Tag Archives: landing zones

Flying "Into" the Grand Canyon

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A dialog about the idiosyncrasies of flying helicopters in certain parts of Arizona.

I just spent the last 30 minutes or so cleaning up my e-mail in box. I have the nasty habit of not filing or discarding messages as quickly as they come in, so there were over 300 messages to wade through. I’d read all of them and flagged some. I wound up deleting about 1/3 of them, filing another 1/3 of them, and leaving the rest for another day.

Among the e-mail messages I found was a dialog between me and another pilot, Robert Mark of JetWhine. He’d e-mailed me to ask a question and although I normally don’t answer questions sent to me by e-mail — I prefer using the Comments feature on this site so the exchange of information can involve and possibly benefit others — I did answer his. Although I’d like to get the exchange out of my e-mail in box, I want to share it with readers, since I think it has some interesting information.

So here’s the exchange. I’ve mixed Robert’s questions with my answers to make the exchange easier to follow.

Robert:

As a helicopter pilot out west, I wondered if you might be familiar with this Grand Canyon topic.

Do you know if it is correct that tour copters operated through the tribal reservation run to different standards than those that are based elsewhere?

The Chicago Tribune ran a story about the Canyon Sunday and claimed the tribal-operated copters can dip well below the edge of the cayone on a tour where others can not.

It sounded pretty odd to me.

Me:

Helicopters operating on tribal lands with appropriate permits can actually LAND at the bottom of the canyon. This, of course, is on tribal land belonging to the Hualapai and Havasupai tribes in the western part of the canyon — not in the main National Park area.

Please send me a link to that article if it is online. I’d like to read it.

Robert:

Just happen to have that link to the Tribune handy.

So then as a tribal copter, do their pilots train to different standards if they only fly there?

Me:

No, they’re not owned by the tribes. They’re owned/operated by other companies, like Papillon and Maverick, both of which operate in Vegas and at the Grand Canyon.

I worked for Papillon at the Grand Canyon. Training for GCW (Grand Canyon West) consists of spending a day or so with another pilot, learning the route and getting the feel for the density altitude situation. It’s hotter than hell down there in midsummer. Anyone can do it, but they don’t normally train women because of limited housing out there. That’s one reason why I never learned.

Don’t think it’s a big deal. It’s not. Each flight is about 6 minutes long and you’re doing ups and downs all day. The canyon isn’t as deep there as elsewhere in the park. And it isn’t as if you’re cruising up and down the canyon all day. You’re not. Just ups and downs on a preset route. Tedious stuff. Flying the South Rim is far more rewarding.

Thanks for the article link. I’ve flown out there in my old R22. The article describes the place pretty well. It’s unfortunate that many Vegas tourists think GCW is “The Grand Canyon.” It’s just a tiny part of it — and not even the good part.

Robert:

Sorry, but I’m kind of dumb on Native American issues.

Me:

Don’t feel bad. A lot of people are.

The reservations are self-governing bodies within the U.S. In a way, they’re like they’re own countries. They make their own rules, but do have to answer to the U.S. government for some things.

Robert:

So these are regular helicopter tour operators that ALL get a special exemption to do whatever this writer was talking about then? And that comes from FAA or is FAA essentially not involved because it is tribal land?

Me:

Yes, the helicopter operators get permits from the tribes. When I say operators, I mean the companies, not the pilots. They pay a fee to the tribes that’s based on operations (takeoffs/landings), facilities (like landing zones next to the river), and other stuff. Theoretically, my company could apply for (and get and pay for) a permit to do the same thing Papillon is doing. But since GCW is a 2-hour flight from where I’m based, I haven’t tried.

Closing Note:

Since the opening of the Skywalk at Grand Canyon West, I’ve gotten a number of calls from people interested in flying out there. It’s a two-hour flight from the Phoenix area and I’d have to charge about $2K round trip (for up to 3 people; not per person). But the alternative is a 5-1/2 hour (each way) drive. For folks with money to spend, I can turn a two-day excursion to the middle of nowhere into a pleasant day trip. Still, I don’t expect many takers. Not many people are willing to blow $2K+ on a single day of fun.

Cows in the Landing Zone

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Yes, cows.

One of Flying M Air’s clients is a local business that has a remote ranch along the Hassayampa River. I occasionally take their VIPs out to the ranch, turning a 45-minute (each way) car ride on washboarded dirt roads into a 6-minute scenic helicopter flight.

The landing zone is near a few of the ranch buildings, on a patch of sparse grass near a road. My approach route takes me along the road past large pens holding horses, cows, and calves.

On all of my previous flights, the cows were in the pens. But today, they were out and about. As I approached my landing zone, I was rather surprised to see a 2-month-old calf standing on the road, obviously mooing its little brains out. The recipient of this mooing was on the other side of the landing zone: a cow that might have been its mother.

Of course, I noted all this as I was coming in for a landing with three passengers on board. I’ve landed there so many times that I don’t normally do any kind of reconnoissance anymore. I know the landing zone very well and, if things aren’t as expected, I know the quick escape route I can use if I need to abort.

I didn’t need to abort. I set down where I usually do while my passengers debated whether they could walk past the cow about 100 feet away. The cow had horns — as all the cows at that ranch do — and they thought it might be a bull. Many people who don’t check an animal’s privates think horns are the indication of animal gender. I saw udders and I knew it was a cow.

While I descended to the ground, my rotor wash blew up a bunch of dried cow patties and dust. It all flew into the air and I wondered about the possibility of one of those smaller cow patties flying up into the tail rotor when it was time to take off.

I throttled down to cool-down RPM (68% on an R44) and let my passengers disembark, reminding them again of the tail rotor. I always park facing where my passengers need to go, so there’s no reason for them to walk behind the helicopter. As I cooled the helicopter down, I watched a cowboy greet them. They walked away to take a tour of the ranch. Routine stuff.

What wasn’t routine was the cows. They were all over the place. Cows and calves in every direction. There had to be at least twenty of them.

I shut down, watching the cows and wondering whether they were tall enough to interfere with the tail rotor. Those horns were pretty high up. They were watching me. All of them. Just standing around, with their cow faces looking my way. It was very weird.

I stopped the blades with the rotor brake and got out to survey my position on the landing zone. There was certainly a lot more cow patties than the last time I’d landed there. I’d landed in a patch of short, dry grass, surrounded by dirt. There was a shallow ditch off the front end of the right skid. No big rocks near the skids. Just a bunch of dried cow patties in all sizes. So dry that I could kick them away from the tail rotor area without getting cow poop on my shoes. But not dry enough that I to touch them with my hands.

I looked at the cows and their calves. They were still watching me. The closest one was about 100 feet away. One of them was mooing insistently.

I took out my Hobbs book and caught up with some paperwork. I knew my passengers would be at least 30 minutes. I’d forgotten my iPod at home and figured I’d use the time to catch up with some of the log stuff the FAA required for my Part 135 certificate.

When I looked up, a few of the cows were closer.

This was not good. I put away the book and got out. I made a big show of cleaning the cockpit bubble. The cows watched.

I finished and decided it was time to chase the cows away. I’d told my passengers that I’d start the engine when I saw them coming, but I wasn’t prepared to start the engine when a cow might walk into the tail rotor. I had to get them away.

Unfortunately, persistent “shooing” sounds with waving hands didn’t do the job.

I started walking toward the closest cow. Other cows and calves nearby immediately moved away. One of them stopped periodically to moo at me. But soon most of them were a bit farther off.

Except one. She was an older cow with horns that had the tips sawn off. I got the idea that she was a troublemaker who used her horns one too many times to bully another cow or maybe a horse or cowboy. She seemed fascinated with either me or (more likely) the red helicopter I’d arrived in. When I walked toward her, she walked away. When I stopped, she stopped and looked at me.

It was getting chilly; the wind was picking up. I climbed back into the helicopter and closed the doors on my side.

That’s when the ranch guy showed up. He was driving a blue New Holland tractor with a front-end loader on it. The tractor was pulling a matching blue water tank. He drove noisily down the road and carefully backed the tank into a spot near a horse corral. Two dogs were walking alongside his rig; I realized that two more were riding on the tank trailer. He stopped and a guy rode up on an ATV. I turned my attention to the cows. I think they were getting closer again. The guy with the ATV rode off. The ranch guy disconnected the water trailer and pulled the tractor away. He parked a short distance from me and called to the dogs.

There were four dogs and they all looked to be mutts. Three of them had some border collie or Australian shepherd or heeler in them. The other one looked like it might have some hound in it. But when the ranch guy hollered whatever it is he hollered, the dogs took off toward the closest group of cows.

The next ten minutes was an incredible show. The dogs, listening to a few simple commands from the ranch guy, proceeded to round up groups of 3 to 6 cows and move them toward the horse corrals 50 yards away from my helicopter. The cows didn’t want to be moved. The older ones turned their horns toward the dogs and even kicked at them, but the dogs were always faster and managed to stay safe. They barked and the cows mooed and the calves ran around in a panic. But eventually the pack was moved to the fence near the horse corral. Then the dogs got a short rest before the ranch guy would set them on another group of cows. I watched in amazement until all the cows except one had been moved to the side of the horse corral.

The whole time, the ranch guy just sat in the blue tractor, watching the dogs. Every once in a while, he’d yell out a command that I couldn’t quite hear. When the dogs were finished, they came back to the tractor and just lay down in the dirt. They stayed there for about five minutes. Then the ranch guy issued another command I couldn’t quite catch and motioned to the one cow that was still nearby. The dogs took off after it.

The cow ran into the bushes. The dogs ran after it. “Bring ’em back!” the ranch guy yelled. I saw the cow run back and forth through the bushes. The dogs split up and worked it as a team. Soon, the cow was running back across the clearing. It ran past the front of the helicopter toward the other cows. Finally it was among them. The dogs relaxed.

The ranch guy started the tractor and headed off back up the road. The dogs followed him. He rounded a bend in the road and moved out of sight.

The cows stood in a group near the horse corral. A few of them mooed angrily. One or two scratched their front hooves in the dirt like a bull at a bullfight in the movies.

A few minutes later, three of the dogs returned. They stared at the cows for a few minutes, then lay down in the dirt 50 feet away, watching them.

The cows didn’t move, although the mooing ones never really shut up.

My passengers returned a while later. I didn’t have to worry much about the cows and the tail rotor. The dogs had them under control.

This is one of the few times I didn’t have a camera with me. If I did, I’d have used the movie feature to get video of the dogs in action.

My total flight time was 0.3 hours, but I’ll get paid for 0.5 because of my half-hour minimum. I was on the ground waiting for nearly 50 minutes.

But that’s okay. I had a really good show.

Swansea Here We Come!

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I finally get my BLM permit for Swansea.

Miners houses at Swansea Town SiteIn December 2004, I applied for a permit to conduct helicopter tours to Swansea Town Site. Swansea is a ghost town in a remote area of the Arizona desert, west of Alamo Lake, south of the Bill Williams River, north of Bouse, and east of Parker. I takes about 3 hours to get there by car — well, by Jeep, since a car can’t make it on the sometimes sandy, sometimes rocky dirt roads — and about 40 minutes to get there by helicopter. The idea was to take day trippers out to the town site, let them walk around with a BLM self-guided walking tour brochure, give them some refreshments when they’re done, and fly them back to Wickenburg. The trip would cost $495 for up to three passengers.

Miners houses at Swansea Town SiteYou might be asking why I need a permit to use public land. BLM, in case you’re not aware, stands for Bureau of Land Management. It’s a part of the Department of the Interior. Of the Federal Government. These are government managed lands that belong to the people. And the people can use them, as long as they follow certain rules. Among those rules are that if you want to make money by operating a tour or anything else on BLM lands, you have to get a permit.

I applied for that permit in December. It cost me $80 that was not refundable and there was no guarantee that I’d get the permit. Talk about gambling!

Of course, I didn’t get any response at all to my application. I followed up in January. That’s when I was told they needed more information, like proposed landing zones. So I took my helicopter, which was brand spanking new at the time, and my GPS, and John and Lorna, and flew out to Swansea. I landed on my preferred landing zone, which was near the middle of town, and walked around taking GPS readings of the places that would work as landing zones. I came up with about seven of them. I also took photos. One photo showed my preferred landing zone, which just happened to have my helicopter in it.

When I got back to my office, I fed the GPS coordinates into my mapping software to produce a topo map with the coordinates on it. I then numbered them in order of preference. I took the photos from the flight, stuck it in an envelope with a cover letter and the map, and sent it to BLM in Lake Havasu.

A few days later I got a message on my voicemail from BLM scolding me for landing at Swansea. It was my understanding that as a private citizen on personal recreation (not for hire), I was allowed to land on BLM land, as long as it wasn’t wilderness area or my landing would cause damage (common sense stuff). So I wrote a letter back to them. They replied grudgingly, in writing, that I was right. It’s one of those letters you keep, if you know what I mean.

Next, they told me they’d have to do an environmental impact study. This irked me for two reasons:

  • The majority of people who come to Swansea do so on ATVs and some of them have no qualms about tearing up the desert with their fat little tires. They don’t care about archeological sites or desert tortoises. Irresponsible. Yet when I land, my vehicle touches the ground in precisely two long places — where my skids touch down — and I don’t damage a thing.
  • This environmental impact study, which I thought was a waste of time and money, would be done with taxpayer dollars. I’m a taxpayer. And it made me wonder how much other wasteful spending BLM did.

But you can’t fight them. You really can’t. So although I voiced my protest and even wrote to my senators and congressmen, I had no choice but to wait.

In actuality, what I did was write off the $80 as a bad investment and swear I’d never send another dime to BLM.

Time passed. The guy who was working my case retired. I really didn’t expect to ever hear from BLM again.

Then, in December, my cell phone rang while I was at the airport putting away the helicopter after a flight. It was a new person from BLM. He introduced himself and said he was working on my application.

“Bad news?” I asked, figuring he was calling to say that it had been turned down.

“Well, no,” he replied, sounding a bit surprised. “At least I don’t think so. We’re almost done with the application and it looks like it will be approved.”

I tried not to sound shocked. He went on to tell me that he’d need BLM listed on my insurance policy as an additional named insured (no problem). We then had a very pleasant conversation about Swansea and what a great place it was. He was very friendly and knowledgeable and a real pleasure to talk to. I wrote his name and phone number down so I could follow up.

Of course, I lost that information. (if you saw my desk, you’d know why.)

Months passed. Then on Thursday of last week, my BLM man called again. He wanted to put the permit in the mail, but needed the insurance. No problem, I assured him. I’d fax it over. He gave me his name and fax number. (Can you believe I lost them again?) Today, I called the office, got the information I needed, and faxed over the insurance. And when I got home from work the permit was in my mailbox.

I still can’t believe it.

Now I know my original contact had warned me that the process could take as much as six months. Well, he really said 180 days. But maybe he meant 16 months? Or 480 days? Because that’s how long it took. The government doesn’t exactly move quickly. (Look at New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina.)

The permit is a simple piece of paper. The letter that came with it has some restrictions that are easy to live with. Only 3 allowed landing zones — none of which is my preferred, but one of which is very good. A maximum visit of 2 hours — as if there will be someone there with a stopwatch to time us. No overnight camping. No more than four people total — that’s all that my helicopter can seat anyway, so it would be impossible to bring more.

My contact told me he needs to chat with me before I start using the permit. i’ll call him on Thursday.

In the meantime, I’m looking forward to adding the Swansea Ghost Town tour to Flying M Air’s Web site.