An Eclectic Mind

The first of a four-part series about flying at Lake Powell.

I’ve been at Page, AZ on the dam end of Lake Powell for about a month now. Although I already knew quite a bit about flying at the lake from numerous photo jobs here, I’ve picked up quite a bit in the past month, mostly from my pilot neighbors at the campground. Since I have enough material to blog about it, I figured I’d write about it, mostly to get my mind off politics and the tech book I’m working on.

Anyway, this will be a four-part series and this is the first part. I have notes for the other three parts, so I’m sure I’ll get them done — probably within the next week or so.

About Page and Lake Powell

Page is the town built in the late 1950s to house the workers on the Glen Canyon Dam, which was under construction at the time. It sits atop a mesa to the east of the Colorado River. The current population of the town is about 7,000, but it attracts approximately 3 million visitors a year.

The dam was completed in 1963 and water began collecting behind it in what would become Lake Powell. It took 17 years for the lake to reach its high water mark at 3,700 feet elevation. Since then, the water level has fluctuated considerably over the years. As I type this, the water level is at 3,629 feet, a full 71 feet below full pool. Around the water line is a tall white line: the so-called “bathtub ring” that marks the high water line.

Lake Powell is outrageously beautiful. Its clear, blue water reflects the clear Arizona/Utah sky. Its red rock canyons, buttes, and other formations change throughout the day with the light. Deep, narrow canyons cut into the desert, making mysterious pathways for boaters to explore. When the wind and water is calm, the buttes and canyon walls cast their reflections down on the water. In the rare instances when weather moves in, low clouds add yet another dimension to the scenery.

I love the lake.

Flying at Lake Powell

The best way to see Lake Powell is from the air.

Sure, it’s wonderful by boat — especially by houseboat over 5 to 7 days with a bunch of good friends or family members — but views are limited from the ground and distances take a long time to cover. Let’s face it: the lake’s surface area is 266 square miles (at full pool) and it stretches 186 miles up the Colorado and San Juan Rivers. You could explore the lake by boat for a year and not get a chance to visit each of its 90 water-filled side canyons.

So if you have a plane (or helicopter) or feel like splurging on an airplane tour, you’ll get a special look at the lake that few people see. I highly recommend it.

[Air]Ports of Entry

There are technically four airports along Lake Powell. You can see them all on this pieced-together sectional. (The lake straddles the Las Vegas and Denver charts.)

• Page Municipal (PGA) is the main airport. It’s on east side of the mesa where the City of Page sits, and has two runways. Runway 15/33 is the more commonly used runway; it’s longer. But for strong crosswinds, there’s also 7/25, which does not have a parallel taxiway. There are two FBOs competing for the fuel business (AVFuel and BP). There are tie-downs and a mechanic on the field.
• Bullfrog Basin (U07) is at the Bullfrog Crossing marina. I haven’t landed there (yet), but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have any facilities. It does, however, have transportation to the marina, where you might be able to get lunch.
• Cal Black Memorial (U96) is 10 miles from Halls Crossing. It’s a nice airport with a good, lighted runway and 24-hour fuel pumped by Maury, who lives there. (Maury’s getting over some surgery as I write this, but I hope he’ll be there if you stop in an visit. Tell him Maria with the red helicopter says hello.) There’s a shuttle to Halls Crossing, where there’s a lodge and boat rentals, during regular business hours.
• Hite (UT03) is near Hite Landing. This is a very scary runway — narrow and perhaps slightly crooked — and it’s marked “hazardous” on charts. The last time I drove through the area in 2005, the Hite marina was high and dry and the area was deserted. It might be a bit more active now that the water level is up a bit.

Most people fly into Page, since it’s the only airport near a town. If you come in from the northwest and land on Runway 15, as we are in this photo — well, we’re actually lined up for landing on the taxiway — you’ll make your descent right over the lake, west of Antelope Marina. (The town is all that green stuff to the right.) Taking off on Runway 33 has you shooting out over the edge of the mesa and lake. Pretty dramatic stuff. I have a lot of fun with it since I don’t really “climb out” after takeoff. The airport is at 4316 feet and the lake is currently at 3629 feet, so there’s no reason to gain altitude if I’m just cruising the lake.

Cal Black has the distinction of being the closest fuel to Monument Valley — about 25 miles away, I think. I made quite a few fuel stops there on a 3-day photo job at Monument Valley and even flew in before sunrise one morning. (Scary stuff; there’s nothing else out there.) I don’t know enough about Bullfrog to provide any tips, but I’d recommend staying clear of Hite.

If you’re a helicopter pilot and think you can set down anywhere near the lake or on one of its islands or buttes, think again. Lake Powell is in the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area and off-airport landing is prohibited. If you’re caught doing it, you will get in serious trouble with the National Park Service and the FAA. I don’t think it’s worth it, do you?

Coming Up

In the next three parts of the series, I’ll cover the air tour operations, which all pilots flying in the area should be aware of. Then I’ll tell you about some points of interest on the lake. Finally, I’ll tell you what to expect if you fly uplake, beyond the Confluence of the San Juan.

Meanwhile, your comments are welcome here. I’m especially interested in hearing from pilots who have landed at one of the four airports along the lake. Save your tips about points of interest for Part III or IV.

Another video blog entry.

I brought my laptops to the airport today. The air conditioning there works a lot better than the air conditioning in my trailer. There’s a big empty space with desks on the second floor of the terminal building and that’s where I set up to work. I got a lot written today on the book I’ve been working on this month, but when 5 PM rolled around, I was burned out.

I made this video from the adjacent room, which we call the “tower” room. It’s just a second floor room in the corner of the building with windows on both walls. Excellent views of what’s going on at the airport. There’s a UNICOM radio there, too, so you can hear the pilots giving their position calls as they do their tours, as well as the occasional non-local pilot flying in. The room is right next door to where I work, so I can hear the radio while I’m writing. It’s a bit distracting, but with my backache, it’s good to get up and walk around every once in a while anyway.

This video shows the pilots at American Aviation loading up their passengers and taking off on a tour of Lake Powell. I narrate it so it’s not too boring. Near the end, I show off some more of the ramp while planes launch into the blue sky. I hope you enjoy it.

High density altitude with heavy ship.

During our ferry flight from Seattle, WA to Page, AZ, we decided to make a fuel/lunch stop at Bryce Canyon airport (BCE). Although I think we could have made it to Page with the fuel we had on board — about 1/3 tanks or 18 gallons to go 60 miles — we’d barely make our legal requirement of 20 minutes of reserve fuel for the flight. We’d also be flying direct over relatively hostile yet strikingly beautiful desert terrain. Not the kind of place you want to make an emergency landing prompted by a low-fuel light.

Bryce Canyon Airport is at 7590 feet MSL. We listened to the AWOS as we approached and learned that the temperatures were in the 80s (can’t remember exactly) and the density altitude was 9400 feet. (Whoa.) There was a 4-6 knot wind coming from the north.

Louis, a sea-level pilot, was at the controls. I figured we weighed about 2300 lbs. I knew we could hover at 6300 feet/104°F at max gross weight. Although I could have pulled out the manual to double-check the performance charts for our exact combination of weight, altitude, and temperature, I didn’t think it was necessary. After all, the 6300 feet/104°F combination equaled almost 11,000 feet density altitude (consult the chart; you can click it to see a larger view on Wikipedia). 9400 feet was well within that.

And Louis did well on approach. Although he came in a little fast at the beginning, he had a good approach speed and angle — at least by my standards — as we flew into the wind for landing direct to the ramp. He even got it into a hover where we’d park. But then the low rotor RPM horn went off. The helicopter wasn’t generating enough power to keep the blades spinning at the required RPM.

We were about three feet off the ground when this happened, so it wasn’t a big deal. I told Louis to just put it down. He was either fixated on the RPM gauge or trying hard to put it down gently, because he didn’t set it right down. He drifted backwards a few feet as we descended with the horn blaring. Finally, he put it on the ground. The rotor RPM shot up, but didn’t overspeed into redline.

I should make a few things clear here, especially for non-pilots, non-helicopter pilots, and non-Robinson pilots.

• Rotor RPM is life. If your rotors slow beyond what’s necessary for lift, the helicopter will indeed drop like a brick. That’s a very bad thing.
• The emergency procedure for low rotor rpm is to lower the collective and increase the throttle. We’re trained to do this so much that it becomes automatic. But lowering the collective isn’t always practical. The pilot needs to evaluate the entire situation — primarily height from the ground or obstacles (how close are you?) and rotor RPM (how low is it?) — before taking action. You don’t, for example, want to simply lower the collective if you’re at 95% RPM 3 feet off the ground in rough terrain at 2,000 feet density altitude. (Of course, you’re not likely to get a low rotor horn in that situation anyway.)
• Most modern helicopters have electronic governors that work with the throttle to make sure the engine delivers enough power to keep the blades spinning within an acceptable range of rotor speeds. My helicopter has such a feature. It works very well — except in high density altitude situations when the collective is raised quickly. Then it doesn’t always keep up rotor demand. In those situations, it doesn’t fail — it just doesn’t always spin the blades at the ideal 102% speed.
• On a Robinson helicopter, the low rotor RPM warning system, which consists of a loud horn and a light, kicks in at 97% RPM. That’s really high and it gives the pilot plenty of time to fix the problem before it becomes very serious.
• A Robinson helicopter can fly at 80% RPM + 1% per 1000 feet of density altitude. That means we could fly, in this situation, with 89.4% RPM. It isn’t recommended, but with a good pilot at the controls, it is theoretically possible.

The horn at landing had me concerned. After all, I was at the airport to have lunch and add fuel — both of which would add weight to the aircraft. (Okay, so lunch wouldn’t add that much weight.) If I couldn’t get it flying with what we had on board, adding fuel would only make matters worse. It was midday, after all, and we’d have to wait hours before the temperature started to drop. There was a chance we could get stuck there for a while. In that case, I wanted to know before I went to lunch so we could do something interesting in the park rather than sit around the airport terminal.

So I took the controls, bought everything back up to 102% RPM, and started raising the collective. I’ve done a lot of flying in high density altitude situations, so I know from experience that it takes a certain “touch” to avoid low rotor situations. I pulled the collective up slowly, felt the helicopter get light on its skids, and kept pulling. We were off the ground at 22 inches of manifold pressure, in a nice, steady hover. The engine sounded good, the low rotor RPM horn kept quiet. Keeping in mind that it takes more power to hover than to fly, I was satisfied that I’d be able to take off at our current weight and density altitude situation. I set it back down and we shut down.

But when I placed my fuel order, I asked for only 5 gallons. That’s 30 lbs of 100LL.

The line guy at the airport told us about how he liked watching the R22s take off from the airport. He said they only come in the late fall and early spring. They almost always do running takeoffs. I kind of wondered why they’d come at all. That helicopter, with two people on board, simply does not perform well at high density altitude.

We went to Ruby’s Inn on the free shuttle they offer from the airport. Three other folks who’d come in from Scottsdale in a small plane joined us for the ride. We had lunch in the restaurant there, ordering from the menu rather than waiting on line for the buffet. I had salad. I’m trying to lose weight and this seemed like a good time to stay on my diet.

After wandering around the huge “General Store” there, we hitched a ride back to the airport on the shuttle. I paid for my fuel, stopped in the restroom, and headed outside.

I admit that I was a little nervous about our departure from Bryce. One of the reasons for this was a recent R44 accident in Washington State that involved Louis’s old flight instructor. She’d been flying a Raven I in the Snowqualmie Pass area with three passengers on board when she’d crashed on takeoff. The NTSB report is still preliminary as I write this, but most folks are pretty certain that density altitude played a part in this fatal crash.

I’d wanted to depart into the wind, using the 6 to 8 mph breeze to help me get through effective translational lift (ETL), which occurs around 24 knot airspeed in an R44. The trouble was, the wind was blowing across the ramp area and a small jet was parked at the edge of the ramp, making a low-level obstruction there. If I hover-taxied over to the taxiway, I could takeoff downhill, but with a quartering tailwind that would not help the situation. Of course, a running takeoff — that’s where you get the helicopter light on its skids and run on the skid shoes until you’re through ETL — would be possible on the taxiway, which was smooth. In the end, I decided to pick it up into a hover and take off with a quartering headwind toward the runway and big empty space beyond its approach end. I’d have pavement under me for at least 200 feet, so I could always slide along it or abort the takeoff with a running landing if I couldn’t get enough lift to clear the fence and the road beyond it. You can see all this in the diagram; we were the red X.

I started up and we listened to the AWOS. Density altitude was now 9900 feet. (I guess it had warmed up a bit because there hadn’t been earth-shifting earthquakes while we ate.) Mike and Louis were quiet as I pulled pitch and brought the helicopter into a hover. I’m not sure if they were as surprised as I was that we didn’t get a low rotor horn. I pointed the helicopter in the direction I wanted to go, pushed the cyclic forward gently, and started my takeoff run. We varied from 3 to 8 feet off the ground before I felt the familiar vibrations of ETL. Then we were climbing nicely, well clear of the fence and the road. No horn.

I turned to the southeast toward Page and flew for a while before handing the controls back to Louis.

Landing at San Luis Obispo.

For my first Airport Codes meme entry, I thought I’d cover one that’s relatively fresh in my mind: San Luis Obispo (SBP).

SBP was a fuel and lunch stop on a flight from Wickenburg, AZ (E25) to Boeing Field (BFI) in Seattle, WA in May 2008. I was flying with Louis, a CFI who wanted to build time in an R44. Or maybe I should say Louis was flying with me, since he was acting as PIC.

Our arrangement was for Louis to fly and me to handle radio communications. We’d come in from the east, passing over Grapevine and climbing up trough the wide valley west of there. About 30 miles out, we broke away from the road and made a beeline to the airport.

I tuned in the radio, listened to the ATIS recording, and waited until we were closer to make my call. The female controller was issuing instructions to other aircraft. The airport wasn’t very busy for a late Saturday morning, but the radio was full of sound. The controller was chatty, which is extremely unusual for a controller of either gender. Either she liked to give instructions or she assumed the pilots were dumb enough to need as much information as she could provide. When I made the call about seven miles out, I made myself a target for her communications.

Oddly enough, I happen to have video for this flight. I had the POV.1 camera on the nose of the helicopter and although I didn’t realize it, it had been turned on since just past Grapevine. So you can see and hear the landing — including the chatty controller — for yourself.

In reviewing this video, I really think the controller had a bit too much to say. When a controller talks too much, he or she makes it difficult for pilots to make contact with the tower. Imagine, for a moment, that you were inbound to SBP and needed to establish communication with this Class Delta tower. There aren’t too many opportunities to talk during the 6 or so minutes from the time I first called in to the time we landed. This makes it tough, especially for new pilots who may already struggle with communications.

Anyway, we landed in the No Parking zone as instructed, cooled down, and shut down. Then we went up to the terminal area where there was a restaurant. After being completely ignored for about 10 minutes, we finally got an apologetic waiter. Lunch was good.

While we sat there, four airliners came or went. Let’s see if I can remember…American, US Air, United, and Delta? All of them were turboprops except United, which came in with a small jet.

After lunch, we went down to the ramp. Our choices for fuel were full serve, right where we were parked (A on the diagram below), or self-serve, on the other side of the airport (B on the diagram below). Self serve was 50¢/gallon cheaper. I made the wrong decision: I decided to air taxi to the other side of the airport and fill up at self serve.

In a perfect world, this would not have been a bad decision. In a perfect world, we would have started up, got immediate clearance to cross the runway, landed in front of the pump, shut down, fueled, started back up, and got immediate clearance to depart to the northwest.

But there was no perfect world at SBP that day. As we prepared to reposition, a flight of three or four Howards called in on approach. The controller, now a man, was having trouble keeping track of them, probably because they called in individually and they were all Howards. (Eventually, he just told half of them to stay clear of Class Delta.) With the other traffic part of the equation, the controller was overwhelmed. He wouldn’t clear us to cross the runway. So we sat there, spinning and sweating, waiting for the clearance. When we finally got it, I scooted us across. I was hot and cranky. I fueled up quickly and we climbed back aboard. I started up and we waited again. I called the tower three times and was ignored on the first two. On the third, the controller said, “Helicopter Zero-Mike-Lima, I hear you. Stand by.” Nasty.

By the time we left, I’d burned enough fuel to eat up any savings in fuel price. Lesson learned at SBP.

Read other posts in this series:

• Airport Codes: A Meme for Pilot Bloggers
• more to come…

A few photos of a few classic helicopters.

I took these photos a few weeks ago. Mike and I were taking a drive and passed by the Brewster, WA airport. I couldn’t believe how many helicopters were parked on the ramp. We pulled in, parked the truck, and got out for a closer look. I had my junky little Nikon CoolPix with me, but it did a fine job, as you can see.

This is the ship I’d most like to fly. It’s a Sikorsky and I think it’s an S55. It has a radial engine and, a few days later, I had the pleasure of watching it start up and fly away while I was waiting on the ramp in my helicopter for my dispatcher to send me to an orchard.

This ship is in pristine condition, with seating for 7 on the lower level. What an excellent air-taxi ship this would make. Imagine flying into Scottsdale with this one? It would sure turn a few heads.

This is another Sikorsky. Not quite as pretty, but also used for agricultural work. They dry cherries with these. I saw this one in flight, hovering about 50 feet over an orchard. I think there’s so much downwash that they can just hover in one place and dry the whole orchard. (Which is a good thing, because they cost a fortune to fly.)

Were you looking for a Huey? How about this one?

This pretty blue Huey is also being used for agricultural work, although I didn’t see it in flight.

Here’s another helicopter you don’t see every day: a Hiller. This is one of two Hillers that supposedly came down from Canada to dry cherries.

Here’s the other Hiller in an artsy head-on shot. I love the old helicopters with the big glass bubbles — but I sure wouldn’t want to fly one in the Arizona sun. A buddy of mine in Arizona has one and I think he’s nuts.

And here’s the pair of them, parked side by side.

There was a JetRanger there, too, but I didn’t take pictures of it. After all, you can see a JetRanger anywhere.

As cherry drying season is winding down to an end, most of these helicopters might be gone. I know the Sikorskys are based there. If you’re in the area, why not see for yourself? You can find them at Brewster Airport in Brewster, WA.

Now Read This: If do you stop by for a visit, remember to keep your hands and other body parts off the helicopters. They’re not toys and they’re not for you or your kids to climb on. It’s a Federal offense to mess with any aircraft — really! Remember that airport property is for authorized personnel; if you’re asked to leave, please do.

And if you like looking at aviation-related photos, I hope you’ll check out my Aviation photo gallery.