Now That's What I Call an Early Morning
Posted Wednesday July 17, 2019
Today, I crossed the Rockies. I had no idea what to expect, so I was apprehensive. And that was before I saw the weather report.
Last night, I arrived at Felts Field in Spokane right at sunset. I dithered about getting fuel there, since the price was surprisingly high ($5.74/gallon), and I knew Sandpoint was only 30 minutes' flight away, with a reported $4.19/gallon price. Instead of tanking up immediately, I unpacked a bit, and settled into the pilots' lounge, then checked the weather.
Cloud levels looked fine, but my eyes jumped halfway out of their sockets when I saw the wind prediction: anywhere from 15 to 25 steady, gusting to 30 to 45 knots depending which station I was looking at, from the south. I would never be thrilled about that much wind (the recommendation I got was to simply avoid mountains if the wind was over 10-15 knots), but to have it running over the continent-wide span of the Rocky mountain range, picking up all sorts of turbulence along the way was far too much. Once I got my eyeballs settled back down, I looked again, translating the UTC time in my head, a simple arithmetic operation which always confuses me for no good logical reason.
There was my salvation, and my damnation: the winds didn't really start up until 8 am on the west side, or 11 am on the east side of the mountains. The sun rose at 5:15 this morning at Felts Field, so there was two hours and 45 minutes of salvation, with light and variable winds -- just what you want for crossing mountains -- until 8. That's enough time to traverse the majority of the mountains, and it had the added bonus that the heavy wind didn't arrive until later, as I would travel east.
Unfortunately, I figured this out after I had spent a rather luxuriant hour-plus writing yesterday's travel report. It was after 11 pm by the time I had checked the weather and called the weather briefing folks to confirm that I was really seeing what I thought I was seeing. Feeling suddenly very rushed (for I would have to wake up around 4:15 am to be reasonably certain I could take off at 5:15), I cursed silently to myself and hurried out to push the plane over to the fuel pump and swallow the high price in the service of getting out in the morning with all possible dispatch.
Plane fueled, I ran through my remaining before-sleep tasks as fast as I could, but it was still midnight by the time I shrugged inwardly and laid myself out on one of the overstuffed recliners in the lounge, fully clothed and ready to leap into action when the alarm sounded. Fortunately I roused myself sufficiently to take my shoes off after 20 minutes of trying to fall asleep with a rapidly spinning mind. At least by using the recliner I didn't have a sleeping bag or sleeping pad to put away in the morning, saving myself valuable minutes.
Around maybe 2 am (I didn't want to wake myself enough to check the time), another pilot came in and laid himself down in the other recliner. I was only barely asleep between my thoughts about crossing the mountains and the knowledge that the alarm would be going off after only a bit over 4 hours of theoretical sleeping time. I waved to him and laid my head back again, but I imagine I only slept about 2 hours last night.
At the appointed hour, the alarm sounded, and I sprang up and into action. Downed a granola bar, suddenly aware that the last time I'd really eaten was lunch the previous day. Packing happened quickly, since I had been careful not to unpack very much, and I managed to get the plane started at 5:10, and was off the ground just after 5:20. Not bad for hitting the mark.
Winds were indeed calm, and I launched into the sunrise, which fortunately sheilded me from the full brunt of the sun's power with some conveniently placed clouds. The plane climbed very slowly, as I was reminded again how heavy it is with full fuel and ~65 lbs of baggage in the back.
The actual crossing of the Rockies was almost comically uneventful. I climbed up to 7500 feet, and quickly decided I'd rather be at 9500. I could have made most of the flight at 5500 if I had to, but I was much more comfortable with some air between me and the hard stuff. Altitude is like insurance: wings don't break unless you intentionally do something foolish, but engines and electrical systems can crap out with no warning even if you've been the very model of a careful mechanic (they don't usually, but they can). Having altitude translates directly into greater gliding distance, which gives you more options for finding a safe place to land.
I found myself eyeing the rest areas on I-90 as potential emergency landing areas. They seemed to be mostly empty, and looked clear of obstructions. Fortunately it didn't come up, because putting the plane down by the side of I-90 would have been a true pain in the butt, assuming I found a safe way to do it.
For the latter part of my mountain crossing, between Billings and Helena, air traffic control lost coverage where I was, so I found myself flying more alone than normal. The Spokane Approach controller signed off with me, but said I could try Helena in about 40 miles. I set the radio to Helena's frequency, figuring I'd call them once I started hearing their side of conversations. Then I heard another airplane calling Helena but getting no response. I could see on my traffic display that he was coming up behind me, so I called on the same frequency and told him what the Spokane controller had told me. We ended up having a nice little conversation (after switching to the air-to-air frequency, of course) as we proceeded on our way in the same general direction.
Passing by Helena, I made my way to the Townsend airport, southeast of Helena. The internet had suggested that there was cheap fuel to be had there, and I gave it a shot. Fortunately, the internet had not lied, and I was able to fill up for only $4.20 a gallon. After I filled the tank, I sat in the cockpit for a minute without the engine running to plan my next step. I called and got weather from the briefer, and as I hung up, a wave of fatigue swept over me. Suddenly, the idea of taking a little nap in the Townsend pilots' lounge sounded pretty appealing, and I spent a very pleasant 45 minutes catching up a little bit on sleep. Afterwards, I pondered taking the courtesy van (a very janky-looking 1980s Chevy van) into Townsend proper for lunch, but decided that I'd rather get to my final destination, have a bigger meal, and have a chance to lay my head down. After my two hours in a recliner, I decided to splurge on a hotel room if possible tonight.
The leg from Townsend to Miles City (where I sit now as I type this) went by quickly, aided by the 20+ knot winds I had been seeing all day. I'm used to the speed over ground being 60-70 knots, and for most of today, I was seeing 85-100 knots. Nothing like a tailwind to make a trip go quickly. I'll pay for it on the way back, when the same winds will give me 40-50 knot speeds over the ground.
Salt Lake Center, which is clearly responsible for a huge swath of airspace in the Mountain time zone, let me go as I was 25 miles out from Miles City, just as I had been reaching for the transmit button to tell them I was starting my descent. I dropped gently down to the 3600 foot pattern altitude of the Miles City airport and made a short landing on runway 22, turning off before the crosswind runway and taxiing over to the fuel pumps. A gent on a utility vehicle halfway between a quad-bike and an SUV rolled up and asked if he could help. We determined that tiedowns are free, but hangar space costs $50, and that he had multiple crew cars if I wanted to borrow one. I filled the tanks and tied down, pondering whether I wanted to pay for extra protection for poor fabric-covered Norbert. Eventually I talked him into a slight discount, and pulled the plane into his big hangar, where it will be much safer if we have thunderstorms. They're in the forecast, but the chances of one hitting the airport very hard are slim. It's probably a silly precaution, but any serious damage would utterly stop my trip, and even minor damage would run into the thousands of dollars to repair.
In the crew car, I drove through downtown Miles City to find the recommended hotel, where I have secured a king-size bed for me myself and I, and at least as importantly, a real human-size shower and air conditioner. Norbert and I both get extra special lodgings tonight. I treated myself to some Mexican food at least in part because it was the only food on offer that wasn't "meat plus a little something else." Montana is cow country. The woman at the hotel counter seemed honestly shocked to imagine that someone could consider not eating meat, when I asked her about restaurants that might have options. We had an interesting conversation about her sideline in Twitch streaming, as she strives for one of the apparently possible streaming gamer positions that pays "millions of dollars." Talk about making your fortune from the comfort of your own home.
And now, at barely past 7 pm, heavy with huevos rancheros and a slightly more sensible set of meal-like snacks for tomorrow, it seems like a great time to ring off, consider my movements for the morning, and go to bed far earlier than is reasonable.
Copyright © 2019 by Ian Johnston.