How Much Wind is Too Much Wind?

For helicopters, that is.

Tomorrow, I’ve got a lengthy charter booked with a new client. It’s an animal survey mission, which will likely require me to fly low and slow over varied terrain. The job’s starting airport is at 5,600 feet, so the whole job will be at high density altitude. Fortunately, there’s just two of us on board, so power shouldn’t be much of an issue.

Unless the wind becomes one.

When I checked the weather on Saturday for Tuesday, it was forecasting winds 12 to 24 mph with gusts up to 37. I imagined myself battling a 13 mph gust spread with a tail wind when I was flying at 40 to 60 knots. It wasn’t a pretty picture.

I e-mailed the client and suggested that we move the flight up to today (Monday) or earlier on Tuesday, before the wind kicks up. I knew he was traveling, so I figured I’d follow it up with a phone call later in the day.

When I checked it again last night, the winds in that area had dropped considerably and forecasted gusts were only 25. That was more reasonable. I called the client and left him a voicemail message on his cell phone, explaining the situation and offering to change the date and time, but not making it seem so urgent.

This morning, the forecast is as follows for tomorrow in the flight area:

Sunny, with a high near 72. South southwest wind 7 to 10 mph increasing to between 15 and 18 mph. Winds could gust as high as 30 mph.

I sure wish the National Weather Service would make up its mind.

So the question is, how much wind is too much wind to fly?

My Experience with Wind

Although I liked (and still like) my primary flight instructor very much, there were two things he “babied” me on in initial training:

  • Radio work. I was crappy on the radio — which is odd, considering how well I can let my mouth run when around family and friends — and he made it a non-issue by handling many of my radio calls for me. I developed an early attitude of avoiding radio communication with ATC by actually altering routes to avoid airspace. I’ve since gotten over this problem and will talk to anyone on the radio.
  • Flying in wind. If wind speeds got over 8 or 10 mph, he’d cancel our lesson. I don’t think it was because he was afraid of the wind — he had over 1,000 hours of flight time. I think it was because he was afraid of letting me try to fly in the wind. Maybe he was worried I’d have a lot of problems. It didn’t matter. He made me afraid of the wind, which is ridiculous when you consider I’m flying a helicopter and can take off or land into the wind anywhere.

As a result of my initial training, I always faced windy flying days with caution. Maybe too much caution.

I remember flying my R22 from Wickenburg, AZ to Placerville, CA years ago. I was supposed to do it in one day. I got an early enough start. But I hit windy conditions at the Tehatchapi Mountain pass where I’d planned to cross from the high desert near Edwards Air Force Base to California’s Central Valley. Anyone who knows the area shouldn’t be surprised. It’s lined with dozens, if not hundreds, of windmills for a reason. But I was afraid to brave the pass and wound up spending the night at Rosamond, CA. I don’t recommend doing that and I certainly won’t do it again.

Could I have made the trip safely? Nowadays, I think I could. But then, I wasn’t sure.

I built all my flying time in my own aircraft on personal and commercial flights. When I got to 1,000 hours, I applied for a job at the Grand Canyon. I had a friend who recommended me to one of the tour operators there. I had a good interview and got the offer. Flying at the canyon had always been a dream of mine, so I happily took the job.

One thing about Arizona in the spring is that it’s windy. One thing about northern Arizona in the spring is that it’s very windy. I soon learned not only how windy it could get at the Grand Canyon, but how much wind we were expected to fly in.

Our company had two methods for determining whether it was too windy to fly:

  • We’d fly until one of the pilots came back and said it was too windy. Now most of the pilots were guys and most of them were in the 24 to 30 year old range. They spent their pilot lounge waiting time watching car races and extreme skateboarding shows on the television there. There was a definite testosterone thing going on. Obviously, if you came back from a flight and said it was too windy to fly, you were a sissy. So none of the young guys did it. There were also two women on staff, including me. Neither of us would call it because then we’d be confirming that we were sissies, which the guys already suspected. (Frankly, my personal gauge of what was too much wind was way off and I couldn’t trust my judgement anyway. I figured if it wasn’t too windy for everyone else, it couldn’t be too windy for me.) Fortunately, there was an older pilot named Ron who didn’t care about macho bullshit. When Ron went out on a flight and got tossed around too much in the sky — usually by the Dragon’s Tail or Dragon’s Head (two calling points on the Dragon Corridor) — he’d come back in a huff, go straight to the lead pilot, and shut us down for weather. The rest of us would breathe a silent sigh of relief.
  • When the wind in the company’s tower at the Grand Canyon Airport hit 50 miles per hour, we’d shut down. And yes, if Ron wasn’t around, we’d sometimes fly right up until that point.

So, as you can imagine, I quickly learned how to fly in high winds.

LTEThe only time I got into any real trouble was one day when I was landing on a pad in front of our terminal at the Grand Canyon. There was a good, stiff crosswind coming from my left as I hover-taxied into position. I was flying a Bell 206L1 C30P Long Ranger. Anyone with any experience in Bell products should be able to imagine what a 1000-hour pilot brought up in Robinson equipment might experience in such a situation: LTE (loss of tail rotor effectiveness). I started rotating to the right. I added left pedal and nothing happened. I added more left pedal and got a tiny bit of response. I was now almost 30° off center and my tail would soon be approaching the fuel pit. I slammed the left pedal to the floor, spun the nose of the helicopter around to face the front of the pad, and brought the collective down swiftly, for a rough yet straight landing. It was my first LTE experience and it scared the hell out of me. Robinson puts a hell of a lot more authority in its tail rotors than Bell does.

As another flight instructor once told me, “The wind is your friend.” He was right — but I couldn’t understand why until I’d flown in windy conditions. That taught me how the wind could help me take off and land with a heavy load or get to my destination faster. And how it forced me to dance on the pedals for a crosswind landing, or milk the collective to avoid the [over-]sensitive low rotor RPM horn on takeoff or landing.

The Risks of Wind

LTE is only one risk of flying in windy conditions. As I fly tomorrow, any time I’m in a crosswind situation, I need to worry about the aircraft trying to weathervane into the wind. If the wind is from the left, LTE becomes an possible issue — although I’ve never had an LTE problem in a Robinson. We’ll be flying light with just two on board, so I should have enough power to handle the situation. The trick will be to either avoid it (which I prefer) or recognize the onset and avoid it before it causes a problem.

Another risk of high wind to semi-rigid rotor systems (which is what most two-bladed systems are) is excessive flapping. This was our main concern flying Long Rangers at the Grand Canyon in high wind. (And you thought it was pilot air sickness.) When Ron came back and shut down flying for the day, he’d come into the pilot room and tell us all how crazy we were for flying. It was dangerous, he’d say. But what did we know? We were 1000-hour pilots, many of whom had no real life flying experience. How many of the former flight instructors around me did what my first CFI did and keep their students — and themselves — out of the wind?

My main concerns tomorrow will be keeping the aircraft under perfect control as I fly a search pattern. There will be a lot of turning back and forth and maybe even a little hovering. I’ll have to keep track of where the wind’s coming from and what low-level obstacles — think hills and ridges — it has to cross to get to me. Each little bump in the ground means a bump in the air on a windy day.

How much wind is too much?

I know a lot of pilots who won’t fly in what I now consider moderate winds (10 to 25 mph). This past February, I was in Parker, AZ, doing a video flight for an off-road race. There were a bunch of helicopters working for various race teams or video production crews. Before dawn, as the cars were lining up at the starting line, they took off, one by one. The winds were 13 gusting to 18. I was prepping my passengers for the flight when the pilot of a Jet Ranger came over and asked if I was going to fly. I told him I was and I think he was surprised. He told me it was too windy for him.

Anyone with significant flight time who reads this should be able to give me an idea of their own personal maximums for wind. I’d love to get your feedback here. Use the comments link or form. And if I’ve said anything absolutely stupid in this post, please correct me gently.

At this point, I’m thinking that 30 mph with a gust spread of no more than 10 mph should be okay for this mission. If I find out I’m wrong, I’ll be sure to let you know.

In the meantime, I’m hoping my client calls to start the mission an hour or two earlier. I think if we can finish up before noon, we’ll avoid the worst of the wind.

An Off-the-Grid Thanksgiving

A pleasant challenge.

Yesterday, on Thanksgiving Day, Mike, Jack the Dog, Alex the Bird, and I took the truck up to our getaway place north of Williams, AZ. It’s an off-the-grid camping cabin on top of a mesa, 5 miles from pavement. If you’re not familiar with the term off-the-grid, it means that it’s not connected to any public utilities. We have solar panels with related equipment for electricity, a propane gas tank, and hauled water.

We left Wickenburg at about 9 AM for the 2-1/2 hour, 154-mile drive. We made one stop on our way out of town — to buy milk and an onion — another stop at the Chino Valley Safeway gas station (where we got a 70¢/gallon discount on diesel), and a final stop at the Jack in the Box restaurant in Williams.

More about Jack in the Box

I do need to digress a tiny bit here. This was the first time since my college days 20+ years ago that I’d been in a Jack in the Box. The last one I’d been in was in Hempstead, NY. I’d been standing at the counter, waiting to place my order, when someone robbed the place by reaching over the counter and grabbing money out of the cash register drawer when it opened. The robber fled quickly — the whole thing happened in about 5 seconds. I clearly remember the manager of the place vaulting over the counter with a sawed-off shotgun. When I say it was a rough neighborhood, I’m not kidding.

The robbery isn’t why I’ve avoided Jack in the Box restaurants all these years. Back in those days, the menu at those places seemed to center around tacos that weren’t very good. I’m not a big fast-food person — I haven’t had a McDonald’s hamburger in at least 10 years — so it wasn’t easy to avoid Jack in the Box. But yesterday surprised me. Mike and I both had hamburgers (since we planned to have turkey for dinner) and agreed that they were probably the best fast food burgers we’d ever had.

Muddy Roads…Again

Anyway, we ate the burgers on the road. There was snow on the ground — maybe about 3 inches of the stuff. It was wet and didn’t completely cover the ground. The clouds were low and thick and slow-moving. Every once in a while, we’d get a clear view of some upper level clouds or some blue sky. Everything was wet and clean looking. It was so un-Arizona. It was magnificent.

Howard Mesa RoadsWe made the turn off pavement and started the five mile trek up to our mesa-top retreat. We’d gotten about 2 miles in when the road’s surface started getting snotty. That’s really the only way to describe the reddish brown dust when it gets wet enough to make mud. Soon, it had coated the truck’s tires and we were starting to fishtail. Mike put the truck in 4WD. We continued up a gentle grade. The truck would not stay pointed in the right direction. This was not a good thing since (1) the road was only a tiny bit wider than a single lane and (2) there was a deep ditch on one side with water flowing in a shallower ditch on the other side. The photo here shows what it looked like the next day, after at least two other vehicles had passed through. By this time, the snot had solidified a bit and the road was passable again.

Back in May 2005, as I summarized in my blog post, “The Roads of Howard Mesa,” Mike’s truck had slid off the road into a deep ditch about 2-1/2 miles short of our place. The conditions had been similar. We’d been fortunate in that a neighbor had seen us go off the road and had “rescued” us with a Jeep. But it had cost $250 to get a tow truck over to pull the truck out. Neither of us wanted a replay on Thanksgiving Day. So when it seemed clear that we weren’t going to make it up the hill, we decided to back down, turn around, and try another route. We wound up sliding into the shallower of the two ditches. Mike put the truck in 4WD Low and powered us down. It was a tense 5 minutes or so, but then we were making a tricky 3-point turn in a bend in the road and going back the way we’d come.

There are 3 roads to access the lots at the top of the mesa. The access road for two of them was the snot-covered road we knew we couldn’t pass. The other road went up to the west side of the mesa. Our friends live up there year-round and the road up is kept in good condition. Between their lot and our side of the mesa is a 2-track “road” carved in by ranchers and hunters years ago. It’s not maintained at all and seldom used. In fact, I’d venture to guess that I use it more than anyone else, since it’s a “shortcut” to our friends’ place from ours. But the good thing about the road is that it’s relatively level and free of the snot-like mud on all the mesa’s other roads.

So we went that way. It was a 2-mile stretch of snow-covered ruts. Mike took it in 4WD at a pretty steady pace. We were both very glad to see the big metal water tank at the other end of the road. We got back onto the gravel surface and drove the final 3/4 mile without any problems.

“Off the Grid” Doesn’t Mean without Conveniences

At our camping shed were more challenges. We had to get the systems up and running. That meant turning on AC power (flicking a switch), turning on the gas (a lever), getting the gas refrigerator started (sometimes tricky), getting the hot water heater turned on (also tricky at times), and firing up the furnace. It’s this last thing that caused the most grief yesterday. As usual, a mouse had build a home in the furnace’s burner area and it had to be cleaned out before we started it up. Our miserable ShopVac stopped sucking, making Mike’s job more difficult. He worked on it most of the afternoon while I cooked dinner.

Cooking wasn’t tough at all. After all, we had an oven big enough for our 7-lb turkey breast (and nothing else), a 4-burner stove, and the decent quality cookware I’d had at home until we replaced it last year. There’s enough counter space, a cutting board, two good quality, sharp knives, and all the bowls and other cooking implements I needed. If you didn’t know we were off the grid, you’d never guess it. The only thing I didn’t use was our 600-watt microwave — and that was mostly because I didn’t want to waste what battery power we had left on what had become a nasty, rainy day.

I made an abbreviated version of a traditional Thanksgiving dinner: turkey breast, stuffing. gravy, and rice pilaf. Although I’d fully intended to make a fresh batch of mango chutney to go with it (instead of cranberries), I’d forgotten to bring along the mango. Going to the store definitely wasn’t an option. So I made the mango chutney recipe with apples. It didn’t come out bad at all. I was going to make some brussels sprouts, but after cooking for about 3 hours, I was too tired.

By 5:30 PM, Mike had the heat going. It wasn’t cold in the shed — the oven and stove had taken care of the chill — but it was nice to get the heat up to a more normal temperature, especially while we ate. We got Jack the Dog back in — he’d spent all afternoon trying in vain to catch one of the fat pack rats living under the shed — and wrapped his wet muddy body in a towel. Then we settled down for a good Thanksgiving dinner, complete with wine.

Reward After a Long Day

After dinner, we did the dishes and spent some time relaxing. I really love it up here — it seems that the troubles of everyday life just don’t exist. We played some “Chicken Foot” dominoes, then loaded a DVD — “Flawless” with Michael Caine and Demi Moor — in my laptop, turned out the lights, and watched the movie. Later, we climbed up into the sleeping loft, where it was nice and toasty — remember, heat rises — and went to bed.

I spent a lot of time looking out the window into the almost perfect blackness. A cloud had descended onto the mesa and there wasn’t anything to see. I’m pretty sure we were the only people around for miles. Some brief flashes of light in the clouds to the north indicated a thunderstorm over the Grand Canyon.

View with FogIn the morning, when it got light, we were in a fog bank. We could see the clouds move in, then clear. It was all quiet except the sound of coyotes off in the distance.

I took this photo, mostly to remember the fog — and the moment. It’s the view from the shed, looking northwest.

In Arizona, fog is a special treat to be savored. There’s no better place to savor it than at our getaway place in the middle of nowhere.

Dawn at the Grand Canyon

A few photos.

I was at the Grand Canyon on Monday for part of the video shoot we’re doing to help promote my Southwest Circle Helicopter Adventure. We spent the night and, early in the morning, I was up at dawn to watch the light come up over the canyon. Here are a few of the photos I took from the Rim at Grand Canyon Village. I’ll be putting larger versions of all of these in my Photo Gallery.

Lookout Studio at DawnLookout Studio at Dawn

The Grand Canyon’s South Rim village is packed with historic buildings. Lookout Studio, shown here, is one of the more striking, with its stone walls and bright blue window trim. Perched on the side of a sheer cliff, it looks out over the canyon, offering striking views (and the usual collection of tourist shop items) to all visitors. I think this shot is made a bit more interesting by the slight distortion of the very wide focal length (16mm).

Photo Details:
Camera: Nikon D80
Focal Length: 16mm
Aperture: f/7.1
Exposure: 1/200

Tree-Framed Dawn at the Grand CanyonTree-Framed Dawn at the Grand Canyon

The view into the Grand Canyon from the south rim is unobstructed in many, many places. But sometimes a view can be more interesting with foreground items framing it. That’s what this photo is all about.

Photo Details:
Camera: Nikon D80
Focal Length: 52mm
Aperture: f/6.3
Exposure: 1/125

Grand Canyon DawnGrand Canyon Dawn

I can’t tell you how many photos I have of the Grand Canyon. I’ve been going there for years. In fact, I have so many photos of the place that I often don’t even bother bringing a camera when I go. But I have very few vertical shots of the canyon. In general, its wide view does not suggest turning the camera on its side to shoot. Although I think this photo can be improved, I also think it’s a reasonably good example of what how a portrait shot of the Canyon could work.

Photo Details:
Camera: Nikon D80
Focal Length: 38mm
Aperture: f/4.8
Exposure: 1/30