Tag Archives: Howard Mesa

Flying Isn’t Always Fun

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About flying in the afternoon in the Arizona desert.

If you’ve been reading these blog entries, you may recall that about a month ago, I was supposed to fly up to the Grand Canyon early one morning for work and was prevented from doing so by a nasty t-storm over Wickenburg. I was forced to drive that day and was an hour late for work because of it. I promised my boss that from that point on, I’d come up to the area the day before I was due to start work.

Flying in the summer in Arizona — especially central Arizona, where Wickenburg is located — is not much fun. It isn’t bad early in the morning, before the sun has a chance to heat the desert up to its daily high of 100°F+. (When I say early, I mean early: sometime between dawn and 7:00 AM.) During monsoon season, even the morning can be hot and rather sticky, though. But by 10:00 AM, things are starting to get pretty awful. The sun is beating down on everything, heating up the earth and the air. The thermals start, caused by all that hot air wanting to rise. And, with a little bit of moisture in the air, clouds start to form and climb. By afternoon, you have some nice towering cumulonimbus clouds, dropping virga, rain, hail, and lightning in isolated storms all over the place.

What does this have to do with promising to get to the Grand Canyon area the day before I start work? This: Instead of flying up the day I start work, in the cool, calm, predawn air, I fly up the afternoon before I start work, in the hot, turbulent, t-storm-infested air.

Two weeks ago, I had to pick up Three-Niner-Lima from its annual inspection in Prescott. Mike drove me up and we had lunch before I left Prescott. It was after 1 PM when I got out of there and I could clearly see all the t-storms that I had to fly around to reach Howard Mesa. The nastiest was right over Bill Williams mountain and I had to detour to the east to keep out of the virga on its fringes. I landed without incident, tied everything down, and drove the Toyota down to Williams for my groceries. There was some rain on the mesa that night and other rain during the week.

Three-Niner-Lima in SmokeI flew my helicopter to work four of the six days that week and enjoyed calm air in the morning. Unfortunately, a controlled burn in the forest east of the airport filled the airport area with smoke every morning; one morning I needed a special VFR clearance to land because the smoke was so thick. (Photo shows Three-Niner-Lima parked on a transient helipad for the day; the building in the background on the far right is Papillon’s tower. That’s not fog; it’s smoke.) The afternoon is another story. One afternoon was particularly nasty, with a t-storm east of Valle that I had to steer clear of. A sudden gust of wind slapped me sideways and shot my airspeed from 85 knots to 100 knots in a flash. (I hate when that happens.) But I did see my first circular rainbow that afternoon, so I really can’t complain.

Today was no fun at all. The temperature in Wickenburg at 11:30 AM was already about 100�F when I fueled up. I was so hot as I waited for the engine to warm up that I took my shirt off, content to fly in my shorts and sport bra. (Heck, it isn’t like anyone can see into the cockpit while I’m airborne.) I also took my Keds off, trying to get the sun on the tops of my feet. Every summer I get a Keds tan on my feet that I really hate. The best way to get rid of it is to fly with my shoes off. The thermal updrafts started on me before I even crossed route 93 (about 3 miles north of the airport) and Three-Niner-Lima felt sluggish with its full tanks of fuel. I climbed at a mere 70 knots and felt no relief from the heat until I was in the Prescott area. There was a t-storm southeast of Prescott, in the Bradshaw Mountains, and another one west of Chino Valley, out toward Bagdad. I flew between them. I got bounced around a bit, but not too badly. Unfortunately, with my temperature (30�C) / altitude (6500 ft) combination, the never exceed speed was only 82 knots. That speed wasn’t limited by power, either. I’m sure I could have gotten it up to a steady 90 knots if I wanted to. But Robinson claims that flying above never exceed speed, especially at high altitudes or when heavy, can cause damage to main rotor blades. And believe me, the last thing in the world I want to damage is my main rotor blades. So I flew slowly.

I also flew high. Well, higher than usual. You see, on my flights from Wickenburg to Howard Mesa, I basically have two mountain ranges to cross. The first is the Weavers. I leave the airport and immediately start to climb so by the time I reach the Weavers I’m at around 5500 feet so I can cross them. There’s a high desert valley beyond it (Peeples Valley, Kirkland Junction, Kirkland, Skull Valley, etc.) but I don’t usually descend because I’ll have to be at at least 6500 to go around the north end of the Bradshaws, just west of Granite Mountain. Then there’s Chino Valley and Paulden. But beyond them is another mountain range — so to speak. It’s the Mogollon Rim, just south of Billl Williams Mountain, I-40, and the town of Williams. I have to climb to 7500 or thereabouts to cross through that area. So almost the whole time I’m flying to Howard Mesa, I’m climbing.

Today I had a scare. I was about 1500 feet AGL (above ground level, for you non-pilots) when I caught sight of a small plane at my altitude. It crossed in front of me about two miles away and, as I watched, it banked to the right and headed straight for me.

I don’t know what radio frequency he was on. There is no frequency for that area. So talking to him was not an option. I put on my landing light in an effort to make myself more visible. He leveled out on a collision course, less than a mile away. I did what any other helicopter pilot would do: I dumped the collective and started a 1500 foot per minute descent.

I think it was this sudden movement that caught his attention. He suddenly veered to the left. But I wasn’t taking any chances. I kept descending until I was a comfortable 500 feet AGL. Right where I should be. And right where most planes won’t fly.

He passed behind me. I switched to Prescott’s frequency and, a moment later, heard a Cessna call from Chino Valley. Obviously the pilot who’d shaken me up.

A few minutes later, I saw a helicopter cross my path, west to east. It was pretty far off in the distance — a few miles, perhaps. It looked like it might be a LifeNet helicopter. But if it was, I didn’t know where he was going. He seemed to be headed toward Sedona.

The rest of the flight was pretty uneventful. There was a t-storm to the east of Howard Mesa, still pretty far off. And a forest fire on the south rim, far to the east of where we fly in the canyon. I landed, cooled it down a good long time (I never saw the oil temperature get that hot on a flight, but it was still in the green), and shut down.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll fly to the Grand Canyon airport and report for work. It’ll be a nice flight.

I Get It Right (For a Change)

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I make three good transportation decisions in the same day.

I’m just finishing up a week working at my summer job at the Grand Canyon. While I’m working, I live in my trailer at Howard Mesa. It’s a 36 mile drive or 28 nautical mile flight to work.

At the end of my work week, I fly home. Normally, I leave directly from Grand Canyon Airport at the end of my last work day. It’s a 1-1/2 to 2 hour flight at the end of a day when I may have already flown six or seven hours. The air is usually hot and full of thermals. Or thunderstorms have moved in. It’s not fun.

So here’s the situation last night. I get a bad night’s sleep, mostly because I have a headache and the wind keeps flopping the awning around. I wake fully at 5:15 AM. It’s cloudy. I make my first decision: I’m not going to fly home directly from the airport. Why? Because I simply don’t have enough time to pack everything up into the helicopter and close up the trailer.

Then I make my second decision: I’m going to drive to the airport. This one had some real logic behind it. It was cloudy and the weather folks were predicting a 50% chance of rain. There was a definite possibility that I wouldn’t be able to fly back from the airport at the end of the day. That means the helicopter would have to be left there overnight and retrieved in the morning. That would add an hour to my travel time the next morning when I needed to fly home. So I drove my Toyota, which had been parked at Howard Mesa for about a month, to work. It took exactly 41 minutes, including the amount of time I needed to open and close the gate.

Later, at the end of the day, I made my third decision: I’m going to drive the Jeep back to Howard Mesa. The Jeep had been parked at the airport for about a month. I use it on the days I fly in, as my local transportation. So I swapped the Toyota for the Jeep and drove back to Howard Mesa at the end of the day.

These turned out to be good decisions. The reason? First of all, I flew 6.5 hours and was exhausted. Certainly not feeling up to another 1.5 to 2 hours at the stick. Second of all, nasty thunderstorms were all over the area — especially at Howard Mesa. The roads were unbelievably muddy. The Toyota would never have made it up the Mesa. Heck, the Jeep almost didn’t — I skidded off the road into a ditch and needed to shift into 4-Low to get out. And flying up would have been completely out of the question.

So now I sit here in my trailer, toasty warm while it rains outside. The Jeep is covered with thick, reddish mud what will certainly turn a few heads the next time it rolls into civilization. The helicopter awaits me outside, where the dust is (hopefully) being washed off by the rain. Tomorrow, I’ll sleep as late as I can (probably until 5:30 if I’m lucky), have a leisurely breakfast, and pack everything up for my return trip to Wickenburg. The air will be cool and smooth for my flight. Sure, I’ll miss a morning at the office, but I can’t work ALL of the time, can I?

Traffic Jam at Howard Mesa

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Traffic here is of the bovine variety.

Howard Mesa is just that: a mesa. For those of you who slept through elementary school geography, a mesa is a kind of flat-topped mountain. Howard Mesa rises about 300-500 feet out of the Coconino Plateau and is covered with rolling hills, tall golden grass, juniper and pinon pines, and volcanic rocks.

Our place is at the top of Howard Mesa, on one of its highest points. It has great views of all that grass and trees and rocks, as well as mountains in the distance and the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. As I type this just after sunset, I can clearly see Mount Trumbull on the Arizona strip, at least sixty or eighty miles away. Cool.

To get up here, you have to take a dirt road. It’s a five mile drive. In many places, the road is just wide enough for one car. That’s okay because there are hardly every any other cars around. In fact, I’ve only passed a car going in the other direction once and today was the first time someone drove past my place in four months.

PhotoBut we do have traffic here. Cow traffic. Lots of black cows wander around the land at the bottom of the mesa. They like to walk in the road. And sometimes you have to stop your car to avoid hitting them. They just don’t like to get out of the way.

And here’s another weird thing about these cows: they can walk over cattle guards. (A cattle guard is a series of metal rails stretched across a road at a fenceline. The theory is, a cow can’t walk over them. Cattle guards replace gates all over the west.) I’ve actually seen them do this. They walk right up to the cattle guard and very gingerly step across the rails. They don’t even seem to mind me watching them. Like they don’t care that I know their secret.

So if you ever come to Howard Mesa, beware of our bovine traffic jams and the amazing cattle guard-crossing cows.

Now THIS is a Bad Day

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A good entry in the “worst start for a day” contest.

Okay, so imagine this.

I’m up at my camper at Howard Mesa (read about it elsewhere in these blogs). I have a terrible night sleep, mostly because my allergies are so bad, I’m wheezing. When the alarm goes off at 5 AM, it actually wakes me. (I’m usually up before the alarm.)

Although I set the mouse trap the night before, no mouse.

I spend my usual hour getting ready with no major problems. In fact, everything is normal.

I go outside, take the tie-downs off my helicopter, check the oil, look under “the hood,” and hop in. When I turn the key, bzzzzzt. I get out and tap on the starter. I try again. Bzzzzt. I get out and spray contact cleaner on the electrical do-dads. I try again. Bzzzzt. Okay, I sit there with the master switch on and wait about a minute. I turn the key. The engine cranks. And cranks. And finally catches. But is it my imagination or is it louder than usual? And vibrating more than usual? The clutch light goes off and I wind it up to 75% RPM. That’s when I notice my manifold pressure is 18 inches. That’s the kind of power I need to hover when I’m flying solo, not warm up the engine. And when I apply a little carb heat, the RPM drops about 10%. That’s not right, either. Shit. I throttle down and pull the mixture. I stop the blades, tie them down, and get into the Jeep.

The Jeep starts right away. (That’s a good thing.) I zip out the front gate, stopping just long enough to open and close it, then head down the old state road. It’s 6:15 and I can still make it to work on time if I put the pedal to the metal. Two miles short of pavement, I hear a thump followed by a rhythmic hissing noise coming from the back right. I stop and get out for a look. The tire looks low. And lower. Shit. I hop in the Jeep and race toward pavement. I don’t want to change a flat tire in dust with my uniform on. But soon the tire is very flat and I know I have to either stop or destroy it. So I stop.

I try to use my cell phone to call work. There’s only one bar of battery power and a very weak signal. I don’t have work’s phone number programmed in. I call Mike in analog mode and leave a message for him to call work for me. The battery goes dead. The car charger is back in the camper (four miles up the dirt road) because I didn’t expect to take the Jeep.

I spread a rug I had in the back of the Jeep over the dust beside the tire. (The rug in the Jeep is part of a Girl Scout “be prepared” thing.) I have trouble finding pieces of the jack. A man and his wife, just leaving their house, stop to help me. (Thank heaven I made it past the last house.) The poor guy messes around in the dirt. His jack isn’t tall enough. I can’t find the missing pieces for mine. The high lift jack bolted to the back of the Jeep is obviously for show, because even after we get it off the bumper, it won’t work. I find the pieces for my jack. We change the tire. I thank them and go on my way.

I arrive at work 45 minutes late. I look at the Priority Schedule and discover that I’m the top priority pilot. Shit. I track down the lead pilot to see if that’s right. He tells me he switched me with Scott so I’m the last priority. I breathe a sigh of relief. I recheck the schedule and discover I have only a half hour to get my act together for my first flight.

After my first flight (which was fine, thank heaven), I’m called out to do some TOPS training. (TOPS stands for Tour Operators Program of Safety.) This is inadvertent IFR training and it requires me to put on a pair of doctored up “foggles,” which prevent me from seeing anything except the instruments — and those only if I hold my head at a terribly uncomfortable angle. I endure a half hour of flight time, chasing the instruments, being reminded that JFK, Jr. died because he couldn’t do what the instructor beside me wanted me to do. Of course, motion sickness started to set in. By the time I was allowed to see the world again, I felt pretty crappy.

The rest of the day wasn’t so bad. I flew a total of 3.5 hours in my ship and someone else’s. Someone at work had a car cell phone charger that fit my phone and volunteered to charge it for me. I dropped off the tire at the public garage in Grand Canyon Village and later discovered that they couldn’t fix it. I called Mike and asked him to bring a new tire with him. I bought lunch at Wendy’s and, while I was there, picked up a salad to bring home for dinner. I left the salad in the fridge at work. I picked up a pair of tickets for the IMAX movie for the people who helped me that morning and didn’t I have to pay for the tickets. (The uniform again.) Then I spent 45 minutes trying and finally succeeding in getting a gift certificate for those nice folks to have dinner after their movie. When I went to drop it off at their house, they weren’t home and I had to leave the envelope on their doorstep under a big dusty rock so it wouldn’t blow away.

I had to eat canned ravioli for dinner. (That chicken spinach salad would have been much better.)

Now I’m summarizing my day in this blog. I still don’t know what’s wrong with my helicopter; we’ll clean the plugs and try it again tomorrow. I just hope it doesn’t need a new engine. I just sent my last big bucks out to Oregon for its replacement.

Ah. That’s probably it. It knows it’s being replaced and is getting back at me.

[Note: It turns out that Three-Niner-Lima had a very stuck valve. My report of our road trip to rescue it can be found in my Pilot bLog .]

Another Birthday Comes and Goes

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How I spent my birthday this year.

Nothing terribly exciting to report.

I started the day at the airport, where I gave a helicopter ride to one of the SEAT pilots. The morning (at 7AM) was cool and the air was smooth. Door off, of course. I was low on fuel so we kept it short — only about 20 minutes. I flew him around Vulture Peak and town, then flew over Jim’s house. When we landed at the pumps, both needles were below E.

I took on 20 gallons and Mike and I flew up route 93, just south of the Burro Creek Bridge. Jim and Ray had been exploring up there and they’d found an old sheep ranch tucked away in a canyon, deserted. Jim described where it was and what it looked like to me, but did not give me GPS coordinates. (Jim is GPS challenged.) His descriptions of possible landing zones were completely useless. Trouble is, we found two places that could have been the place he described. And neither one had acceptable LZs nearby. I almost landed on top of a hill at one of them, but I didn’t like the look of the big rocks that would be beneath and around my skids. At the other one, I nearly landed in a corral, but with a lot of fuel and Mike on board and heat on its way, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to clear the fence to take off. And we weren’t sure if either place was the right one. Next time, I’ll let Jim fly and show me the place.

Our plans foiled, we decided to go to Skull Valley for breakfast. There’s a little cafe there that we’ve never tried. Jerry Kristoferson owns some land with a dirt strip nearby. It looked like the best place to land. A man and his son came out to make sure everything was alright. I guess they didn’t expect a helicopter to land on a dirt strip. It took us a while to figure out how to get to the cafe from the strip and we were a bit dismayed when we had to get through a locked gate. But we managed. Breakfast was good; we had chicken fried steak and eggs. The gravy was really stick-to-your-ribs. I didn’t need to eat for the rest of the day.

It was windy by the time we flew back to Wickenburg. I topped off the tanks, then wheeled the helicopter in to Ed for an oil change. He showed me the Champ, which JD had pretty much totaled at Eagle Roost a few weeks before. With all the work they’ll need to do on that thing, it’ll probably qualify as a homebuilt.

At the office, I took care of some e-mail and packed up my laptop to go up to the Grand Canyon. I also wrote the big check. That’s right. I finally placed an order for a Robinson R44 Raven II helicopter. I did a little wheeling and dealing on the phone and managed to swap the high skids and metallic paint for a pair of hardwired Bose Generation X headsets for the front seats. I haven’t lost my touch. Hillsboro Aviation gave me a smoking deal on the ship. I sent them a check for $25K (which took about a month to scrape together). If I’m lucky, I’ll see the ship in December. I have six months to come up with the down payment and arrange financing. Let’s hope interest rates don’t go up again and that I don’t have any trouble selling my apartment complex.

Bank, post office, supermarket. The usual errands. I bought some milk and other dairy products to bring to the camper with me. Then I went home and threw together my things for the trip to Howard Mesa. Mike took me to the airport where we pulled the helicopter out of Ed’s hangar and loaded it up. Mike watched when I started the engine (to make sure oil wouldn’t come spurting out). I sweated my brains out in the sun with the doors on, waiting for two other aircraft to get the heck out of my way. Then I took off, heading north.

It was still windy. Very windy. Fortunately, the wind was out of the south, blowing at about 25 to 30 knots. It was gusty, though, so I got bumped around a lot. When I climbed over the Weavers near Antelope Peak, turbulence hit very hard, reminding me just how tiny my helicopter is. But I kept a ground speed of at least 100 knots all the way up to Howard Mesa. The wind wasn’t quite as bad here. I landed, unloaded, made some dinner, and settled down to read and write.

Right now, I’m sitting on the sofa, listening to classic rock, sipping a glass of Australian Shiraz, writing this blog. It’s about 7 PM — that’s 12 hours after the start of my day. The sun’s still up. To the east, I can see the stream of smoke from the fire near Payson — I got a good look at the smoke plume most of the way up. The wind is carrying it far to the north; I bet I see it on the east side of the canyon when I fly tomorrow. To the west, there’s a small fire near the Grand Canyon. I wonder whether it’s close to my route and I hope they put it out soon.

Another quiet evening alone. Not a bad way to end a busy day.