Tag Archives: weather

Grounded at the Grand Canyon

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Weather. Again.

This week, I’m on a Southwest Circle Helicopter Adventure with two very nice folks from California. Although this helicopter excursion normally runs 6 days and 5 nights, these folks expanded the trip to add 2 more days at Lake Powell.

The weather was an issue from Day 1, when we departed Phoenix Deer Valley Airport and headed north to Sedona. Although the forecast didn’t seem out of the ordinary — mild temperatures, light winds, clear skies — an odd white haze had settled over the Phoenix area, making visibility poor. It was like flying in Los Angeles. Ick.

Oak Creek VillageSo instead of giving my guests their Phoenix Tour and heading up the Verde River on Day 1, we took a shorter route to Sedona that overflew Lake Pleasant and stayed within several miles of the I-17 corridor. I figured I’d save the scenic flight for when visibility was better. I also expected visibility to be better in the Sedona area and was very surprised that it was not.

Of course, I watch the weather closely on these trips. Heck, I seldom go for more than a few hours without checking the forecast for the next three days and destinations. That’s how I knew the wind would kick up at the Grand Canyon for Day 2 and likely keep blowing through Day 3.

White Haze on Coconino PlateauThe flight to the Grand Canyon on Day 2 wasn’t anything special — except for that white haze that persisted, even up on the Coconino Plateau. Very odd for Arizona. It wasn’t blowing dust, either — the wind wasn’t strong enough for that. Just an ugly haze.

We got to the Grand Canyon in time for my guests’ helicopter tour with Maverick Helicopters. We then piled into my redneck truck, which lives at the Grand Canyon during the winter months, and went into the park. I set my guests free to enjoy their day at the South Rim and did my job: getting their luggage into their rooms. Then I relaxed in my own room. I’d been at the Grand Canyon so many times when the weather was so much better. I was tired and thought I’d take it easy for the rest of the day.

Of course, I still watched the weather. I wasn’t happy about what I saw for Day 3. Winds 25 gusting as high as 41 would make for a rough flight out of the area. And then there was the 90% chance of precipitation with 100% sky cover. The forecasters said to expect snow flurries with accumulations under 1 inch. This was a far call from the blizzard I’d experienced at Bryce Canyon the month before, so the snow didn’t worry me much. It was the cloud cover. I knew how low clouds could get at Grand Canyon Airport. If they came too low for a safe, VFR departure, we’d be stuck.

One of the drawbacks to scheduling a Southwest Circle excursion is that everything needs to be booked and paid for in advance. Last minute cancellations are not only costly, but they cause nightmares in merely making changes. For example, if we missed a Monument Valley date, we would likely not be able to stay there the next night — the place is booked months in advance. My guests were scheduled to take an Antelope Canyon Tour on Day 3 and a Lake Powell boat ride to Rainbow Bridge on Day 4. Although Antelope Canyon could likely be rescheduled, the boat trip could not. So weather delays cause nightmares for me during a trip. It’s for that reason that I usually can’t relax until we reach Monument Valley, normally on Day 4.

Grand Canyon DawnDay 3 dawned gray but with plenty of visibility. I even got out and snapped a few photos when the sun poked through some clouds and illuminated one of the rock formations in the canyon near Bright Angel Lodge, where we were staying. I grabbed some coffee, went back to my room, and checked e-mail. An hour later, I peeked out the window and saw that it was snowing.

It was 7 AM. We were scheduled to leave at 9 AM.

Over the next hour, visibility dropped to near zero and the snow came down hard and fast.

After dealing with an almost flat tire on my redneck truck, I called my guests and told them we’d be delaying departure. I got their room checkout time extended to noon.

By 9 AM, it was pretty obvious that we weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. I shot this video outside the Bright Angel Lodge, right on the rim of the canyon. (I added the voiceover later that night.) Trouble was, I couldn’t extend our stay at the Canyon and I had all those other activities scheduled.

My Redneck Truck, with SnowI felt bad for my guests. They’d spent a lot of money on this trip and now they were stuck at a scenic place with no scenery and no helicopter flight to get them to their next destination. So I became their driver for the day. After realizing that the truck was not likely to make it to Desert View (on the east end of the park) before the roads were cleared, we stopped at the Visitor Center and the Geology Museum before heading into Tusayan (the tourist town outside the park) for lunch. The plan was for them to see the IMAX movie across the street next.

By 1 PM, the weather seemed to be clearing out. As we ate lunch at a “steakhouse,” I came up with a plan. While they were watching the movie, I’d prep the helicopter for departure. If the visibility held, we could escape to the east and arrive in Page before dark. (I’d already rescheduled their Antelope Canyon tour for Day 5.)

Icy-covered HelicopterBut that plan failed miserably. When I got to the airport, I found the helicopter’s right side — the side facing the weather — completely iced over. The main rotor hub, the tail cone, and the tail rotor were all coated with ice. Even the skids looked frozen to the ground. And, of course, there was a good helping of snow in the fan scroll (again!) and even some inside the air intake port. The temperature had dropped by 10°F and it was now below freezing. It would not warm up again that day. The helicopter was officially grounded.

Cloudy CanyonI wound up driving them to Page. The trip should have taken just over 2 hours, but since the weather was clearing enough to see into the canyon, we made several stops along the way. We arrived in Page at 8 PM. I checked them into their room, made sure they were set for the next day’s boat ride, and checked into my room at the Day’s Inn.

Grand Canyon JuniperNow what I needed was a thaw — temperatures above 32°F. I must have called the AWOS number for GCN a dozen times before 10:30 AM on Day 4. Then I climbed into my redneck truck and made the trek down to Grand Canyon Airport. It took 2 and a half hours with just one stop to snap pictures of a very different (from the previous day) view.

The temperature was about 36°F when I arrived at the airport. The sun — my friend! — was playing hide and seek with thick, layered clouds. But the tour operators were all flying — visibility was great! Even the wind was not a factor. Most of the ice on the outside of the helicopter had melted. I just had to resort to my hot water trick to melt all the snow out of the fan scroll. After a good preflight, I started it up. A little rough at first and it took a full 10 minutes to warm up. But then I was ready to go and, after getting clearance from Grand Canyon tower, took off and headed east.

Echo CliffsThe flight was, for the most part, smooth. I ran the video camera (as you might expect) and captured some good footage over the Little Colorado River Gorge and along the Echo Cliffs. I set down on a helipad at Page Municipal Airport at 3 PM.

Today, the weather is clear with not a cloud in the sky. My guests are just finishing up their Antelope Canyon Tour. Tomorrow, we’ll continue on our way, winding up at Monument Valley in the early afternoon. So far, the forecast looks great.

Let’s hope it stays that way.

A Bryce Canyon Photo Shoot

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It’s all about timing.

I’m at Bryce Canyon with one of my aerial photography clients this weekend. Although we’re here to do some aerial work at Bryce and then at the Grand Canyon (and maybe Sedona), we’re grounded due to weather. Yesterday dumped at least 10 inches of snow in the area, blanketing everything with thick white snow. Last night, it started to clear out. My client and I arranged to meet before dawn and see what we could shoot in the park at sunrise.

We met at 6:30 AM. The moon, waning two days past full, was still up and, at one point, was beautifully framed by the tall, snow-covered pines along the park’s entrance road. We pulled over into a cleared area and my client spent about 20 minutes standing in the snow across the road with his tripod and camera. I took the opportunity to touch base with my husband back in Wickenburg.

The clouds were moving in again when we finally got back on the road. My client didn’t have much hope. I was uncertain. I know how quickly conditions can change up here. I also knew that the temperature/dew point spread at the airport 5 miles away was only 2°C — and that meant possible fog. I was hoping some of that fog might be in the canyon.

Inside the park, only two viewpoints were open: Sunrise Point and Sunset Point. Both look out into the “Amphitheater” area , a roughly C shaped canyon facing southeast. My client and I were glad the other road was closed; it meant our brief aerial photo work the next morning was less likely to bother park visitors.

Snow ThrowerMy client steered us to Sunset Point. Two very large snow throwers were at work in the parking area where only two cars were parked. We parked behind one of them, got our gear together, and headed out to the lookout point.

Although the path had been cleared the day before, about 2 inches of fresh powdery snow lay atop the surface. Below that was a sheet of ice. We both walked carefully. The viewpoint was deserted. The view was…well, interesting, but not perfect. The fog I wanted to see was layered in the canyon and at various other places beyond it. There was enough fog to make it interesting without really obscuring the hoodoos — red, column-like rock formations — that we’d come to see. The trouble was, the light was awful. The sun was up, but it was hidden behind thick clouds. The light was gray and lifeless.

The hiking trail down into the canyon was open — despite thick snow covering the pathway. My client, who was prepared to hike in deep snow, announced he was going down. I had the car keys. The idea was that when I got cold, I’d wait for him in the car. My iPad was in there, so I’d be able to read or check e-mail. He headed down and I walked back to the view point to see how things would change.

Another photographer showed up about five minutes later. We got to talking. He was from the Salt Lake City area and had come down the day before. He couldn’t believe all the snow he was seeing had fallen in just that day. As we chatted, we snapped photos. I had my monopod with me; he was shooting handheld. (My client was lugging a very heavy tripod down the trail with him.) A few minutes later, the man’s family joined us. He and his daughter (I assume) headed down the trail, leaving me up top with his wife and other daughter (I assume). We did a lot of chatting and photo snapping as time went on.

First LightThe first hint that things might improve came a while later when the sun started breaking through the clouds. I snapped this photo using the HDR function of my iPhone and then fixed it up a bit more in Photoshop to bring out the shadows. Not too impressive. The light faded again right after that and I started thinking about how warm the car might be. But I decided to stick it out a bit longer.

I was glad I did. A few things happened:

  • The sun rose higher. Of course, I expected that.
  • The clouds drifted on a gentle breeze to the west. The effect of that was to make it easier for the sun to poke over the top of the cloud bank.
  • The fog bank began drifting into the canyon.

The effect of all these changes, which occurred over the course of about an hour, was to make an amazing, constantly changing scene in front of me. I began doing real photography. The three photos shown below are among the best I shot.

Bryce Dawn 1Snowy Bryce Dawn 1
D7000, f/10 @ 34 mm, 1/400, ISO 400, No Flash

What I like most about this first shot is the laying of the low clouds among the hoodoos in the canyon. This really helped to separate the rock formations and add an element of three-dimensionality. It was also neat to be above the clouds without having to fly there.

I had two lenses with me: a Nikkor 10-24mm and a Nikkor 16-85mm. Although I prefer the 16-85mm lens — it’s the absolute perfect all-purpose lens — I found that I was shooting most photos with the wider view. With my Nikon D7000’s 1.5x crop factor, this lens, at its widest focal length, is equivalent to a 15mm 35mm camera lens. There’s very little distortion — unlike my 10.5mm fisheye, which is fun but not practical. I liked the way it accentuated the sky in some of the earlier shots I took.

For a while, I switched back and forth — no easy feat when wearing gloves and relying on a jacket pocket for lens storage. Later, as the light continued to change, I wound up sticking with the 16-85mm lens, which also had a polarizer on it. That came in handy when the sun had risen high enough over the cloud bank to bring out some of the colors. I’m a big fan of using polarizing filters when the light is right for them. It really can accentuate the outlines of clouds and the blue of the sky, not to mention the red in the rocks.

Bryce Canyon Dawn 2Snowy Bryce Dawn 2
D7000, f/10 @ 16 mm, 1/400, ISO 400, No Flash

I’m actually a little annoyed about this photo. When I shoot, I compose in the camera with every intention of using the full frame image. In other words, I shoot photos that don’t need to be cropped. This is very easy if you use zoom lenses, which I do, and take the time to compose properly.

The problem with this image is that when I shot it, I included my monopod head, which was leaning against a fence rail, in the lower-left corner of the picture. It ruined the photo. The only way to “fix” it was to crop it. This was the best I could do. It is not as I intended. I may attempt to remove the monopod head with Photoshop in the future, but I generally don’t like doing things like that. We’ll see.

Bryce Canyon Lone PineBryce Canyon Lone Pine
D7000, f/11 @ 24 mm, 1/500, ISO 400, No Flash

I like to shoot foreground items with interesting backgrounds. This tree, with the fog, clouds, and sky behind it to separate it from the background details, made a great foreground subject. And what could be more interesting in the background than snow-covered red rock hoodoos?

In all, I shot about 50 images over the course of 90 minutes. These were the three I liked most after viewing them on my laptop. I might find other favorites when I get back to my office and have time to look at them again.

I should mention that my camera was outfitted with its Nikon GPS, which worked like a charm to encode location information into each shot. This was the first time I used it. The device is awkward and I’m not sure how often I’ll really want to use it. I might reserve it for tripod-based work.

The fog bank continued to move in and eventually blocked out the sun again. The overlook chilled back down to its pre-sun temperature. Down below, on the trail, my client and the two other people who’d gone down started back up. The dad and his daughter arrived first and the family left together. When I realized my client had stopped for more photos, I decided to head back to the car. He joined me about 20 minutes later.

It had been a nice morning shoot, despite the cold. My client says there’s too much snow on the hoodoos for the aerial shoot we need to do before heading south again. While I agree that there’s a lot, I don’t think there’s too much. The red rocks are still clearly visible and should look great from the air.

As I write this four hours after our return, the snow is falling again. Let’s hope it doesn’t add much more to the scenery here.

Today’s Snowy Adventure

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A comedy of errors in four acts.

I’m at Bryce Canyon this morning. I flew up here with a client to do an aerial photo shoot. We knew the weather was going to get bad today and made sure we arrived yesterday, before we couldn’t get in at all. Based on the forecast, we figured we’d get the shoot done on Sunday afternoon and Monday morning before heading down to the Grand Canyon to do a shoot there.

The weather was surprisingly good and, if it hadn’t been so windy, we probably would have attempted the shoot on arrival. Instead, we parked the helicopter and I slipped on its blade hail covers, which I’d brought along. We’re not expecting hail, but I figured (correctly, according to two cold-climate pilots I spoke to) that the covers would also keep snow and ice off the blade surfaces. Unfortunately, there was no way to guarantee that snow wouldn’t accumulate on top of the covers. Heavy snow or ice sitting on the covers on the blades could cause them to droop excessively; if that happened, the blade droop stops could be damaged. So I’d have to keep an eye on the situation, possibly by making multiple trips to the airport during the weekend. The airport is 3 or 4 miles from the hotel we’re staying in, Ruby’s Inn. My client rented a car.

After checking in at Ruby’s the weather got better and better. My client went into the park to photograph the hoodoos and stayed there to watch the moon rise. He told me later that he took 20-minute exposures of the hoodoos lighted by just the moon and they look like they were shot in daylight. (I’m looking forward to seeing them.) I elected to stay in my room. I’m recovering from a nasty cold that just about ruined my vacation. It was cold out — probably around 35°F before sunset — and the heater works very well in my room. When I finally turned in for the night around 9 PM, the moon was shining brightly in what looked like a perfectly clear sky.

Hard to believe the weather forecast said 80% chance of snow in less than 2 hours.

Act I: The Snow Begins

Things were different when I woke up at about 3:40 AM. There was probably about 2 inches of snow on the ground and more coming down. Two hours later, when it started to get light, there was at least another 2 inches. Not much wind, either. I started wondering how much 4 inches of snow on 14-foot long helicopter rotor blades weighed.

At about 7 AM, my client showed up outside my door. I saw him through the window; he didn’t want to knock. I opened it. By then, the snow was quite impressive, piled up on everyone’s car. The wind had begun to blow a bit, too.

“Look at all this snow,” he said. “We can’t go to the airport to check the helicopter. The car is just a sedan. No four wheel drive.”

In all honesty, it didn’t look that bad yet. I recall driving 40 miles in snow twice as deep — in a 1987 Toyota MR2. Not exactly an all-terrain vehicle.

I told him I’d call the airport. I did. No one answered. I left a message asking them to peek out the window and report back to me about the rotor blades. But at the rate the snow was falling, I wasn’t willing to wait long for a report. I told my client I’d try again in a half hour. Otherwise, I needed to go.

The snow kept falling. The wind was blowing but didn’t seem to be making a dent in the accumulations on the tops of cars and trucks parked silently in the lot below my window.

Act II: Our Drive to the Airport — and Confrontation with a Jerk

Dressed for WinterAt 7:30, after getting no answer at the airport again, I got dressed in my best effort at winter gear. That meant a cotton turtleneck shirt with a cotton long sleeved shirt over that, a pair of nylon/spandex leggings with a pair of denim jeans over that, cotton socks, sneakers (I left from Phoenix where I don’t keep a pair of boots), my wool scarf, my leather jacket (with lamb fleece collar removed so as not to gather snow), ear warmer head band, baseball cap, and wooly gloves. The only pieces of clothing from my suitcase that I wasn’t wearing were my pajamas, the shirt I’d worn the day before, and one extra shirt I’d brought along. I looked ridiculous (see photo; I don’t think putting this photo on Craig’s List would get me in as much trouble as this guy’s photo did) but figured I’d be warm enough.

I went to my client’s door. He was wearing sweatpants, having a cup of coffee. He didn’t look ready to go out. I told him I’d start scraping the snow off the car. He protested quite loudly, but I just went.

Partially Cleared SnowI had a plastic shopping bag with me and I used it to cover one arm. (The goal was to keep as dry as possible.) I then used sweeping motions to get the snow off the car. It didn’t take long. The snow was a bit wet but moved easily. Not very heavy. But there was at least 8 inches of it accumulated. What would that weigh on my blades? I was starting to get very nervous about it.

A plow came through the parking lot leaving the inevitable snow bank behind the car.

My client appeared. He told me he was going to buy an ice scraper. I pointed out that there wasn’t any ice. I asked him to start the engine and use the wiper blades to finish off the front window. I recleared the side and back window; another 1/4 inch of snow had already blanketed them.

While he backed up, I stood at the hood, pushing. He didn’t seem to have much trouble moving it, but made the fatal error of turning the wheel before he’d cleared the snowbank. The back end of the car plowed into it and the car was stuck fast.

I started work on the snowbank. By this time, two other cars had successfully extracted themselves. Two guys hurried over to help us. When the car wouldn’t budge, one asked if he could sit at the wheel. My client stepped out and the other guy got in. With three of us pushing at the hood and the driver’s good “rocking” skills, the car was soon extracted. I asked if we could help them with their car and they assured us that wasn’t necessary. They had four-wheel drive.

My client wound his way through the plowed area of the parking lot and into the main road. He was not a happy camper. But the road didn’t seem slippery, and at our slow speed, we weren’t sliding around at all. The main trouble was seeing the road. Everything was white and the road surface perfectly matched the white snowbanks on either side. Visibility was probably about 1/4 mile. The airport’s weather system was reporting freezing fog and now I knew what that looked like.

When we reached the junction of Highway 12, we stopped. There was no one around us in any direction. From inside the car, it was impossible to see if the road had been plowed at all. So I got out to take a look. It had been plowed, but not recently. It had tire tracks on it. It looked doable.

But before I could begin convincing my client/driver to continue on, a beat up old pickup truck made the turn onto our road. Because we were stopped in the middle of the road, he pulled in on our right side, facing into incoming traffic (if there had been any). He got out and told us we needed to be off the road. The conversation went something like this:

Him: You need to get off the road.

Me: We’re just checking road conditions. We’re going to the airport.

Him: Do you know where that is?

Me: About a mile or two that way. (I pointed into the whiteness of Route 12.)

Him: You need to turn around and go back.

Me: We can’t turn around here.

Him: Then I’ll call a tow truck.

Me: We don’t need a tow truck. We’re not stuck.

Him: Then I’ll call the sheriff.

Me: Why?

Him: You need to get out of the road.

Me: We will. We’re just looking at the road conditions before deciding what to do.

Him: I’ll call the sheriff.

Me: [exasperated and tired of maintaining a pointless conversation with a self-important moron] Go ahead.

Meanwhile, my client was beginning to freak out. He’s not American born and although his English is good, I don’t think he was able to keep up with our rapid-fire exchange. He did, however, hear the word sheriff twice, and he assumed we’d done something serious enough to possibly get arrested.

Him being freaked out wasn’t helping matters. He already was worried about continuing on the road. Now we had this jerk partially blocking our car, talking to someone on his cell phone. I needed to get to the airport. I knew it was possible. I had to convince my client. Finally, all I managed to do was convince him to let me drive. But the jerk was still blocking us. Tooting the horn had no affect.

That’s when I got pissed off.

I got out of the car and walked around to his window. I could tell by his uniform shirt that he worked for a gas station or something. I asked him where he worked and he said he worked for the tow truck operator across from our hotel. (Figures.) I told him I didn’t like his attitude and would be talking to his boss. He held the phone out so whoever was on it could hear me and I repeated loudly at the phone, “Your attitude sucks and I’ll talk to your boss about it.” I started to walk away, but then turned back and said, “Now get the fuck out of our way.” (Once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker.)

As I walked away, he got back out of the truck and started shouting at my back. “Well, I’m also the fire chief in [redacted] and on the EMT team and — ” I didn’t hear the rest. I was already in the car with my door closed. He, of course, didn’t move. Instead, he made a big show of walking behind the car, apparently to get our license plate number, further freaking out my client. I had to carefully make my way around his piece-of-crap truck, avoiding the deep snow bank on my left as well as I could. Then I made the left turn onto Route 12 and headed toward the airport.

The going was easy. But what really surprised me is that the airport road was plowed. The only problem was the snow bank from our road to that one. So we got out, leaving the car in the middle of the deserted road, and worked on it. I discovered that a floor mat, when wielded by two people, works very well as a scraping shovel. I turned the corner and saw a big front-end loader coming toward us. The airport guy was using it to plow the road. We stopped and talked to him. He said there wasn’t much snow at all on the helicopter. Then he told us where we could turn around safely past his house down the road.

We continued to the airport and were very surprised to see that there was hardly any snow on the helicopter at all. The wind was doing all the work for me. All those worries for nothing. We stopped and talked to the airport guy again. He volunteered to keep an eye on the helicopter and clear snow off it needed. He was a good, reliable, friendly guy. I felt all my worries fade away as we said goodbye and headed back to the hotel.

Act III: Black Ice

If you’ve ever driven in fresh snow, you might know that some snow is actually quite easy to drive in. It’s the stuff that’s not too wet and not too dry. It packs under your tires as you drive but doesn’t turn to ice in the process. That’s what we’d been driving on until we got to the airport road.

The airport road, however, was freshly plowed. Maybe it was the sight of that clean black pavement on the road in front of me that gave me the confidence I needed to drive at 20 miles per hour rather than a more conservative 10 or 15. Unfortunately, what I didn’t realize is that I wasn’t looking at pavement. I was looking at the half-inch layer of solid, smooth ice that sat on top of it.

Black ice.

There’s a tiny bend in the airport road before you reach Route 12. It’s so slight, it doesn’t even show up on a map. As I turned the wheel to the left to make this bend, the tires started to skid. My client reacted by saying the appropriate frightened passenger words. I pumped the brakes gently and, for a second, had it under control. Then more skidding and more right seat panic. My brain shut off and my foot pressed the brake down hard. Then it was all over.

Snow BankIn slow motion, the car skidded nose first into the snow bank on the right side of the road.

Shit.

It was stuck good. I couldn’t even get it to move an inch in either direction. The front wheel drive tires were sitting right on some of that black ice and all they could do was spin. We worked on it for a good ten to fifteen minutes, even putting the floor mats behind each tire in case it moved. No joy. And I do mean that literally.

We retreated into the car where I tried to get the airport guy on the phone. He didn’t pick up his cell. I called another number on the airport’s voice mail message system and reached a guy in Las Vegas. He was the airport guy’s boss. He said that he was out on the plow (which I knew) and probably couldn’t hear the phone ring. I told him our predicament. He told me to call 911. I said, “No, this isn’t an emergency. We’re in a warm car with plenty of gas within sight of Route 12. One way or another, we’ll get out without emergency assistance. Let them take care of heart attacks and accidents.” I think he was surprised by my take on 911. I asked him to mention us to the airport guy if he happened to call back.

I thought about calling AAA and realized that they’d likely call the jerk I’d cussed at and he’d likely not come. (Yeah, yeah, save the lectures.)

I started walking back toward the airport while my client yelled at me to stay in the car. I had to slip and fall twice on that damn black ice before heeding his words.

I tried the airport guy a few more times. On the third time, he answered. I told him our predicament. He told me he’d be right out. I told him to take his time. Warm up, have some coffee. We could wait. My client agreed. “Bring a shovel, though,” I added.

He showed up about 15 minutes later with his big front-end loader and turned it around so its back end faced the back end of our car. Then we hunted around for a place to tie onto the car. In the old days, imports — this was a Mazda — had these loops on the front and back of the car to tie them down during the boat ride from Japan. This one didn’t have those. But he found a loop on the frame. Trouble was, his chain wasn’t long enough to reach it.

He climbed back into his rig. By that time it was snowing very hard and the wind was blowing it almost horizontally. When he came back, he told me he’d made some calls and couldn’t get chain long enough to do the job.

“What do you think our options are?” I asked him.

“Well, I called the rental company for you and they said they could send a tow truck for $45.”

I’d already told him about our confrontation with the jerk. “The same tow company that guy I had a fight with works for?”

“I can ask them not to send [redacted jerk’s name],” he promised, grinning at me.

“Then do it,” I said. “I’ll pay $45. Cash if they want it.”

He made the call. I overheard him say, “You have to send [redacted jerk’s name]?” and I said, “I’ll pay $75 if they don’t.” He laughed and said, they’re just pulling your leg.

Call done, he told us to wait in the car. My client had been shoveling snow the whole time. I told the airport guy to go back and we’d be okay. He said he’d stick around just in case [redacted jerk’s name] showed up. I offered to let him wait with us in the car, but he preferred the backhoe.

We got back in the car. My client was really freaked out by the snow accumulation and the prospect of driving back to the hotel. That surprised me because he lived in Chicago and was no stranger to snow. But he told me that at home he had a truck with some sort of special snow driving gear. I didn’t get the details, but it seemed that he was convinced such special equipment was required for driving in the snow.

Whatever.

I just felt like an idiot for skidding into the snow bank and getting stuck. I know nothing had been damaged other than my pride, but I resolved to rent my own car on any future trips to shield my clients from the consequences of my stupidity.

Act IV: The Happy Ending

The tow guys showed up a while later and [redacted jerk’s name] was not among them. One of them asked me if I was the one [redacted jerk’s name] had a fight with. I admitted I was and we all had a good laugh. It took some work to get the car out and all three of the guys helping us nearly fell on their butts because of the damn black ice. Every single time one of them slipped, they’d comment on it. It was really nasty stuff. When the car was out, they said they’d be just as happy if we paid via AAA — in other words, making it a free tow — and urged us to do so. That worked for me.

I told the airport guy that I owed him big time but he insisted we were even. Even? How? I hadn’t done him any favors. At least not yet. I’ll think of something and if I don’t come up with a good one, I’ll leave my friend Ben Franklin on his desk before I fly out on Monday.

My client drove back with me pointing out the road. He was still having trouble seeing it. The tow guys followed us. We went into the gas station where my client took care of paperwork. He told me he would put it on his AAA, but he wound up paying instead, worried that he’d need the tow again later in the day and knowing that AAA doesn’t respond twice in one day. (I’ll put a $45 credit on his bill for this job.) I slipped each of the tow guys $10 in plain sight of [redacted jerk’s name] who appeared outside as we arrived, apparently looking for sunglasses left in their truck. We all ignored him. (In real life, as in online forums, the best policy is usually to ignore the assholes.)

Meanwhile, my jeans were completely soaked and I was starving. My client and I went into Ruby’s for breakfast. While we waited for coffee, he urged me to check out the boots they had available in the adjacent store. I went into the store, but instead of looking at the boots, I found a pair of sweatpants. I used the fitting room to peel off my jeans, surprised that the leggings beneath them were dry. I put on the sweats and went right to the cash register, picking out a pair of socks on the way and carrying my wet pants and newly washed sneakers. “I’m buying these now,” I told the cashier, reaching into the back and pulling the price tag off. We had a good laugh as she rung me up. It was the first time I’d ever spent $16 on a pair of socks, but desperate times require desperate measures. I was back at the table before my coffee was cold and received the scolding delivered by my client because I’d come back without new shoes.

I changed my socks while my client was outside having a smoke and I was at the table waiting for our meals.

Breakfast was typical Ruby’s. I’d like just once to get a good meal with good service there.

My client dropped me off at my room before venturing into the park. Visibility is so low that I think it’ll take quite some time for conditions to improve enough for photography. But that’s what he’s here for.

Me, I’m just along for the ride until it’s time to fly.

And yes, I’ll keep my hands off his rental car.

Yesterday’s Rainy Desert Day Time-Lapse

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Not what I expected, but you never know what to expect.

I set up my time-lapse camera — an old Canon G5 with a PClix attached — very early yesterday morning. We were supposed to get weather in Wickenburg and that meant clouds. (We don’t get clouds very often, so it’s notable.) I figured I’d get a dawn to sunset time-lapse of the weather moving through.

Unfortunately, it was cloudier than even I expected — not a glimpse of blue sky all day long. The video is a bit disappointing, although you can see the cloud movement and complete loss of visibility. The knobby mountain on the horizon is Vulture Peak, which is about 3 or 4 miles away as the crow flies. It doesn’t stay in the picture for long.

The formula for this video was one shot every 15 seconds, compiled at 30 fps. That takes a 12-hour period and reduces it to about a minute and a half.

One of the problems with shooting time-lapse movies of the sky is that you never know what to expect or where the best views will be. It’s all a crap shoot. That’s okay because the setup is digital and doesn’t cost a thing to operate. It’s just a matter of setting it up and running through the 2000+ photos it generates when it’s done.

I’ve got the camera set up again today and will have more action to show. There’s blue sky and a few clouds that are speeding through the sky, pushed by a strong wind. Perhaps you’ll see that here tomorrow.

A Lesson in High Density Altitude

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Hot and high make for bad flying weather.

Earlier this month, I gave helicopter rides at the annual Old Congress Days celebration. This is my fourth or fifth time attending the event. I don’t make much money at it — I usually price the rides too cheap for that — but it is one way of giving back to the community. The folks in Congress, AZ do their best to make it a great event for everyone and I try to do my part.

My landing zone for this event is probably the nicest helipad I’ve ever been privileged to operate from. It’s the medevac helicopter pad next door to the local fire station. Congress is about a 20-minute drive from the nearest hospital, in Wickenburg, and at least an hour from a better-equipped hospital down in Sun City. If you need emergency medical attention for a serious matter in Congress, they’ll send a helicopter to pick you up and it’ll land right beside the fire station in the middle of town.

Congress Helipad, Close UpThe helipad is a 75-foot square of concrete, marked with a big, white, reflective cross in the middle. Around that is another 20-25 feet of big, dust-free gravel. A four-foot fence surrounds the whole thing (see red box). Access is from the street side only, where a double gate can open to admit an ambulance. A concrete path leads up to it so pedestrians don’t need to walk on the gravel.

As a landing zone for an event, it’s a helicopter ride pilot’s dream come true. There’s no reason at all to worry about access to the area, since everyone has to go through a gate which my ground crew keeps secured. After the first landing, no dust is kicked up into spectators’ faces or the rotor blades. The pad is flat and level and smooth.

It would be perfect if not for one thing: I had to come and go.

And that’s always been the problem with this landing zone. I only feel safe coming and going from the east (right in this photo). The fire house building is to the north and relatively new metal building stands to the south. The event is to the west and several strands of wires hang at the usual height from telephone poles between it and the helipad. The east is the only direction where I don’t have to fly close over a building or crowd of people. Of course, to the east there are also some desert trees up to 15 feet tall and a railroad track that gets freight trains a few times a day.

I’m not saying the landing zone is impossible. It’s certainly not. But it’s the kind of place where you need to keep on your toes whenever you take off or land.

The Usual Routine

Normally, the wind is coming from the north, south, or west. That’s okay with me, unless it’s howling. I’d rather take off with a tail wind and land with a headwind than the other way around. The way I see it, if I can take off with a tailwind, I’ll have no trouble landing with a headwind.

When the wind is coming from the north, I take off to the northeast and land from the southeast — quartering headwind both ways. When the wind is coming from the south, I take off to the southeast and land from the northeast. Same quartering tailwind situation.

I always park with my tail rotor facing away from the path. I don’t want to give passengers any reason to even think about walking behind the helicopter. The single member of my ground crew loads one side of the helicopter at a time. He walks two passengers from the gate to the helicopter’s left side while a third passenger (if there is one) waits at the path. Once he’s loaded the first two and closed their doors, he walks the third person to the seat behind me. Once the doors are closed, he gives me the thumbs up signal as he walks back to the path.

When he’s clear and I’ve double-checked the doors — a good habit I’m not going to break — I pick up into a hover, pivot around to face my departure path, and take off. I then do a loop around the entire town to the left. It takes 5-6 minutes. I finish off by coming in on my chosen arrival path and landing back on the pad.

Arrival and DepartureThis photo shows my arrival and departure paths with a few points of interest.

  • The blue lines are all wires. They’re the standard height wires you find on wooden telephone poles.
  • The yellow line is my departure path. I need to fly parallel to the railroad tracks until I have enough altitude to see if a train is coming. (I can’t make this stuff up.) If a train is coming, I need enough altitude to fly over it. I also need enough altitude to get across the wires on route 89 when I make my left turn.
  • The magenta line is my arrival path. I need to clear the wires on route 71 on my final descent. I’ve already confirmed no train is coming, so I know I can come in nice and low over the tracks.
  • Both paths avoid the desert trees growing between the helipad and the tracks.

One of the challenges to this path is the six-foot fence around the metal building south of the helipad. You can see it as blue lines in the first satellite photo. It’s only a few feet from the helipad fence and I cross over the corner of it while I’m climbing out. Going beyond the corner would bring me tool close for comfort to those train tracks with no way of knowing if a train was just beyond the building and trees.

Sounds challenging and it is. But I’ve been doing this gig for a bunch of years and I just deal with it. After all, I’ve worked with much worse conditions at other gigs. Despite the confined space aspects, this is still pretty darn good.

Add Heat

This gig is in October every year and Congress sits at right about 3,000 feet elevation. The temperature is normally in the high 70s or low 80s. Warm, but not to the point where it becomes an issue.

But not this year. During the October 2, 2010 event, my outside air temperature (OAT) gauge read anywhere from 90°F to 102°F. It was freaking hot. So hot I took my door off before I started flying and flew with a bandana full of ice cubes around my neck.

Doing the Math and Why It Matters

Density Altitude ChartLet’s do some pilot math here through the use of a density altitude chart. At 3,000 feet elevation with an outside air temperature of 35°C (roughly 95°F), the density altitude is about 6,000 feet. That means my aircraft would perform as if I were taking off and landing at a helipad at 6,000 feet elevation rather than 3,000 feet.

If you’re not a pilot, you probably don’t understand why this matters. The simple explanation is that aircraft performance drops off as altitude rises. This has to do with the density of the air. At high density altitudes, the air is thinner and aircraft simply don’t perform as well as they do at sea level.

I knew this was going to be a problem when we took off at Wickenburg at 9 AM that morning. With full fuel tanks, two people on board, and about 50 pounds of landing zone equipment, I had to pull 22 inches of manifold pressure to get off the ground. On a cooler day, 20 or 21 inches would have done it. I immediately started wondering how things would be with two or three adult passengers on board.

I found out at about 10:20 AM, when the parade ended and the passengers started lining up. The first flight was just one passenger, a friend. By that time, the temperature was already in the 90s and the helicopter felt slightly sluggish. The second flight had two passengers and that was enough. On departure, I passed through effective translational lift (ETL) right around the time I reached that six-foot fence. The resulting dip before the post-ETL power boost kicked in brought me within 5 feet of the top of that fence. I was not a happy camper.

On the next flight, before taking off, I hovered to the north side of the pad to give myself a running start at that damn fence. It made a difference, but not a big one. I could count the barbs on the top strand of wire every time we passed over it.

Using High DA Experience

I have to admit here that I was using all my high density altitude experience for every departure. In the grand scheme of things, 6,000 feet DA isn’t a lot for me. I’ve successfully landed and taken off at airports with 9,000 or 10,000 feet density altitude. The density altitude was over 10,000 feet a few years back when I departed Bryce Canyon Airport in my helicopter with three people on board.

When I flew at the Grand Canyon in 2004, I flew Long Rangers from a base at 6,300 feet with temperatures as high as 95°F. If you pull too much pitch on takeoff in a turbine helicopter, you’ll over-torque the engine and possibly destroy the transmission. If you didn’t learn the tricks for getting off the ground with a full load of German tourists, you’d be putting a helicopter in the shop with a $100,000 repair bill.

In the R44, you can pull as much pitch as you want without bothering the transmission, but there will come a point when there simply isn’t enough power to spin the blades at full RPM. When the low rotor RPM horn goes off, you want enough wiggle room beneath you to lower the collective to regain lost RPM. That isn’t going to be possible with a fence just a few feet away. So I wasn’t about to pull more pitch than the helicopter would give me. I trusted my ears to tell me when I was pushing my luck with the collective — I can always hear the rotor RPM droop before the horn goes off.

Why Full Fuel?

Now you might be wondering why I had full fuel tanks. Simple: there was no fuel at my landing zone. I’d planned to fly until I had enough for my 10-minute flight back to Wickenburg and 20-minute required fuel reserve. Since I’d be spending a lot of time on the ground, spinning between flights, I needed to start with as much fuel as I could if I wanted to maximize fly time — and profits.

The problem with this plan was that I simply did not have the performance I wanted to take three adult passengers at a time. And there aren’t many kids in Congress. As a result, I did almost every single flight with just two passengers on board, netting just a few dollars on every flight — and sweating my brains out while I did it.

Just Can’t Do It

I was down to 2/3 tanks when my ground crew guy tried to put three adults on board. The two women weren’t big, but the man was 245 pounds. Our total weight was right about at our limit for an out of ground effect (OGE) hover. I pulled pitch slowly to bring it into a hover. I was at 23 inches of manifold pressure hovering over the pad. I’d need at least two inches more to clear the fence on what was essentially a maximum performance takeoff from a confined space. And, given the conditions, I just didn’t think I had the power I needed.

All I could think of was hitting that damn fence with three passengers on board.

I set it back down and told them that either one of them needed to get off or they all needed to come back later, when I’d burned off more fuel and was lighter.

The OGE Chart

As my ground crew guy offloaded them, I consulted the pilot operating handbook (POH) to see exactly what the OGE chart said. According to the chart, it was possible to hover out of ground effect in the conditions of flight — but just barely.

You might be wondering why I consulted the OGE hover chart instead of the IGE (in ground effect) chart. After all, ground effect is in play for about one rotor diameter — in my case, about 28 feet — from the ground. The fence I feared was only 6 feet tall.

R44 OGE ChartI guess the easiest way to explain it is that the OGE hover chart is the best indicator of the most power I’ll have in the worst possible condition. It takes more power to hover than to fly and it takes more power to hover OGE than IGE. So if you want to know what the maximum performance is in a worst case scenario situation, consult the OGE chart.

(I should mention here that the OGE chart for the Robinson R44 Raven II is the reason I bought a Raven II instead of a Raven I. The Raven I OGE chart (which can be found in this post, also dealing with high DA) told me that I simply wouldn’t have the performance I needed to operate in Arizona’s relatively high elevations in Arizona’s hot weather. It was a no brainer and worth the extra $40K to have a better performing aircraft. I don’t regret my decision one bit.)

To read this chart, you follow the weight line (roughly 2,400 to 2,450 pounds; I always use the highest estimate) up to where it intersects with the temperature line (35°C) and then follow it across to the pressure altitude. In this case, it says I can hover out of ground effect at 3,000 feet, which is exactly where I was.

But what if I didn’t have the skill? What if the helicopter wasn’t properly tuned? The chart is created by test pilots with thousands of hours at the controls of all kinds of helicopters. I have about 2,500 hours, of flight time with less than half of that in my R44. Just because the chart said it was [barely] possible doesn’t mean I could pull it off. I wanted more wiggle room.

And That’s What Experience Teaches Us

Experience doesn’t only teach us how to fly better and to make the helicopter perform in difficult situations. It also teaches us to recognize when performing a maneuver or operation might not be safe.

It gives us the courage to say no, this isn’t something I want to do.

I remember one hot day at the Grand Canyon back in 2004. I was flying Copter 9 (I think), which had a reputation for being a “dog” — an under performer. The company tower controller called me on the radio to ask if I could take 4,150 pounds. The helicopter’s max gross weight was 4,200 pounds and it had been performing like its usual crappy self all day with every load around 4,000 pounds. I’d even “beeped” it a few times on takeoff — pulling a tiny bit more than 100% torque for a second or two. I didn’t think 4,150 was a good idea. I said no.

Sure, I could have tried taking a heavier load. And I could have hit the JetA fuel tank at the end of our departure area or overtorqued the aircraft. Or I could have got off fine. Was it worth trying to find out how it would all end?

Of course not. Safety first.

There are old pilots and bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots.

My Three Passengers

The same three passengers tried to board again 15 minutes later, after I’d burned off only 24 pounds of fuel. I told my ground crew guy I needed at least an hour. They hung around for a while, watching me come and go. All my flights had only two passengers on board — except one flight, where I took a mom and two small kids.

They disappeared while I was out flying. Later, my ground crew guy told me he’d given them their money back. I was glad.

Maybe next year, the temperature at Congress will be more seasonal. And maybe next year, we’ll bring the last 10 gallons of fuel in cans.