Tag Archives: Wickenburg

Some Photos from a Desert Trek

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A handful of photos.

I don’t usually put a lot of large photos on this site, but I thought I’d give it a try today. Yesterday, Mike, Jack the Dog, and I went for a combination Jeep ride/hike out in the desert northeast of Wickenburg. All of these photos were taken within 15 miles of my home, so it gives you an idea of the landscape I live in.

Winter is a great time for enjoying Arizona’s Sonoran desert. Oddly enough, however, our party of seven (including Jack the Dog) didn’t run into anyone else along the way.

We started at the Rodeo Grounds on Constellation Road in Wickenburg, then headed out on Constellation Road. We made the left hand turn just before Monte Cristo Mine, followed that road for a short while and took a right where it forked off. We drove through one drag gate, closing it behind us to keep the cattle on their appropriate sides of the fence, and continued down the road. Eventually, it merged with Slim Jim Creek. We followed the dry creek bed as far as we could, maneuvering around and over two nasty places where the last flood had scattered boulders in the wash. When we reached a point where we could follow the creek no further, we pulled onto the side and parked our pickup and two Jeeps. The road continued, but there were two narrow places just beyond where we parked. Besides, it climbed away from the creek, which was our intended trail.

We geared up with drinking water, lunch bags, and cameras and headed down the creekbed on foot. I figure we walked about 1-1/2 to 2 miles. The creek wound through some of the most beautiful Sonoran Desert scenery before ending abruptly at the Hassayampa River. Although there isn’t a drop of water flowing under the bridge in town, there was quite a bit at the mouth of Slim Jim Creek.

Here are my favorite photos of the day, along with some captions.

The south-facing hills were absolutely covered with saguaro cacti.

I played with my fisheye lens here. This rock face was actually quite flat, but the lens makes it look like it curves out into the river. Not very realistic, but it looks cool.

Here’s Jack the Dog with that fisheye lens again. He found some quicksand near this spot and almost got stuck in it.

The river flowed a lot higher earlier in the week. This sand shows the pattern from the receded water. It was still quite wet.

Believe it or not, this is the skeletal remains of a type of prickly pear cactus. (We also found the decomposing body of a javelina, but I didn’t photograph it, primarily because it was really gross.)

This is the windmill near the remains of Sayer’s Station, which we passed on our way on Constellation Road. The road climbs past the windmill and I took this shot from the road, just about level with the top of the windmill. I like taking photos of windmills.

Comments? You know where to put them.

Noise

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When will they learn? If they live near an airport, they’re going to hear aircraft noise.

Yesterday, while wandering Las Vegas Boulevard with my husband, taking in the outrageous sights of the mega-casinos with my husband, I got a phone call from the guy I sold my FBO business to. He’s still there and apparently only calls me when he has something to annoy me about.

Yesterday was noise. “A guy called and said you flew over his house three times yesterday.”

I explained patiently that that was not possible. I’d left Wickenburg at 7 AM that day and hadn’t been back.

The conversation didn’t take long to turn ugly. Apparently the complainer didn’t think it was important to provide his name and phone number or even the location of his house. Perhaps he thinks I shouldn’t overfly any house anywhere in the world. I told the FBO guy that it obviously wasn’t me and that I wasn’t about to take the rap for every helicopter pilot in Arizona who happened to fly near some unidentified guy’s house in Wickenburg. I told him that it wasn’t his problem — he ran the fuel concession and had no other management responsibilities at the airport — and that he should have the complainer call me directly.

But that wasn’t enough for the FBO guy. He started recycling earlier parts of the same conversation. He said he might have to take it to the Town — clearly some kind of threat in his mind. I told him to go ahead. I told him that I was following FAA regulations regarding minimum flight altitudes. I added that as a business owner, it wasn’t in my best interest to annoy the public. This guy obviously had some kind of axe to grind and he was attempting to grind it with me.

But that still wasn’t enough for this FBO guy. I had no idea what he wanted me to say because he never suggested anything. He just kept recycling points from earlier in the conversation. We’d still be talking if I hadn’t cut it short by saying goodbye and hanging up.

He called back moments later. I pushed the Ignore button on my phone. He left a text message saying it was last week, not this week. Yes, let’s get the facts after we make the complaint. And make sure the facts fit the story.

I texted back, telling him to have the complainer contact me directly. That’s the last I heard from him.

One Complainer I Do Know

There’s only one guy in town who has ever complained to me about noise — and I’ve been flying helicopters out of Wickenburg since 2000. It’s a guy who lives in the Country Club area, which is conveniently located just southeast of the approach for Runway 23 (see satellite image below). He showed up at the airport one day right after I landed, steaming and ready to make a fight. He complained that I’d flown over his house too low and that I should not fly over Country Club when I came into the airport.

I said, “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”

That took the steam out of him. He had nothing else to say, so he left.

I began following Sols Wash into the airport when I arrive from the east or southeast and winds are favoring Runway 23. That path has me descending from about 700 feet AGL over town to about 300 to 400 feet at Vulture Mine Road over an empty wash area that no one lives in. So I don’t fly directly over any homes from the point where I pick up Sols Wash in downtown Wickenburg. An easy enough solution.

But a few weeks ago, I talked to Dave, another local helicopter pilot. He said he’s spent over an hour on the phone with what was likely the same guy. The guy told him that helicopters should avoid the Country Club area by flying 3 miles north or south of it on their way in. Dave pointed out that that simply wasn’t practical. Country club was about 3/4 mile from the airport. Why would anyone fly 3 miles out of their way to land at the airport?

When Dave told me about this, I pointed out that a 3-mile diversion would have us flying over other houses that weren’t within the normal aircraft traffic area. As people who buy homes close to an airport know, they’re required to sign an easement with the town that shows they understand their proximity to an airport that’s likely to generate noise. Why should we make a practice of overflying the homes of people who were smart enough to buy outside the airport influence area?

Stupid Planning, Stupid Development, Stupid Home Buyers

It all boils down to sheer stupidity.

The town takes a generous land donation years ago to build a very nice little municipal airport. At the time, the nearby Phoenix metro area is small and the town is tiny. The airport gets use primarily from a few hobbyists. But as the town grows, the planners don’t realize that more people means more airplanes. And if you want nice resorts, you’re going to get corporate jets. Blind — or perhaps I should say deaf — to the noise issues of an airport, they allow development to get ever closer to the airport. Soon, there are homes on three sides of the runway.

Then the town and planners, in their infinite wisdom, take a very large grant from the Federal Government to stretch one end of the runway 1500 feet toward the Country Club that has sprung up on its approach end. So now planes are taking off and landing 1/4 mile closer to these homes. And heck, just for the fun of it, they approve Hermosa Ranch, which will put another 34 homes right at the end of that runway, less than 3500 feet from the runway’s centerline.

The following image from GoogleMaps shows the reality of the situation. I purposely left the scale indicator in the image to show how close everything is.

Wickenburg Airport

Meanwhile, greedy developers hop onto the real estate boom and build as many homes as they can get on that land. The town obliges by changing the zoning from one house per acre to two or three or four houses per acre, just so they can cram them in.

Then the Realtors come in and sell these homes to unsuspecting — or maybe unbelieving — home buyers. I spoke to one realtor when “Traffic Pattern Acres” (our name for Black Mountain Ranch) went up for sale on the west side of the airport, right under the airport’s traffic pattern. “There’s never any planes at that airport,” he told me angrily.

Hmm. Tell that to the flight schools from the Phoenix area who use it for landing practice every day: Pan Am Flight Academy, Westwind, Embry Riddle, Silver State Helicopters, Universal Helicopters, Lufthansa, and Sabena. And what about the L39s that come up from Deer Valley for practice landings and 120-knot flybys? I bet they really rattle the china.

So people are told, “Sure, there’s an airport over there. And you need to sign this piece of paper. But the airport’s used by just a few local pilots and isn’t very busy at all. Sign on the dotted line.”

And people sign it.

And when the jets come in and out, and the flight schools practice takeoffs and landings, and Embry Riddle does an all-day spot landing competition, and the helicopters practice autorotations they start to complain.

The Mystery Complainer

I don’t know who’s been complaining about me lately. I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy. He’s the only guy that ever does. (I really do fly neighborly whenever possible.) And, if it is, I know I’m not flying over his house. (But yes, I am flying within 3 miles of it and I will continue to do so until they move the airport. Hell, I fly within 3 miles of my own house!)

But I won’t know who it is unless he comes forward and tells me where he lives. What is he afraid of? Does he think I’ll land in his backyard? How does he expect me to identify his home as a “noise sensitive” area if he doesn’t tell me where it is?

And what does he honestly expect? If he lives near an airport, he’s going to hear aircraft noise.

Period.

Down in the Valley

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Observations from a day in the Phoenix area.

Yesterday, I spent much of the day in the Phoenix area and south of there. I’d like to note a few of my experiences.

Casa Grande

One of my errands yesterday was to take my 22-foot travel trailer, which I use primarily for “barnstorming gigs,” to the Casa Grande Airport. The COPPERSTATE Regional EAA Fly-In begins today and I’m one of two helicopter pilots who got a contract to offer helicopter rides.

RouteCasa Grande 109 miles south of Wickenburg, just off I-10 (see map). I was driving my husband Mike’s truck, a 3/4 ton Chevy SIlverado diesel pickup, towing the trailer. The truck, which normally has a lot of pep, drove as if I were hauling my old 13,000 pound horse trailer with living quarters rather than a 5,000-pound steel and cardboard — well, that’s what it seems like — RV. I was lucky to get it up to the speed limit on the highway. With high winds south of Phoenix, I wasn’t even able to get it up to the 75 mph limit. Later, I asked Mike about it. He says he thinks its wind resistance. The trailer has a flat front; the horse trailer was curved. The 218-mile round trip used up 3/4 tank of fuel.

ParkingIt wasn’t really clear until yesterday, when I arrived at the Casa Grand Airport, where I was supposed to set up. I found the spot described to me — a D-shaped bit of gravel (A on illustration) adjacent to the landing zone (LZ on illustration) and taxiway– and called the other pilot, Michael, to confirm with him. That was the spot.

I’d just hung up the phone when three guys rolled up on a golf cart. One of them was in charge of parking. He didn’t want me to park where Michael told me to.

I was kind of expecting this. Michael wanted me to park between the helicopter and a taxiway intersection. It would have been convenient for me and for passengers, but it was very close to helicopter parking and the taxiway. The parking guy was worried about the trailer blocking the view of pilots trying to taxi out. So he directed me to another spot nearby on gravel (B on illustration). It wasn’t as convenient a spot, but I had to agree that it was likely to be safer. And I didn’t think it was any less visible. So I called Michael again to reconfirm. He told me that was plan B and if I didn’t mind, it was fine with him.

Getting the trailer into the spot was a bit of a task. The parking guy wanted it lined up with the huge tent that had been erected there. I needed the door facing the landing zone. That means I had to drive the truck right toward the tent, get the trailer as close to the tent as possible, and still get the truck out. On my first try, I couldn’t get the trailer lined up with the tent, although the position wasn’t bad.

So I used my “helpless female routine.” Women who don’t know this routine are really missing out on something that can help them get assistance when they need it.

“I don’t drive this thing much,” I told the three men. “My husband usually does.” (That was a fib.) “If one of you are good at moving trailers around, be my guest.”

After a short debate, one of the men stepped forward. He got behind the wheel, did another circle in the gravelly area, and parked it almost where I’d had it, but with the truck pointing the other way. His companions directed him so he wouldn’t run over the taxiway light there and I kept him away from one of the tent stakes. I know it wasn’t quite as close to the tent as the parking guy wanted it, but it was lined up. They were all happy.

At this point, I’d identified myself as a helpless female who seldom dealt with trailers. So the three men came around the back of the truck to help me disconnect the trailer. This was very nice because the trailer has these sway bars attached to it that are heavy and difficult for me to disconnect. They disconnected them and I stowed them in the back of the truck. Then they guided me in the truck away from the trailer so I wouldn’t run over that darn taxiway light.

Then they got into the golf cart and rolled away.

But not before one of them asked me where I was coming in from.

“Wickenburg,” I said.

“Wickenburg!” he replied. “I didn’t think anyone lived there.”

“They don’t,” I told him.

I spent the next half hour organizing the trailer a bit and putting up a pair of rides signs so the folks setting up would know what the trailer was for. I also lugged the 4 6-1/2 gallon water containers I’d put in the back of the truck out of the truck. (In the old days, when I was younger and thinner and better looking, the helpless female routine would have had one of the guys volunteering to do this for me. Such are the pitfalls of middle age.) Then I locked up the trailer and started the long drive home.

Wild Horse Pass Resort & Spa

On the way home, I had a stop to make at the Sheraton Wild Horse Pass Resort & Spa. This is a resort that’s part of a casino complex on the north end of the Gila River Indian Reservation.

The place is pretty new. I know because I learned to fly in Chandler, which isn’t far from there, and once in a while, my instructor and I would take the helicopter out to the Gila River to find the wild horses. There are an estimated 1,500 of them out there, although we never saw more than 100 or so at a time. The resort didn’t exist back then.

I was impressed by the place as I drove up to it. The entrance road winds through a desert golf course that has a flowing stream running through it. But this isn’t a 100-yard bit of water pumped through the desert. The stream goes on for over a mile, with small rapids, ponds, ducks, and riparian vegetation. It’s the kind of stream I’d want to hang out beside in the shade, on a summer day. (Not an Arizona summer day, of course. You’d bake.) The stream was full of water and at least 8 feet wide in most spots. Although it had to be man made — there are no natural streams like that in the area — even the Gila River is almost dry — it looked completely natural. Very nice.

I pulled up in front of the place and was flagged down by a valet parking guy. I asked for directions, then parked the truck myself down in a parking lot. I gathered the things I needed for my meeting and walked back up to the main building.

Inside, I was impressed again. The main building’s entrance is on the top of a hill. When you walk in, you’re faced with a huge wall of windows that look out onto the golf course and mountains. It was a two-story walk down stairs at the side of a rock face to get to the lower level lounge. The view was magnificent.

Now I’ve seen this kind of lobby in several hotels in the Phoenix area. The Hyatt at Gainey Ranch has one and so does the Westin Kierland. But neither are as dramatic and beautiful as this. I was really impressed.

And those of you who read my blog frequently know how seldom I’m really impressed.

I think the place would make a great getaway for Mike and me. Maybe early next season we’ll try a weekend there.

iPhone Spotting

I had my first iPhone “in the wild” spotting yesterday. (Keep in mind that most of Wickenburg’s population is somewhat technologically challenged, so I don’t get a chance to see much in the way of gadgets here in town.) It was in the parking lot for A.J.’s Fine Food (my favorite supermarket) on 67th Avenue at the Loop 101.

The guy was holding the phone in one hand and a pair of white earbuds hung from his ears. (For the record, I purposely bought black earphones for my iPod just so I wouldn’t look like an Apple fangirl.) He was talking loudly to someone about how he wasn’t interested in getting into a relationship. A young girl maybe 4 or 5 years old and holding a baby doll, was walking along with him, trying to keep up, trying to talk to him. He was completely ignoring her. I think that if someone had come up behind them and taken the kid away, he probably wouldn’t have noticed — or cared.

The guy struck me as a complete jerk.

I have more to say about iPhones, but I’ll save that for another post.

Not Enough Hours in a Day

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Still too busy to blog regularly.

I’ve been neglecting this blog lately, which is something I’m not happy about. You see, I need to blog. I need to keep this journal of my life and share tips and how-tos with strangers all over the world.

So when I neglect it, as I have been for the past week or so, I feel bad about it.

I Take Work When I Need To

But the reason I’ve been neglecting things is because I’ve been so busy doing the kind of work that pays the bills. (No, blogging doesn’t do that.) As any business owner or freelancer can tell you, there isn’t always paying work to do. Sometimes, after a dry spell, you have to take the work that comes along.

And that’s how it is with Flying M Air. Summer in Wickenburg simply sucks. I can’t put it any other way. There are few people around and none of them want to fly — including me. It’s just too damn hot. So with just one gig in all of July and just three or four in all of August, I was personally funding Flying M Air again, paying its bills through the dead summer months.

And Flying M Air doesn’t have small bills to pay.

When September rolled along, I was anxious to do rides at the Mohave County Fair for the third year in a row. And right after that, were two good gigs with photographers over some of Arizona’s most scenic areas. Although the Fair gig was a bust this year, the two gigs that followed it earned me more than 15 hours of revenue time. That’s enough to keep Flying M Air in the black for four to five months. Best of all, I have another very lucrative gig lined up for Lake Powell, Monument Valley, and Shiprock at the end of September and beginning of October.

I Work Two Jobs

All these gigs have been keeping me from my office for days at a time. That means I can’t do the work I need to do for my other job, the one that funded Flying M Air in the first place.

I’ve been working on my 70th book, a revision of my Mac OS X Visual QuickStart Guide for Leopard, since July. It’s a 750-page volume and I decided this year to tear it apart, reorganize it, and rebuild it from the ground up. I’m nearly done, but it’s been a long, hard task from the start.

It’s always hard writing a book about software when all you have is beta. Betas aren’t always stable, so they occasionally crash at the most inopportune times. Betas aren’t always final, so the thing you wrote about two weeks ago might be different today. It’s a constant process of review and revision.

It’s also a process of learning how new features work. Sure, there’s some onscreen help for some of the new features. But it’s spotty and incomplete, designed to teach basics. It’s best used as a starting point for learning more. Only by “playing” with the feature and experimenting with it can you learn the little tricks that give the book value to readers. That’s my job, and it’s both fun and frustrating sometimes.

Tight Scheduling

As I write this, aviation photographer Jon Davison is in my kitchen, cutting up a cantaloupe for his breakfast. Here’s here to photograph and write about Flying M Air and my helicopter for a book he’s writing about Robinson helicopters. We’ll be flying today and tomorrow and probably on Tuesday. Today’s the air-to-air portion of our photo work; we leave in 45 minutes to fly in formation with my buddy Dave, who owns a Hughes 500.

Although this isn’t a paying gig, it’s important. Jon’s coverage of Flying M Air will help me promote the company. The book, when released, will show readers the kind of work I do and places I go. I’m eager to promote my 6-day excursions and this will definitely help.

So I’m squeezing Jon into my schedule. A few days with him followed by a few days of Leopard followed by a few days in the Four Corners area, flying photographers around.

October is another busy month, with gigs on three of the four weekends.

What To Look Forward To Here

When the Leopard book is done, I’ll begin writing short how-to pieces for this blog about it. But don’t expect to see them before Leopard is released. I take non-disclosure agreements very seriously and don’t have any desire to get Apple, Inc. pissed off at me.

And if you like reading about flying, keep checking in. I’m sure I’ll have some things to say about my work with Jon — hopefully, with photos — and the photographers I’m working with at month-end.

How to Destroy a Perfectly Good Margarita

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It’s the salt.

Last night, Mike and I went out for dinner in Wickenburg. It’s summer here and our choices are limited. More limited than we thought. We’d been planning to eat at House Berlin, the German restaurant. House Berlin makes an excellent walleye and is the only restaurant in town where you can get veal. But a hand-printed sign on the window said “Closed August for Vacation.”

We left the car parked where it was and walked to my second choice that evening. I won’t say which of Wickenburg’s amazing dining choices it was because I need to be critical (again) and I know how sensitive my fellow Wickenburgers can be.

A Short History of the Best Margarita in Wickenburg

The restaurant we went to used to make the second best margarita in town. The first best was at the Santa Fe Cantina, which was also one of the town’s top five restaurants. Santa Fe made the best ribs, too. And the best artichoke dip, which I was fortunate enough to get the recipe for.

But the Santa Fe sold to new owners — who, to their credit, still made those excellent margaritas.

But then they handed it off to their foster son — or at least that’s what I heard — and he decided to change the menu. (Hey, that’s an idea! Take a formula that works in a restaurant that has great following and change it!) He soon drove the place out of business.

So now we had to settle for second best, which, without a real best, becomes the best.

In My Mind: A Nice Cadillac Margarita

I like Cadillac margaritas. That’s a margarita with a shot of Grand Mariner in it. A good Cadillac margarita is the best margarita. Okay, so that’s my opinion, but next time you’re in a place that makes good margaritas, try one and see for yourself.

So when the waitress came, we ordered two Cadillac margaritas. Then we opened the menu to start browsing selections. That’s when I discovered that we were going to pay $8.25 for each drink.

Now I’m accustomed to spending that kind of money for alcohol at resorts and fancy Scottsdale restaurants. In fact, it’s even common for us to blow $10 to $16 a piece on top shelf martinis. But I’ve never spent that kind of money in Wickenburg for any drink — even at the town’s nicest restaurant at its best guest ranch. And the price didn’t include Wickenburg’s exorbitant sales/BB&B tax, which is somewhere around 14% these days — second highest in the state (and proud of it)! The high tax is why quite a few people in WIckenburg are dining out in town a lot less often these days.

But this was a night out after a long week sitting in front of a computer, working on a book. It would be worth the money for a good margarita, no matter where I bought it. At least that’s what I thought.

Reality Strikes — Again

Margarita GlassThen she brought the margaritas. They were in small cocktail glasses, the kind you’d get a scotch on the rocks in. (Most restaurants in Arizona have special margarita glasses. Some of them even have saguaro-shaped stems.) The color was right for the drink, but not for the salt. It was green.

Let me back up a bit. Margaritas are normally served two ways: frozen (as in blended with ice) and on the rocks. Either way, you can have salt around the rim of the glass. They usually use Kosher salt or something similar to it. You can even buy special salt around here in a glass dipping container (shaped like a sombrero — how cute!) to make it easy to salt the rim of your margarita glasses at home. The point is, it’s salt. Plain salt. It isn’t flavored and it certainly isn’t colored.

The salt on our $8.25 margaritas was green.

It was the kind of green you might use on St. Patrick’s day: a bright Kelly green. Not lime colored like you might think reasonable for a margarita.

But I try to have an open mind. (I swear I do.) So I brought the glass up to my lips and sipped my margarita.

At first the taste of something moldy and salty hit my tongue. Then the taste of cheap margarita mix. The tequila may have been in there somewhere, but it couldn’t overpower the moldy salt. And the Grand Mariner was hiding under the ice cubes or somewhere where my tongue couldn’t get it.

I immediately began wiping the salt off my glass. My napkin and fingertips turned bright green. Some of the salt fell into the glass, leaving green streaks as it sank to the bottom. I stopped wiping.

Later, I tried to use the cocktail straw to sip some margarita that hadn’t been tainted by the salt. All I got was a mouth full of warm margarita mix. I guess the bartender didn’t have a shaker. Or maybe he/she was too busy dying salt to mix the drink properly in the first place.

I think — but I’m not sure — that the salt was leftover from St. Patrick’s Day five months before. I also think that the moisture of five months of dipped wet bar glasses got a little mold growing in the container. (Can mold grow on salt?) And I think this mold — or its essence — has become an integral part of the margarita making process at this particular restaurant.

I have to stop writing about this because I’m grossing myself out.

The Rest of the Meal

Mike’s ceviche was spoiled. We sent that back. It should have tipped us off that it wasn’t a particularly popular item when we saw it spelled “saveche” on the menu.

My mole was good. But then again, it tasted just like the mole I can make with a jar of the concentrate from the supermarket. (Because of our Mexican population, the local supermarkets have an excellent selection of Mexican foods.) That means that either the jarred mole is very much like this restaurant’s recipe or they use the same stuff. It didn’t matter much to me. It tasted good.

Mike’s quesadilla looked okay to me, but disappointed him. I think he was expecting a lot of stuff on top, like one of the other local restaurants — the one he wanted to go to last night, I should mention — makes it.

The chips were good, but Mike said the salsa tasted bad. It tasted okay to me and it was nice and chunky, the way I like it. But he got me worried that I was missing something bad, so I didn’t eat much of it.

The Search for the Best Margarita in Wickenburg Begins Again

Anyway, at this point it’s safe to say that if this is now the best margarita in Wickenburg, we’re in a sad state. It’s time to start looking for a new best. I hope I find it — at any price.

And I think Mike will remind me of this meal the next time I suggest dining in that particular restaurant again.