50 by 50

Pondering goals... Flying (take off and land) in all 50 states by the time I am 50. I could bump off a bunch in one day in the north east.

Why I Fly (Chapter 13)

I just finished a week of vacation with my family. We had a camping trip cut short by bees, followed by a leaky kitchen faucet that I had to replace, and then a bicycle ride on the burke-gillman trail that involved more sibling bickering than riding. So for my last day of vacation, I wanted to take myself out for an airplane ride.

When I awoke this morning the view from my window was of fog. Dang. That’s not what the weather man forecast. Having grown up in the Pacific Northwest, I know that late summer and early fall is a common time to be greeted my morning fog, and that is usually is short lived. So I grabbed my flying gear and headed for the airport, via Starbucks.

At the airport I found blue sky and a couple of flight instructors participating in a well honed skill of sitting on the couch. Their earlier students canceled due to the fog. It seems every FBO has a well worn couch. And having spent over a decade hanging out at the airport, I understand why. Pilots always seem to be waiting for someone or something: A passenger, a student, a cargo, or maybe just a break in the weather. These were waiting for students.

I was waiting for my coffee to be gone. I downed the rest of my coffee and walked out to the plane. After a preflight, getting taxi clearance, and take-off clearance, I pushed the throttle forward and accelerated north towards lift off speed.

I think I have mentioned before that Paine Field is the highest point on the west side of the Puget Sound. At 600 and some odd feet, today it was above the fog that blanketed the water to the west and north. Lifting off the runway brought into view the tops of the fog bank that covered the water and reached up onto the shore. I climbed over the fog that was spread across Port Gardner Bay as I set my course north to the shoreline where the bay arced back out. About 8 miles from the airport I dropped back down and flew 500 feet above the fluffy white fog. To my left was a field of cotton white, and to my right the terrain pushed its way through, exposing coat of evergreen trees that covered the hills.

I continued north and veered inland to avoid the airspace controlled by Naval Air Station Whidbey, and found the Skagit River valley to follow further inland. The valley took me east to the town of Concrete. The airport at Concrete is aligned east-west with the valley, and is a nice place to introduce mountain flying. The valley floor is about 200 feet above sea-level and two miles to the south the hills begin their climb to 5000 feet. To the north a dam holds back Lake Shannon, which is bounded by more steep hills. To the east a mountain rises 5500 feet. It looks intimidating, but there is plenty of space to maneuver.

I over-flew the airport to determine the flow of the winds, spotted a small red biplane landing to the west, so I circled in behind it and landed. I hopped out of the plane and walked to the hangar where the biplane was now parking.

The biplane was decorated to resemble a World War I era fighter, including a mock machine gun mounted to the top wing. The owner was a kind elderly gentleman named Ward, who seemed to own 3 other older planes. Ward and I discussed his planes and he asked about mine. As we walked over to my plane he lit up. In his youth, he had flown a plane like mine out to Michigan and on to Ohio. Ward regaled me with his adventure as he and his flight instructor traveled to Ohio. At the end of the tale, I offered him a ride up the valley and he eagerly accepted.

We departed west into the wind, and soon turned back east and followed the Skagit River as it wrapped south around the mountain and then back east. I gave the controls to Ward, and at the junction of the Skagit and Sauk River we turned south again and followed the Suak towards Darrington, and split again as we encountered the Suattle River. There Ward turned the plane back towards the west and let me have the controls back.

The valley floor below had several open fields, yet the walls of the valley rise so abruptly that it seems you are able to both fly over smooth ground, while flying with one wingtip just feet away from the trees of the cliff face next to you as you guide the plane down the valley.

Back at the airport Ward and I parted, and I made a wonderful discovery. There at the Concrete Airport are three hangars chock-full of carefully restored aircraft on display. I wandered through the planes for about 30 minutes in awe that they were all sitting there to be admired.

I departed the airport for a second time that day, and headed back up the same canyon that Ward and I had just flown. This time with an eye for higher altitudes and maybe a glimpse as Lake Chelan and the Stehekin airstrip. I climbed through the valley and over ridges discovering the alpine lakes along the way. Alpine lakes are amazing. Nearly all are a vivid teal blue ringed by steep mountains and trees. The terrain is rugged, and intimidating. At regular intervals I planned my glide path back into the valleys if the engine fails. But it does not. Instead, it pulls me further into the mountains, over ridges, towards glaciers, and exposing new valleys below.

I love this part of the State. Rugged, harsh, unforgiving, and beautiful.

As I approached Dome Peak, the aroma of a forest fire was becoming more intense – even at 7,000 feet. There were no forest fire restrictions when I left, but I’d not want to wander into one that has come up since I last checked. So I set the GPS to guide me home, and head back toward Paine in a shallow descent. In less than 25 minutes, I’m back on the ground.

Big Changes

Isaac was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes on Sunday, or what is called type one.  For several days, he had been using the bathroom frequently was always thirsty, had lost about seven or eight pounds, and was having occasional headaches.  Other than that, he didn't show any visible signs of slowing down or being "ill."

We called the Dr, Sunday morning, and after a short conversation she sent us to the ER.  There they ran some tests and diagnosed him, and then said we were going to be transferred to Children’s Hospital in Seattle.  They would not allow us to drive him down there and instead, called in an ambulance to move him.  Once at Children’s we were told we would be spending the next three days there getting Isaac stabilized and us trained to help him.

The next three days were a blurr, both in the amount of information we had to absorb, and the range of shock and emotions we had to face.  We had classes two or three times a day.  On Wednesday afternoon they let us out. Isaac is doing well and adapting quickly to his new life long routine.

So here is the high level view of what we learned:

• Our bodies run on sugar, or glucose. It is the fuel cells use to keep up their energy. These sugars are produced from carbohydrates we eat, which the digestive system breaks down into sugars.
• The sugar gets into the cells with the help of insulin. Without the insulin, the sugar cannot get in to the cells, and the cells cannot function.
• Insulin is produced in the pancreas.
• With type one diabetes, the immune system decides the pancreas is bad, and starts treating it like a foreign object, and renders it permanently unable to make insulin.  The pancreas will never heal.  
• The auto-immune disorder is a gentic error of some sort, and they do not know for certain what event triggers it, nor do they have a way to prevent it.  It just happens.
• As a side note, in type two diabetes, the pancreas still does its job and is producing insulin, but the body becomes resistant to it.
• Through the ability to do nearly instant blood glucose testing (we got a cool little electronic gizmo) we are able to mimic the pancreas’ normal functions, and then inject the correct amount of insulin based on the current blood glucose, the amount of carbohydrates he is about to eat, and the amount of exercise he is getting. (Yes, there is a fair amount of math involved.)

So the cool thing is this:  Isaac can continue to live and eat just like he always has, he just has to medicate for it.  In the past when kids got diabetes they were medicated, and then had to adjust their lives to match the medicine. Now we are able to go about life, and adjust the medicine to match their lives.

Clearly this will bring about more work in our lives, but Isaac is pretty positive right now, and happy to be back home. He is already settling back in to running and playing with his siblings, and has spent some time in the gym.

Why I Fly (Chapter 12)

The man who taught me to fly, Lewis, has remained a good friend of mine since we met in 1995. On Saturday he got married. Sandra and I have grown fond of him and are very happy for him. At the wedding his brother, Walt, described him as "having the capacity to be really excited about anything." As a result, hanging out with Lewis is always a hoot. But it also made for Lewis often chasing in a new direction, or after a new dream. Sandra and I often wondered if he was capable of settling down. But he seems to have been fully smitten.

Lew and his future bride set out to have a destination wedding. They jetted around the globe looking for "the place." They finally settled on Sun Mountain Lodge in Winthrop, a small town about 100 miles north east of Seattle – 100 miles in a straight line. By road, it takes nearly 5 hours and goes though some of the most ruggedly beautiful mountains and valleys in Washington State.

We took the plane OVER those mountains and valleys. As I was planning the flight, I thought over a couple issues. First, this is some of the most hostile territory in the state. There are no cities, no roads, no airports, not even any flat spots, just tall mountains, deep valleys, and steep ravines. Second, there were some tall mountains. And the highest one at 10,500 feet was nearly directly in out path. Third, we would be coming back at night. Fourth, there are flight paths that stay closer to civilization, and thus options in the event of something going awry, but that route takes you south to Seattle then east, and back north again. I’ve used that path in previous night flight.

I decided to take the twin engine Piper Seneca to speed the flight, allow for quicker climbs, and some redundancy in engines as we crossed the mountains.

Now, how do we get from the airport to the lodge? It is about 13 miles, too far to walk or bike in a suit or dress shoes. We called around and found Mountain Transporter offered a van service, but charged by the hour. And we would be at the wedding for several hours with the meter running. The lodge’s concierge was willing to pick us up and take us back, and get this, FOR FREE! The only catch was that the concierge got off work at 8:00 P.M. so we couldn’t stay much later than that.

The day of the wedding turned out to be a beautiful day for both the wedding and for flying. Sandra dropped the kids off at Grandma’s and while I picked up some SeaBands for her on my way to the airport to preflight the plane.

We prepared for take off: review engine out procedures, taxi on to the runway, hold the brakes, 2,000 RPMs, check the engines, release the brakes, ease in the rest of the power, verify runway alignment, airspeed indicator alive, 60 mph, verify runway alignment, 70 mph, verify runway alignment, a little back pressure to lift the nose, 80 mph, nose wheel off the ground, mains off the ground, accelerate to 105 mph, no usable runway ahead of me, retract the gear, accelerate to 120mph, trim for 120. 1,100 feet on the altimeter, we are 500 feet off the ground, so I banked the plane to the east, rolling the wings level, I pulled the engine back to 25 inches of manifold pressure and reduced the RPM to 2,500 for the climb. Whoa. That is a busy time.

As I cleared Paine’s airspace, I called up Seattle Radio to open my flight plan, and then switched over to Seattle Center for VFR flight following. We continued to climb. At 9,500 feet, Sandra asks "How tall is that mountain ahead of us?"

"10,500 feet. We are a thousand feet below the peak." I reply. "Our flight path will take us north of it, and we should be above it by the time we reach it."

About that time the air traffic controllers called us up "Do you have Glacier Peak in sight?"

"Affirmative. It is beautiful up here." We continued to climb, leveling out at 11,500 feet. I set the RPM back to 2,300, nursed as much manifold pressure out of the engines as the thin atmosphere could provide, and synchronized the propellers. The airplane settled down and continued to accelerate.

We were level for just a brief period when the controller asked when we planned to start our descent to Methow. Ahead I could see the ridge on the east side of Lake Chelan, and I had to clear that before I could start too much descending. Soon the lake was passing beneath us and I could see Steheiken out my window.

Rolling the trim wheel forward I started down over the ridge, picking the small town of Winthrop out of the golden brown valley in front of me. Sandra said "are we landing already?"

"Yep, but we are still too high. I have to lose some altitude quickly." As we descended over the ridges and hills, we started bouncing on the thermals. I pulled the throttles back to 16 inches of manifold pressure and continued to descend. As we got to within 4 miles of the airport, we were still too high. I made a arcing left turn to the north, went over the lodge, and then turned south back towards Twisp in shallow right turn. We were finally coming in low enough that I could make final u-turn to the left to end up entering left down-wind over the hills on the east side of the airport. I extended the gear, and ran the pre-landing check-list. Flaps out, we touched down and rolled out. I turned around on the runway and taxied back to transient parking.

Exactly one hour after starting the engines, they were shut back down.

The wedding was beautiful. It was held on the bluff overlooking the valley to the north. Since we have been friends with Lew for so long, we have developed quite a few mutual friends. It was fun to see so many of them gathered together, celebrating in honor of Lew and his new wife Stacy. And the conversations were a kick too. Lew had a long and varied career is several odd aviation jobs, and the crowd reflected his past. Sean did a tour as my flight instructor, and is now a pilot for Alaska. Lew’s friends from his east coast tuna spotting days were there (that was a colorful group). They were the perfect match for a delicious dinner.

Eight o’clock came much too soon, and after a bit of coordination the Concierge drove us back down the hill to the valley below and to the airport. We stopped along the way to drop off some of the house-keeping staff that was carpooling with us. It was a little after 9:00 P.M. as I began the preflight for the trip home.

Funny how earlier in the day, I did not notice the moon was out. But now that the sun was set, so was the moon. And in a small valley with rapidly climbing terrain on either side, I was missing that moon. It was DARK. Before starting the plane I stood on the ramp and looked north and south. From the ground I could see the silhouette of the hills against the night stars. I could see the faint lights of the next city down the valley. I examined the charts and found the highest points near the airport. I planned my assault of the inky blackness.

We taxied out to the runway, and I found the ridge lines and horizon against the stars. I planned my take-off. I recited the engine failure on take off mantra. I mapped in my mind my route ahead: Take off south, slight turn to the right to follow the valley floor. Climb. The throttles advanced. The take-off roll started. Full power.

We arced right, and headed towards Twisp. The plane climbed. But something else odd occurred. When we were below the ridges, their outline was visible against the star-lit sky. But from above, all the ridges disappeared into the dark back void below us. I could not see the rising terrain below me.

I knew that there are no mountains over the road. I stayed on course over the road as we climbed. We covered the ground between the airport and Twisp quickly – too quickly. We were over Twisp and the country highway’s lights south of the city were spaced too few and far between to assure we remained over the road. Worse, I was not high enough to leave the valley. I eased the plane to west side of the road below, and made a tight turn to the east, now headed back toward Winthrop as I continued my climb over the highway. When we got back to Winthrop we were high enough to clear the immediate hills. I had more maneuvering room. One more turn back towards Twisp and I was at 9,000 and climbing. Ready for to assault the North Cascades again.

"Black as ink" is not black enough to describe the mountainous terrain below. Once again, I was able to see the silhouette of Bonanza Peak and Glacier Peak. We continued to climb. I contacted Seattle Center for flight following. They wanted to know if I had the mountains in sight, and I did.

I had expected some turbulence on the ride home, but it was as smooth as glass. As we configured for cruise at 12,500 feet, I knew I had 2,000 feet between me and the highest point around me. We were above the mountains, but again the terrain vanished in blackness below. I had to calculate when we were past the mountains in order to descend.

My head was processing. I started with take off time, and distance combined with airspeed, and then an estimate of maneuvering time over the two small cities… 120 miles an hour, two miles a minute. Add in a bit for the forecast 20-knot headwind but if I had the forecast head wind I would expect a bit more turbulence. What are the actual winds? Just what is my actual ground speed? And a flash of numbers on the panel caught my eye. The DME displayed my closing speed on the Paine VOR.

Wait. The DME had just locked on to the Paine VOR. I tuned and identified the VOR to assure I was on the right one. I was 50 some odd miles away from Paine Field. That will work. I measured the distance from the Paine VOR to Glacier Peak – about 45 miles. In seven or so minutes we would be at 40 DME from Paine, at least 5 miles past the peak, and I could safely start down.

The lights of the cities surrounding the Puget Sound started coming in to view. Seattle, Everett, Bellevue. Dark spaces revealed bodies of water, ribbons of lights drew bridges. Ahead was the Hewitt Avenue Trestle and to the right of that, Lake Stevens. Past it is Port Gardner. We made it.

Seattle Center requested I notify them when I had Paine Field in sight, at which time they canceled my flight following. As we descended nearer to home, I slowed the plane from the high-speed descent, down to below 150 MPH where I could extend the gear.

Rolling the plane to the right to line up with the runway, I simultaneously extended the flaps. Soon we touched down just short of the fixed distance markers.

Back at Regal, there was a T-6 Texan parked in the Seneca’s space so we made another lap around the ramp looking for a space to tie down.

Engines shut down at 2.3 hours total time. Point three. An extra 18 minutes to climb over the valley, fly into the headwind, and taxi around? All in a good day of flying.

And Speaking of voting...

I am proud to say have contributed to the a new national voting project, Vote 18. I created the inital website, and then worked with to get the new .php one up and running. Stop by and check it out.

Vote 18 has recently kicked off it's national tour and they are already getting some great media coverage. Kudos to Walt, Marco, and their team!

My vote so far in America's Got Talent

Why I Fly (Chapter 11)

As my one regular reader knows, I got my Multi-Engine license a couple of years back. However, I am yet to fly the twin-engine plane alone. I recently logged enough time to satisfy the insurance company, but then realized that I did not have a recent Instrument Proficiency Check (IPC) nor had I flown on instruments in a while, which the insurance company also requires to get signed off in the twin. Since I have a perfectly fine airplane of my own, I arranged to use it for my IPC flight a couple weeks later.

My real goal is to be able to take my wife out in the twin. I had hoped for a trip to the San Juans for dinner on my birthday, but alas it was snowing. We've had a run of rough and bumpy weather – including a later round of snow on April 20th, and when we finally got a break one Sunday afternoon, I started making arrangements for the trip to the aerodrome. I called over to Regal to reserve the plane, only to discover that it had been more than 60 days (67 days in fact) since I had flown the plane. Another rule shoots me down. Arg!!! How hard does this have to be?

Sandra's birthday is coming up this Saturday, and the weather is forecast to be CAVU, so I reserved the plane and a random instructor for last night to go jump through the next hoop.

As we were preparing for take off, the ATIS alerted us to "Fog to the north." Paine Field sits on a plateau 600 feet above the Puget Sound. So from where we were doing our pre-flight the fog a couple miles away and below us over the water was not visible. We were cleared for take off to the south, and as we climbed up, the fog over the Puget Sound came into view. Our rectangular path took us to the south a mile or two and then we banked right towards the west and then around to the north where we paralleled the runway we had just departed. Sure enough there just north of the field was a fog bank working its way from Port Gardner Bay up Japanese Gulch to the runway threshold.

Ahead and to our right there was a 747 coming in for landing. The 747's decent path kept it skipping the top of the fogbank as it slowed and the wings held the heavy plane aloft. Like the churning water left behind a large ship, the wake of the 747 swirled down and away from the airplane's path, cutting a valley into the fog.

The resulting valley in the fog was an excellent depiction of wake turbulence. As I turned onto final, I flew over the valley and above the flight path of the 747 landing further down the runway than it did, leaving the first 1,500 of runway behind me. Once on the ground we quickly reconfigured the plane for take-off.

As we lifted off, the tower controllers reported the wind had shifted and was no longer out of the south, and it was now coming in from the north. The wind that was pushing the fog away had turned, and was now pushing the fog on to the north end of the runway. We requested and received clearance for a right 90, left 270 turn back to the airport. Our flight path traced the letter "P" over the ground, and we were lined back up on the runway.

Again we touched down and reconfigured the plane for take-off. We lifted off over the fog, the tower controllers reported incoming helicopter traffic head-on, and requested we return to landing to the south. We flew the same "P" shaped approach, landed and taxied towards our parking space. Heading in we watched the Blackhawk fly the length of the runway, and disappear into the evening sky.

Epilogue. .5 hours of running engines and once again I'm a safe pilot according to the insurance company.