rio. Then it was back to Megg’s wonderful little house, which was originally built in the 1890s and fully modernized. While Jeremy worked with his photos on his laptop and Penny dodged and teased Megg’s three big dogs, Megg and I chatted about things going on with both of us. It was really great to see her and I urged her to stop by my place for a day or two on her way to the Seattle area for a visit with her dad in July.

    Then, with Megg needing a very early start in the morning for a meeting and me feeling pretty tired from a long day at the controls, we split up and hit the sack. I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillows.

    [read more]

    At AOPA’s Bremerton Fly In

    Why yes, a helicopter can camp with the airplanes at an AOPA event.

    With cherry season over, travel season has begun for me. I started with a week-long road trip with my truck and the Turtleback at the beginning of the month. At mid-month, I set off in my helicopter for a four-night adventure with my favorite co-pilot, Penny the Tiny Dog.

    About the Fly In

    I’ve been an AOPA (Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association) member for almost 20 years now — from the very start of my aviation training. Back then, I joined up primarily to get an AOPA credit card, which would give me a 5% rebate on all of my flight training. When you’re spending $200/hour for dual time in a helicopter — the going rate back in the late 1990s — 5% back is welcome. Later, AOPA helped me finance both of my helicopters, including the R44 I bought back in 2005 and still own.

    I get AOPA’s magazine, Pilot, and write for their helicopter blog, Hover Power, which has apparently been merged with their regular blog. I’d heard a lot about their fly ins, but none of them were ever convenient to attend. But this year was different. This year, there was a fly in in Bremerton, WA, which was about an hour’s flight time due west of my home in North Central Washington. Best of all, it was after cherry season, so I’d be free to attend.

    A “fly in,” if you’re not familiar with the term, is a gathering of pilots who fly in to a destination. There’s usually something there to draw them in. Often, it’s something as simple as a pancake breakfast or barbecue. But when the fly in is sponsored by a larger organization, such as AOPA, there’s usually a lot more. In Bremerton, there would be seminars, vendor booths, parties, display aircraft, and that all-important traditional pancake breakfast.

    The timing was right — I had nothing else on my calendar (although I admit I turned down two charter flights for that weekend). Best of all, the weather would be perfect for a direct flight over the Cascade Mountains. And I even had one or two destinations for after the fly in so I could extend my weekend from two nights to four.

    A Stands for Aircraft

    As I sort of expected, it wasn’t going to be as easy to arrange as I’d hoped.

    The camping information I was promised when I signed up never arrived in my email in box. (Oddly, a lot of stuff I’ve been expecting has never arrived; I’m beginning to think I’ve got email issues.) When the Bremerton Fly In website proclaimed that camping was full, I decided to follow up with AOPA. I was bounced from one person to another and finally began an email exchange with a woman named Paula who could help. She confirmed that I was registered for camping. But because I was flying a helicopter, they’d park me on the “north ramp” and help me get my gear over to the camping area.

    So I would not be able to camp with my helicopter?

    No, Paula told me. They can’t have helicopters with the airplanes. There were only two helicopters signed up and the other one wasn’t camping.

    I told her that was unacceptable. I told her I wanted to camp with everyone else and that I needed my aircraft as a place to secure my valuables. I reminded her that the A in AOPA stood for Aircraft and not Airplane. I told her I’d been a dues-paying member for almost 20 years and was entitled to the same treatment as all other members.

    She was at a loss for how to proceed, so I helped out. I told her I’d be arriving early on Friday and departing Sunday. Surely they could park me on the edge of the camping area and let later arrivals fill in the space between me and the folks that arrived before me.

    To my surprise, she agreed. She said that many people arrived late on Friday and most left on Saturday so that should work.

    I told her I’d be there sometime between 2 and 3 PM on Friday. I also told her I’d bring wheels in case I needed to be moved on the ground.

    And then I set about packing.

    Packing for the Trip

    I do two kinds of camping: tent camping and RV camping.

    RV camping is easy; almost everything I need is already stowed in the Turtleback. I add food and clothes, put it on the back of my truck, and set off.

    Tent camping takes a bit more effort to prepare for. I stow all of my tent camping gear in two wheeled tool boxes. If I’m going on a regular car camping trip, I add food and clothes to those boxes, include a cooler with ice block jugs for cold items, and gather together items from the Turtleback, like my portable grill and fuel. When I went camping last summer with the guy I was dating at the time, we crammed all this stuff into the back of my Jeep. The wheeled boxes make it easy to transport camping gear from a vehicle to a campsite that might not be nearby.

    I don’t go backpacking anymore. At least I haven’t for a very long time. I have no desire to do so and it would be a hard sell to get me to change my mind.

    Camping with the helicopter would be a little more challenging. I had room for the smaller of the two wheeled boxes, but not both. Fortunately, I didn’t need all the gear in both boxes. I’d need a small cooler, but not my grill. I’d need a stove and percolator, but not a mess kit. I’d need a tent, but not a large tarp. So I had to go through all my gear and get what I needed packed into the smaller of the two boxes. Tent, air mattress, sheets, fleece sleeping bag, chair, throw rug, lamp, small tarp, stove, fuel, percolator. Most of it fit right into the bin. The rest, including a small cooler with milk for my coffee, dog food, drinks, and other food items, filled the back seat area of the helicopter. I added my orange traffic cones and ground handling wheels. My weekend bag full of clothes went under one of the back seats.

    I put Penny on her bed on the front passenger seat — there was no room for her in back — and at around 12:30 PM on Friday, we set off for our long weekend.

    The Flight West

    We stopped at Pangborn Airport to get fuel before heading west. I had to wait behind two other airplanes fueling up. Is it my imagination or are there more planes flying at Pangborn these days?

    I set my panel mount GPS for Auburn Airport and Foreflight on my iPad (EFB) for Don Johnson’s Home heliport. Don (not the famous one) is a friend of mine who owned a helicopter until just a few years ago. He recently accompanied me on a flight from the Sacramento area to his home in Auburn, WA. Don had a pair of helicopter door covers he no longer needed and wanted to give them to me. Since his home was on the way and I hadn’t seen him for a while, I figured I’d drop in for a few minutes.

    The sky was cloudless and winds were light when we took off from Pangborn heading almost due west. My track would take me straight over the Cascade Mountains, between Stevens and Stampede Passes. This is a sort of “no mans land” for pilots — once I left the Wenatchee area, I’d pass over just two paved roads for the next 50 or so miles of the 80 nautical mile distance. In between were steep, rocky mountains peaks, steep slopes, mountain streams, and lakes. An engine failure would be a very bad thing — but any pilot who flies chooses a route based on the convenience of an engine failure along that route probably shouldn’t be a pilot.

    Wenatchee to Auburn
    My route west took me straight across the mountains. This is my actual track, recorded by ForeFlight.

    I climbed out gradually, crossing each ridge I reached at a few hundred feet above it. Crossing the Cascades isn’t a big deal on a clear day. Although I honestly can’t remember the highest altitude I reached, I doubt it was more than 6,000 MSL. While a lot of sea level pilots might think that’s high, I learned to fly in Arizona, where there are many airports at 5,000 feet elevation or higher and mountain ranges that forced me above 8,000 feet to cross. The air smooth for most of the flight, although it did get a little rough when I reached the lakes far below me between Cle Elum and Snoqualmie Pass. I crossed I-90, continuing west. Mount Rainier towered in the near distance, snow-covered and serene. I remembered the flight I’d done a year or two before, following the course of the Green River to the base of the mountain and thought again about the deserted fire lookout tower we’d found perched on one of the mountain’s north-reaching arms.

    From there, the terrain was mostly downhill. I descended, letting my speed creep up to 120 knots at times. The lower we got, the warmer it got. I opened the front door vents and the main cockpit vent. Penny stirred in her seat yet again — her bed was in the sun and I could tell that she was frustrated that she couldn’t climb in back. It was hot enough without a black fur coat on.

    We got close to Don’s house and, as usual, I had to hunt around a bit to find it. The GPS coordinates on Foreflight were off by at least 1500 feet. I knew some of the landmarks and, of course, I knew what Don’s house looked like from the air. But the area was thick with tall trees. I finally caught sight of it, then set up for a straight in approach on my usual route in. It’s a steep descent; you can see a video of it in my post about my April flight with Don. As I came in, I saw two of Don’s garage doors closing; he was working in one of his garages — he has 10 — and was trying to prevent my downwash from blowing things around in there. Then we were on the ground and I was cooling down and Don was outside waiting for me. I let Penny out to run around with Don’s dog while I shut down the engine.

    We chatted for a while and he gave me the two door bags, which I managed to squeeze into the helicopter with the rest of the gear in the back seat. Then we went inside for a cold drink. When he heard I was camping, he insisted on giving me a battery operated fan he’d used on a recent overnight bike ride. He said it had been so hot every night that he would have been lost without it. He gave me a fresh set of batteries to go with it, too.

    I was already running late for my promised early arrival at Bremerton, so I didn’t stick around long. I got Penny back in the helicopter, said goodbye to Don, and started up. It was just after 2 PM when I climbed out the way I’d come.

    Arrival at Bremerton

    AOPA released an 18-page PDF with arrival procedures for the fly in. It contained detailed instructions on how airplanes coming in from just about any direction should approach and enter the traffic pattern. Although Bremerton is not a towered airport, there would be an Air Boss directing traffic. The document listed frequencies, provided waypoints (with GPS coordinates), and showed maps. If you were flying an airplane and had any questions about flying in, this document would answer it.

    Unfortunately, the word “helicopter” did not appear anywhere in the document. There were no helicopter instructions at all.

    Airplane pilots might be thinking, so what? Just follow the airplane instructions. But that’s not what helicopter pilots are supposed to do. FAR Part 91.126(b)(2) is clear on this:

    Each pilot of a helicopter or a powered parachute must avoid the flow of fixed-wing aircraft.

    To me, that means don’t follow the instructions in that 18-page document.

    So what do I do? Fortunately, I knew exactly what the airplanes would be doing so they would be easy to avoid. I also knew that the Air Boss would be directing traffic. I figured I’d fly in as I normally would: direct to the airport and make a call a few miles out with my intentions. In this case, however, I’d be calling the Air Boss with a request and take his orders for landing.

    I skirted around the south side of the surface airspace for Seattle Tacoma Airport (KSEA or SeaTac) and headed directly for Bremerton. I admit that I wasn’t too happy flying over the south end of Puget Sound — all that open water! I climbed to about 2000 feet to make a glide to land in the event of an engine failure just a little more possible. Then, on the other side, I descended to about 1000 feet, taking in the scenery around me. It was hazy from fires that were burning on the Olympic Peninsula to the northwest. I was flying over a land of forest-covered islands with straits between them.

    Auburn to Bremerton
    Here’s my route from Don’s place to Bremerton.

    I tuned into the frequency for the Air Boss at Bremerton. It was busy with pilots calling in and the Air Boss patiently telling them to follow the procedures for approach. Occasionally, he would clear airplanes to land and provide taxi instructions. Once, he urged a pilot to get off the runway because another plane was landing behind him. (That 18-page document said, in several places, that pilots should not linger on the runway.)

    I didn’t have the airport in sight when I called in from 3 miles out. I was only 500 feet up, avoiding the flow of fixed-wing traffic by staying below the traffic pattern altitude. “Bremerton Air Boss, helicopter six-three-zero-mike-lima is three east landing for camping.”

    There was a pause before the Air Boss replied, “Are you the one that called in?”

    “I’ve been emailing with Paula,” I told him. (I should mention here that a benefit of being a member of the female pilot minority is that my voice is easily distinguishable from other pilots on the frequency, making it possible to skip identifiers once in a while. Normally, I’d include my N-number in every radio communication.)

    “Okay, zero-mike-lima. We know where to put you. Do you see that airplane on downwind?”

    I looked. At that point, I could see a plane flying south at what might be traffic pattern altitude. “Zero-mike-lima has that traffic in sight.”

    “I’m going to want you to make a lower traffic pattern to the south, outside of his,” the Air Boss said.

    As I tried to envision what he wanted, the runway came into view. There was no one on base or final. It would be so easy to just dart across the runway. But I obediently started a turn to the southwest. “Zero-mike-lima turning downwind.”

    “I’ve got you in sight now,” the Air Boss said. “Zero-mike-lima, just cross the runway to taxiway alpha and turn south. They’ll direct you.”

    “Zero-mike-lima crossing the runway.” I banked to the right and bee-lined it for the taxiway on the opposite side of the runway. I found myself in a hover not far from where some airplanes were parked with tents set up. South would have taken me farther away from them, completely out of the area. So I turned north, figuring he’d made a mistake, looking for someone to flag me in.

    A guy with two orange sticks like the kind they use to direct airliners was at the north end of a grassy parking area, directing me in. I followed his instructions to set down at the top of a tiny slope where stakes had been put in to prevent pilots from driving down the little hill. There was some confusion when he had me park perpendicular to all the other aircraft and I asked him whether I could turn sideways. He said he knew helicopters needed to take off into the wind so he thought I’d like that direction better. But the wind was a tiny breeze and I wasn’t taking off for two days. So he let me park facing west, which turned out to be a good thing when the sun really beat down on my camp.

    I put Penny on her leash and dropped her out the door while I cooled the helicopter’s engine and shut down. We had arrived.

    Making Camp

    As I had suggested, they parked me at the edge of the airplane camping area. In the hours to come, they’d start parking other airplanes west and south of me. After climbing out and chatting with Paula, who’d come in a golf cart to greet me, I set up camp.

    The breeze was just enough to keep me on my toes as I set up my little domed tent, which I’ve had for at least 20 years. It’s a good quality tent with a rain fly that really works — I can tell you from experience. I had bought new stakes for it and brought along a small sledgehammer to drive them in. I only staked the four corners. Then I inflated my air mattress using a rechargeable air pump I’d bought a few weeks before and made the bed with clean sheets. I opened my fleece sleeping bag and draped it over the bed as neatly as I could. It was going to be hot that weekend — it had already topped out at over 90°F — and I couldn’t imagine needing more. I set Don’s fan up nearby and hung a small battery lamp from the top of the tent. I didn’t bother with the dark blue tent fly — I knew from experience that it would turn the tent into a small oven.

    Campsite in Afternoon
    My campsite, right after setting up.

    I stowed the gear I didn’t need back in the rolling box and set up my stove on the lid. I set up my chair beside it and my cooler beside that. I set the stack of cones — I really only needed one — under the end of the forward facing rotor blade to prevent a fuel truck or some other tall vehicle from driving where a blade strike might be possible.

    I was just putting up my wind ribbon on a pole when Paula drove up again. “I can tell you’ve done this often,” she said.

    I laughed. “No. This is only my second camping trip with the helicopter. But I’d like to do it more.” (The other time, in case you’re wondering, was at the Big Sandy Shoot way back in 2006.)

    By this time, the sun was starting to dip to the west and the north side of the helicopter was in the shade. I settled down on my chair for a rest and to cool down. Penny, who’d been off her leash for a while, had to go back on it; other pilots were arriving and more than a few had dogs Penny wanted to visit with. I set her up with some cold water and food and watched the world go by while sipping an ice cold lemonade from my cooler.

    Friday Night at the Fly In

    It was probably around 5 PM when Penny and I headed toward the main event area. I didn’t have any tickets for any of the meal events and needed to buy them. I also needed a schedule of the seminars and other activities that would keep me busy on Saturday.

    Some of the AOPA guys and vendors were still setting up, but the place was pretty much ready for the event. I wandered around, getting the lay of the land — the main event tent, the smaller session tents, a handful of vendor booths, and the big exhibition tent (which was closed). A bunch of airplanes were on display, including Miss Veedol from Wenatchee. I chatted briefly with Tim, one of the pilots who I already knew. Like me, he’d had a smooth direct flight across the Cascades.

    I bought tickets for that evening’s party, the Saturday pancake breakfast, and Saturday’s lunch. Then, since it was hot and there wasn’t much else to do, I headed back to my camp.

    A woman wearing a propeller beanie hat and riding a bicycle rode over to chat. Her name was Patrice and she was soon joined by her husband Pat who I’d apparently met (but, as usual, didn’t remember) in Wenatchee when he’d stopped in on a flight. Other people came and went. Some asked questions about the helicopter. I saw one person take a photo of my campsite when he thought I wasn’t looking.

    After a while lounging around, studying the program, and catching up on social media, I headed back over to the event area. Although I’d arrived right on time for the party, there was already a long line for food. Penny and I queued up. I chatted with a couple on line behind me as we inched forward. Dinner was pulled pork with cole slaw and beans. And one of those Hawaiian rolls that was so good I finished it before I got to the salad bar.

    Although I saw Patrice, who was looking for Pat, I wound up having dinner with Tim and the Miss Veedol gang. Tim had said to me that I had to meet his new friend Barry, who was also a writer. Barry, who was with them at dinner, turned out to be none other than legendary pilot/author Barry Schiff, a man who has been writing about aviation almost as long as I’ve been alive. We chatted a bit about writing and he got me motivated to get back to work on my flying memoir. (A winter project?)

    All the time we were eating and chatting, a live U2 cover band was playing outside on a stage set up in front of the B-25, “Grumpy.” As night fell, it got cooler. There were stars and a big moon. It was great to be among so many pilots, most of whom were camped out for the night. I said goodnight to my companions and headed back to camp with Penny. I let her off her leash for the walk between airplane tent camp sites and she tore around like a crazy dog, excited to be let loose after hours of being under foot and under tables. I made a quick stop at the blue plastic building — which had a nice hand washing station beside it — along the way.

    Music and Warbirds
    They set up the band in front of “Grumpy.”

    First Night at Camp

    Back at camp, I took a few moments to attach the rain fly to the tent. Despite the fact that it had gotten very warm during the day, it had cooled off considerably. My tent has thin nylon walls, which makes it great for summer camping. But in cold weather, it really needs that full-sized rain fly to provide a layer of insulation. The wind had died down completely, so it was an easy job. I staked it out away from the tent in the back so I’d get air flow through the back window, as well as along the staked poles, not really knowing what to expect.

    We crawled into the tent and settled in for the night. I closed the screen but left the door panel open. I got a reasonable flow of air through the tent. That was great — when I first lay down. But as the night progressed, the air got cooler and cooler. I woke up in the middle of the night, thoroughly chilled. After a quick walk in the moonlight to the blue building, I closed up the tent more securely, hoping to keep more warmth in. But I slept fitfully for the rest of the night, feeling the cold ground come up through the bottom of my air mattress. My fault entirely — I’d expected it to be very warm and it wasn’t. I’d have to redo the bed for Saturday night.

    Saturday at the Fly In

    It was light out — although the sun hadn’t yet risen — when I fully woke the next morning. I threw on some clothes and stepped outside for another visit to the blue building, this time with Penny in tow. It was a perfectly clear day with the temperature probably in the 60s. The sun felt good when it rose above the trees to the east and shined down on my little campsite. Other campers were stirring.

    First Light at the Campsite
    First light at our campsite on Saturday morning. It was a beautiful day!

    Percolator on Stove
    I “fixed” my coffee pot size problem with two heavy tent stakes. And no, the plastic parts did not melt.

    I prepped the percolator to make a cup of coffee and got my first surprise: the pot was too small to fit on the metal brackets over the burner! ! Instead, it slipped down onto the actual burner, extinguishing it. I felt a moment of panic before annoyance took over. Surely I could do something to make this work. The solution turned out to be two of the tent pegs positioned on either side of the burner. The pot sat atop them. Problem solved. I was drinking fresh, hot coffee a short while later.

    Other than a few snacks, I hadn’t brought any food — at least not for me. I did bring food for Penny, which I put out for her. She sniffed it and gave me a look as if to say, “You’re kidding, right?” For the rest of the trip, I’d be sharing my food with her.

    After I made a second cup of coffee and dressed for the day — at which time I decided I needed a larger tent that I could actually stand up in — we headed over to the main event area. Breakfast lines were surprisingly short. I had pancakes and sausage, sitting inside the main tent with two pilots from Canada.

    Then it was off to the seminars.

    The first was about ADS-B, a new ATC tracking system that will be required on all aircraft that fly wherever a Mode C transponder is required — basically within 30 miles of any Class B airspace (think Seattle, Phoenix, Denver, LAX, JFK, etc.) — by 2020. I had a vague idea of what ADS-B was and what it might entail in the way of avionics upgrades, but by the end of the session I completely understood what I’d have to do and how I might benefit. I say “might” because I generally fly too low to be picked up on radar around where I live — literally “below the radar” — and since the ADS-B stations are ground based, I wasn’t likely to be picked up by any of them, either. But if I had a dual band receiver, I could pick up signals sent out by other ADS-B equipped aircraft so I’d see them on my GPS screen — if my systems were compatible.

    After that session, the next time slot didn’t have anything that interested me — remember, this event was primarily for airplanes and so much of what the sessions covered simply didn’t apply to helicopter flying — so I decided to take that time to visit the vendor tent. I was mostly interested in applying what I’d just learned to figure out what my upgrade options were and what they’d cost me. There wasn’t much memorable about the vendor area except a few ForeFlight clones, a very crowded Garmin and ForeFlight booth, and a handful of vendors specializing in products or services for airplanes.

    ForeFlight, in case you don’t know, was the first successful iPad app for pilots. I was an early adopter and have been using it for years. The FAA even certified ForeFlight on my iPad as my EFB (electronic flight bag) so it’s actually not legal for me to conduct a Part 135 charter flight without it on board. I can’t say enough nice things about ForeFlight. It’s changed the way I plan flights and navigate while in flight. It’s also saved me hundreds of dollars every year on Garmin GPS updates for my panel-mount Garmin 430 GPS — indeed, it saves me enough to buy a brand new iPad with ForeFlight subscription update every two years if I want/need to. (I’m even thinking of pulling that 430, which cost a whopping $12K back in 2005, out of my panel.) And Foreflight isn’t satisfied to rest on their laurels and just rake in the dough like other aviation product makers do — ahem, Garmin? — they’re constantly improving and updating their app, adding features all the time. They even listen to feedback from users; when I complained that their flight planner wouldn’t let me plan a helicopter flight with less than 30 minutes of reserve fuel (the airplane minimum), they modified the software to allow helicopters flight plans with 20 minutes of reserve fuel, as allowed by the FAA.

    Do you think I like ForeFlight?

    Anyway, since ForeFlight came out, a bunch of copycats have followed it. Garmin makes one of them. (Too little too late, guys.) There were a few others in the vendor tent. I wasn’t interested in switching. I’m sure that none can offer any more helicopter-specific features than ForeFlight or save me any money. And who wants to learn a new app?

    But the beauty of using a tablet for an EFB is that I could easily change apps if I wanted to without dumping a lot of money on new panel-mount hardware.

    I chatted with a few vendors about a few products. Along the way, I learned that one vendor’s ADS-B solution wasn’t certified for helicopters because of vibrations (huh?) and that I could probably get an ADS-B transmitter/receiver that would work with my iPad and ForeFlight. Although all the vendors at the seminar had urged pilots to get their systems upgraded now because of long waits at avionics shops, it’s clearly in my best interest to wait. As time goes by, more and possibly better and definitely cheaper solutions are coming to market. I could spend $3,000 to $5,000 now or wait three years and spend $1,500 to $4,000 for something better that might be more powerful or smaller/lighter. That’s what I think, anyway. Time will tell.

    Penny Sleeping at Seminar
    Here’s Penny, sound asleep at the ADS-B seminar.

    I had lunch at 11:00 and ate it at a table in the shade of the big main stage tent. It was getting hot outside, just as forecasted — a beautiful sunny day that would soon be in the 90s. I shared my hot dog with Penny, who gobbled it right up and looked for more. She’d been extremely well-behaved all day, snoozing on the floor or my lap in the seminar and letting me carry her in the more crowded areas of the vendor tent.

    A speaker came on the stage at 11:15. It was an older female pilot who had made as an airshow pilot. She started her presentation with a story about her father, an airline pilot, who crashed his plane when a passenger went berserk and how much it meant to her when accident investigators determined it wasn’t his fault. It was a weird story and it really turned me off to whatever came next. I got the distinct impression that she’d been telling that story in front of every audience she’d addressed for the past forty years, vindicating her father every chance she got. I was done eating anyway, so I left.

    I’d planned on going to the ForeFlight tips seminar at 11:15, but arrived at 11:30 to a standing room only crowd. There was no way I was getting inside the tent — people lined the outside of the seating area and flowed out the doors. I didn’t think I wanted to go in anyway. With poor ventilation in the tent, it had to be nearly 100° in there. I’d get my tips some other time.

    Grumpy
    “Grumpy,” coming in to park after a flight.

    Instead, I went back to the vendor tent and chatted with the few vendors that were too busy to speak to on my first time through. Then I wandered around the airplane exhibits, chatted with a few pilots, and watched the B-25, “Grumpy,” take off with a bunch of passengers who’d paid $495 for the privilege.

    The 12:45 seminar I chose was back at the main stage. It was led by AOPA’s media guy, who apparently makes videos related to flying. He showed a series of snort video productions about various pilots or aircraft. Although they were pretty good, his “Top 40 Radio Voice” narration didn’t always fit in and sometimes made me laugh.

    An hour later, I was sitting closer to the front of the room in the same tent for Barry Shiff’s presentation, which consisted mostly of funny flying stories with photos. It was, in a way, a sort of aviation stand up comedy routine. Not laugh-your-ass-off funny, but extremely entertaining. Barry has had a long career in aviation and aviation writing and has gotten many opportunities to be part of many interesting projects. Am I alone in considering him a legend? I felt fortunate to have had the opportunity to chat with him the evening before.

    I stayed in the tent for the start of the AOPA Pilot Town hall — the last event of the day — but it seemed too much like an airplane-specific commercial for AOPA membership than a chance to learn something. So Penny and I wandered back outside and killed time at vendor booths and watching the B-25 some more. When the Town Hall was over, we near the front of the line for the “ice cream social,” which was basically a bunch of volunteers handing out wrapped ice cream sandwiches and pops that had to be eaten very quickly.

    And then it was over. AOPA staff members and volunteers had already begun taking video equipment and signs out of the seminar tents. Vendors began packing up. And the folks who had flown in began leaving.

    The stats, available a few days later, were impressive for the event. Over 4,000 people attended, with 690 aircraft (that would be 689 airplanes and one helicopter) flying in and 162 campers. (I’m thinking the campers number is people and not planes, but it could be planes because there were a lot of us.) You can find a summary with some photos here. An AOPA photographer came by my site on Saturday morning to take a photo but I haven’t found it anywhere online yet.

    Evening After the Event

    Penny and I headed back to the helicopter. I attempted to feed her again and she again turned her nose up to it. She’d had some water during the day and had more when we got in. I sat in my chair in the shade, watching the parade of airplanes taxi by and then take off past me. About half the campers had packed up and left; the others seemed to be sticking around for another night like I was. A few people came by to chat and look at the helicopter.

    Someone came by with a flyer for a party that would have a live band. Its location was a bit vague so when Penny and I tried to find it later on, we found a hangar party with no live entertainment that seemed to be wrapping up and a tiny gathering of people in front of a band that seemed to be practicing. Nothing that matched what was on the flyer. (In hindsight, I think it was the gathering by the band which was likely poorly advertised so it was poorly attended.)

    Penny with a B-25
    Penny looks really tiny next to the front gear of a B-25.

    I took some more photos of the classic airplanes sitting around, got yelled at for letting Penny off her leash, and then wandered over to the airport restaurant, leaving Penny tied up outside. (Penny is used to being left on her own when I go into a restaurant or someplace else she can’t go and is very well behaved when I have to leave her.) The place was crowded and I think the staff was overwhelmed. There was no air conditioning and the evaporative cooler I think they had running made the place kind of cool and steamy — if that’s even possible. I had a very unsatisfying meal, bought a plain hamburger for Penny, and headed back to camp. By this time, the sun was setting and I was ready to call it a day.

    I remade the bed with my fleece sleeping bag zipped up and my top sheet folded inside it. This would provide two more layers between me and the ground. Then, after watching the sun set and the moon rise, visiting the blue building, and tidying up my camp in case the wind kicked up overnight, I crawled into the tent, got into my pajamas, and slipped into my sleeping bag. Penny curled up on her bed nearby. I read for a while and then fell asleep.

    A Foggy Morning

    Bremerton was IFR when I woke up the next morning. That means visibility was below minimums and it wasn’t legal to depart. Of course, helicopters can usually get a special VFR clearance, but what good would that do me if I couldn’t get to my next destination? Besides, I wasn’t in any hurry. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t quite sure where I was going to go.

    Inside Coffee
    My vestibule was large enough to set up my stove and make coffee.

    After a visit to the blue building in the dreary predawn light, I staked out the front of my tent fly to create a little vestibule, moved my stove into it, and got the percolator going. A while later, I was drinking hot coffee while I caught up on social networking on my air mattress.

    Outside, the other campers were beginning to stir. It was kind of wet outside — not the weather you’d want to be rolling up a tent in — so few were packing up. As the morning progressed, a few planes able to get IFR clearances took off into the gray sky. After a second cup of coffee, I got dressed, put Penny on her leash, and went back to the restaurant for breakfast. There were fewer people in there and both service and food were better. I had an egg scramble with bacon that was huge and brought back some for Penny. When I gave it to her back at camp, she turned her nose up to it, which got me worried because she hadn’t eaten much of the hamburger the night before either.

    Back at camp, I made plans for departure. I’d originally thought I’d be bringing the helicopter to a children’s burn camp event in Bellingham, but the friend who’d asked me to do that had completely dropped the ball and hadn’t made any arrangements. (He later told me he’d been busy with a lot of other things. Whatever.) I was due to visit a friend in Salem, OR, but hadn’t planned to arrive until Monday and he wasn’t ready for me a day early. That meant Penny and I had a day to kill. With a helicopter.

    I took my time packing up my camp. The weather was clearing slowly and there were pockets of visibility along the coast. I definitely wanted to be south of where I was by the end of the day, making my trip to Salem shorter instead of longer. But where to go? I did a bunch of research on my iPad and found an inn in West Port, WA, on the coast, that was walking distance from the airport there. They allowed dogs and had vacancy. I didn’t want to book a room until I was sure I could make it there, but there didn’t seem to be a problem on a Sunday night.

    So with a destination in mind, I finished packing up my campsite, getting all my gear back into the rolling box and eventually back into the helicopter. A few of the folks I’d spoken to over the past day and a half stopped by to say goodbye. The weather had improved to the point where the airport was marginal VFR, so when I was ready to go, I started up the engine and warmed it up. Penny seemed to be happy in the co-pilot seat, curled up on her bed, already resting up for the next adventure.

    It was just after 11 when I lifted off. Where was I going? For pie, of course! But that’s another story.