N322mx over Alaska

4. Scud-Running the Coast

2011-09-01T09:33:00.000-07:00

Route of flight:
PAGS - CSP - PAYA - A68

Gustavus is not far from Glacier Bay and we were hoping to start our day with a scenic flight around the area. The weather, though, was not so good. Ceilings had come down overnight and low coastal rain had moved in.

It didn’t look to be clearing anytime soon, so we had a good breakfast watching low clouds move by listening to the rain patter on the roof. We borrowed a couple bikes from the inn and took a ride through the drizzle to the general store and restocked a couple of basics, then stopped by the boat ramp to check out the local scene which was pretty darn quiet. It was late morning by the time we made our way back to the airport to load up and do a little flight planning.

Our goal for the day was to fly up the coast to Yakutat and spend the night in a forest service cabin on a river outside of town. The weather outside was low and rainy but according to the data it was better out on the coast. Ceilings were higher at 3500’ and the weather cameras at both ends of the trip - Cape Spencer at the south and Yakutat at the north - showed clear visibility under the layer and lighter, higher ceilings out to sea. It looked good for a run up the beach.

We packed up during a lull in the rain and took off. Flying out the bay at 1500’ we passed over cruise ships, fishing boats and whales. Glacier bay was socked in with rain so we decided to take a pass this time and headed directly for Cape Spencer. As we approached the coast there was a thick curtain of rain drawing across the mouth of Cross Sound. It was a gatekeeper cell and we just squeaked through before it shut down the passage. Banking north over Cape Spencer we overflew the coast guard station - a weather-beaten outpost and helipad clutching onto the rocks - and a large seal colony engulfing another set of rocks of equal size.

For around fifty miles up the coast we had a nice clear view under a 3000’ cloud layer. Then the clouds began to drop and the rain fell out. Flying uses all of your senses and despite what you’d think about the noise of in a small aircraft, sound is very important. Pilots become attuned to the sound of the engine running smooth or rough at different power settings, and to the sound of the air itself as it carves a path around the plane at different airspeeds. When flying out of the clear and into air that is dense with moisture from cloud, mist and rain the wind starts to moan. It’s a spooky sound. Almost as though the ghosts of a hundred VFR pilots are whispering a warning that the weather is getting dangerous. We’d heard a fair amount of it along the Cassiar and here it was again starting up just south of Lituya Bay.

We still had good visibility for a while and it looked brighter in the distance through the rain so we pushed on. But by the time we got to Lituya Bay we were down below 700’ flying with a notch of flaps over the beach in the rain with a 20kt wind blowing in from the sea. The Bay is known for its quick tides and record tsunamis. We’d hoped to take a turn in the bay and look for the ring of trees marking the line of new growth after the 1700’ megatsunami that hit the area in 1958. Now we were just hoping not to get clobbered by one.

At this point it was looking just as good behind us as it did up ahead. Not liking the looks of it either way, and none to happy to have flown into a spot where we had to choose between uglies at 700’ we decided to continue north trusting in the forecast for improved weather up ahead.

Once again, I wish I had photos to share of some of the terrain we flew past - 200’ glacial cliffs of blue and black ice dropping straight into the ocean getting pounded by waves, long rivers of ice crumbling into lakes streaming onto beaches, sheer rock faces looming out of the clouds that looked like they’d been blasted by coastal storms for thousands of years. But there was no time for cameras. We had our hands full just keeping our course.

Eventually the rain tapered off, the clouds rose up and the beach below became wider and smoother as the mountains pulled back from shore. Suddenly it felt like we had a lot of options; we could climb, we could see, and we had miles and miles of perfectly groomed beach to land on if we needed. We started to relax and retracted our flaps speeding up from 80 knots to 120 with a nice tailwind pushing us along.

Soon we started passing small fishing camps, then larger ones and a few airstrips along the riverbanks north of Dry Bay. The skies continued to lighten and we overflew wide shallow beaches, grassy dunes, eagles and bears. Now we flew down at 100’ off the beach because we wanted to, not because we had to and let me tell you, it’s a lot more fun to fly low when it’s at your own choosing.

South of Yakutat we turned east following the Situk river and soon found ourselves headed towards showers again. Several miles upriver we found teh strip tucked in the trees and of course there was a pocket of rain emptying out all over it. We flew around in a wide pattern, made a low approach to scout the condition of the strip then flew around again before lining it up for the landing. The rain was moving on when we touched down on a rough field of grass, gravel, wildflowers and berries. The cabin was a few hundred yards away and it was stocked with fuel for the stove and plenty of room to spread out.

We unpacked our fishing gear and took a walk along the riverbank in the rain looking for likely fishing holes and any signs of bears. We didn’t find any fish or any bears but that didn’t matter - we were just happy to be on the ground with a dry roof to go back to. It hadn’t been a usual Thursday, and there was a lot to be thankful for as we poured ourselves a round of scudrunners and settled into the evening.

3. On to Alaska

2011-08-17T20:15:00.000-07:00

Route of flight:

CYQH - CYZW - CYXY - PAGY - PAHN - PANR - PAGS

It was Wednesday and we slept in.

Around midday we took off following the AlCan Highway west. We’ve flown this particular route a handful of times before and after our flight up the Cassiar, it was a nice change to fly over familiar terrain. We overflew the pass at Pine Lake at 4000’ and continued past Teslin Lake and through the pass at Summit Lake. The air was relatively stable and the ceilings were up around 5000’. We could see most of the peaks and the what showers there were resulted from late-day cumulus buildups and were easily avoided.

We arrived in Whitehorse in mid-afternoon with some decisions to make as the next leg of our flight would take us into Alaska. We spent some time talking to the weather briefers stationed below the control tower. According to their data, farther along the AlCan the ceilings were lower than what we’d just passed through and rain had kept anyone from flying in from that direction all day. The northern route, following the Yukon River to Dawson had similar weather. It was generally better east of us and south along the inside of the coast range where we’d just come from yesterday. Along the coast stations were reporting 5000’ overcast which was as good or better than anywhere else. However the pass leading to the coast at Skagway was currently reporting 4000’ and scattered rain. The pass itself was in the clouds.

We’d flown the AlCan and Yukon routes before and they are both what we’d call one-way flights. Best to undertake if you’re certain you can get to your destination. If you go past the half-way point you’re pretty much committed to doing the whole flight because there are very few options for landings or fuel along the way. Having just spent a day scud-running, we weren’t all that keen on doing it again - especially with the added complication of a border crossing thrown into the mix.

Given all the variables, we decided to run the road to Skagway. The route was just a one-hour flight so if we did have to turn around we’d still have plenty of fuel to make it back to Whitehorse. The customs office at Skagway is open 24/7 for all the cars, trains and cruise ships that go through so we wouldn’t be rushed to try to make it there before all the agents went home for the day. Since it seemed likely that the clouds in the pass were the result of late-day cumulous showers we also decided to hang around Whitehorse for a few hours to give those clouds a chance to wring themselves out.

When we took off from Whitehorse in late afternoon the rains were thinning and the sun was starting to peek out between the clouds. It was some of the best flying we’d had yet. Below us the Klondike Highway clung to a narrow ledge between the mountains and lakes then climbed along the side of the hills to the pass. There were ruins along the road and old bridges and trestles from the original Klondike Railroad built for the gold rush over a hundred years ago. The mountains stacked up between us and the coast were steep, rocky and bare of cover. But the range was not very deep at all. Just when it seemed the mountains had formed an impenatrable wall, we ducked down below the cloud ceiling and spotted the Taiya Inlet on the other side of the pass and Skagway just 10 miles away.

We had a 20 knot headwind on the nose as we descended out of the pass at 4000’ for a straight-in landing at sea level in Skagway. With all that wind off the water and the drag from the big tires, our approach felt like riding an escalator down to the runway. It was a smooth landing for all that wind.

Skagway is not a large town. In fact, it’s about as long as the runway and about 4 blocks wide. You could easily put the whole town in one of the cruise ships parked in the bay and every resident would have four times as much space to themselves as any tourist on cruise.

The customs agent was waiting with his geiger counter as we taxied to the small terminal building at the end of the runway. He was about the friendliest agent we’d ever met and for once we had a pleasant experience getting back into the country in our little airplane.

Despite it’s charming looks and history, we decided not to stick around for long in Skagway. Something about giant cruise ships chugging diesel exhaust over the town and the tidal flow of tourists... for such a small town Skagway was awfully crowded. So after a quick scan of the guidebook and a couple phone calls we found a room in an inn and took off for Gustavus for the night. We made it just in time for dinner.

2. The Cassiar Route

2011-08-11T12:01:00.000-07:00

Route of flight:

CYYD - CBW4 - CBU2 - CYDL - CYQH

We woke up at 4:00am to an absolute cacophony of birds - all manner of thrushes and jays greeting the sunrise. By the time we woke up again at 9:00am they’d mostly piped down. We’d camped out for the night at a small picnic area on the southern end of the airfield. Over breakfast we met a couple local pilots and spent some time talking about planes, routes and fuel options in northern BC. The clouds were low but lifting and we were planning to continue flying north to the Yukon today following the Cassiar highway.

The Cassiar is one of four routes north to Alaska from the US. Only two follow roads: the AlCan and the Cassiar. The other two are through the Trench or along the coast. We’d flown the Trench on our previous trips to Alaska - it’s a straight line overland following a gap between mountain ranges that leads directly from Williston Lake to Watson Lake. This time we decided to take the scenic route through the mountains following the Cassiar Highway. We expected a 3.5 hour flight to Watson Lake and allowed a little extra time in our flight plan for a lunch stop at Dease Lake.

The flight along the Cassiar was every bit as beautiful as we’d been told. The road twists through the mountains following the Bulkley River as it climbs to the river’s source. Then it cuts through a couple narrow mountain passes which I imagine are quite beautiful with snow capped peaks and sheer cliff faces. We didn’t get to see much of the splendor as the mountains rose up into the clouds. Or, rather as the clouds fell down from the peaks. Either way, we found ourselves flying in tight quarters pinched between the mountains, skimming over the trees amid wraith-like clouds and rain. As the terrain rose below us and the clouds kept pushing down our altitude, we were actually pretty happy to have a road beneath us. It was beautiful in it's own way, but frankly we were too busy flying to take photos.

Approaching each bend in the valley, we’d count the layers of hills we could see ahead of us to estimate our forward visibility through the rain showers. For the most part we had 7-10 miles of visibility ahead though at times a thick veil of rain would drape across the valley reducing vis to a mile or so. At the mountain passes where the terrain tightened we’d reduce power and throw in a notch of flaps flying low and slow hugging one side of the pass to give ourselves plenty of space and maneuverability if the way forward got socked in and forced us to turn around. We also kept an eye out for straight sections of road and turnouts, on the off-chance we decided to set the plane down and have an early lunch.

For a couple of hours we picked our way around the clouds between the peaks. We overflew gorgeous Meziadin Lake at the base of sheer mountain walls and threaded our way through a particularly gnarly pass just south of Bob Quinn Lake. We continued on north following the road after the pavement stopped at Iskut and wound our way through more scud and rain until we finally made Dease Lake. We landed in the rain and took time to cook lunch under the shelter of our wing. Then we took a few deep breaths and took off for the last hour’s flying to Watson Lake.

Flying north along the Dease River the terrain finally started to descend and widen. The rain gradually diminished as we flew out of the mountains. By the time we reached the Horseranch Range the clouds had pulled back and we could see 40 miles clear to Watson. We landed under blue skies and light winds, set up camp at the gazebo, pulled out our fishing gear and settled into our evening.

It'd been a long day of rigorous flying in sketchy weather. Figuring we’d earned a couple healthy Scudrunners, we pulled out the whiskey and Tang and slowly unwound.

1. Heading North

2011-08-04T10:04:00.000-07:00

Route of flight:

KPAE - CYXX - CYHE - CYXS - CBZ9 - CYYD

We were wading through gear shin deep across the floor when my mom walked in. “I thought you finished packing yesterday.” My dad followed her up the stairs carrying their luggage. They were moving in to take care of Rachel while we flew ourselves to Alaska, but as noted, we had yet to move out.

Mark managed to keep his cool, despite having just badly injured a critical piece of gear. He took off to the shop for a quick repair while I took my parents with me to drop Rachel off at day care.

The house had been in a state of increasing chaos for days. Lists littered the fridge: camping gear, survival gear, bear protection, mosquito protection, food, emergency contacts for my parents, care and feeding instructions for Rachel, and the cat - don’t forget the cat. The cat definitely knew that we were leaving town - he’d been through this before - but little Rachel hadn’t a clue. She didn’t really get that something big was going down until I dropped her off at daycare and said goodbye. Boy, was she in for a surprise.

I met Mark back at the house to pack up and head to the hangar. We were running behind on our departure time, so we made a quick call to Canadian customs on our way to the airport to let them know what time we’d be getting in. Then we notified US Homeland Security that we would be leaving the country (it’s a ridiculous requirement for private pilots - don’t get me started). Then we quickly packed the plane mindful of weight and balance, scribbled out a last will and testament and left it on the dash in the car - just in case. An hour later we were finally airborne. We activated our flight plan, keyed in our transponder code and turned north.

We flew through scattered showers over Puget Sound, light filtered through the clouds highlighting the islands in the San Juans. It was beautiful, but we’d seen it before. At the start of our trip with three weeks of bush flying adventure ahead of us it was hard to take the time to appreciate the beauty of our own back yard. Besides, we were cramming to prepare for flying in Canadian airspace where the rules are similar to the US but just different enough to throw us off our game.

It was an hour flight to the Abbotsford aerodrome where we cleared customs and fueled. We also got a weather briefing and filed our flight plan with Canadian Flight Services along with a detailed description of our plane and the survival equipment aboard which they like to know just in case we don’t actually arrive at our destination. For this flight that would be Prince George and to get there we’d be following the Fraser River east from Abbotsford and north at Hope, BC.

We were in luck this afternoon, the morning had cleared and there was very little wind along the route. The Fraser River was high through the valley, overflowing the banks into farmland in some places. As we followed it into the Cascade Range the mountains tightened around us. At the town of Hope the river makes a 90 degree turn to the north and we turned with it into ever steepening terrain, the river cutting a narrow canyon below us.

For once there was a slight tailwind and no turbulence in the canyon. We’ve had flights through here before with winds out of the west rotoring over the tops of the mountains and churning up the air in the canyon to rival the turbulence of the rushing river below. Real headbangers. Not today though. It was a smooth ride as we cruised at around 5000ft following the river north into the plains.

The farther north we went, the fewer signs of people we saw. Towns spread out along the river but didn’t penetrate far into the forests to the east or west. North of the turnoff to Kamloops the mountains flattened out into broad forested terrain. Lots of logging, and a fair amount of mining in these parts.

After fueling in Prince George and taking a good look at the weather ahead, we decided to fly one more leg and head to Smithers for the night. As evening wore on, the puffy clouds that had built up over the day began to let loose rain showers. We dodged around a few cells and eventually found Smithers in a small valley tucked in between mountains on either side of the Bulkley River. It was late as we landed and after a long walk to town we managed to find the local brewpub and get our orders in just before the kitchen closed.

It seemed like it had taken forever to get out of town but we'd made good miles and it felt like our adventure was just beginning.