Blue Ice Aviation

Exposing Real Alaska

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Photos of the Day — The Weather Today … Fickle

The weather was fickle today. I flew more than 7 hours and saw everything from blazing sunshine, to wind, snow, slush, sleet, hail, rain, and fog. All of the above photos were taken in the past 8 hours. One moment I would be flying in clear air and in a matter of minutes the visibility would grow hazy as the moisture in the air around me condensed into visible clouds. It’s an eerie feeling to know that the weather is not an isolated unit moving around, but rather it is building in intensity, and size through invisible means in the air supporting you. I never know if it is going to totally shut down, and leave me stranded at some abandoned cabin or if it is merely a passing cell. Little can be left to chance and I spend the majority of my efforts avoiding the bad areas and not flying through them.

Spring and Fall are the most unpredictable seasons as the weather patterns battle for control. Even though the weather was not exceptionally bad today, it was totally unstable and moving fast. The picture of the icing on my wing was taken after flying through a small snow squall that lasted less than one minute. You can see the dangers involved with this sort of thing as any amount of icing disrupts air flow over the wing. It was bothersome that I had flown through multiple squalls a short time before that built no ice. The temperature, wind, visibility, and precipitation were changing very fast, and I decided to call it a day and head home to see my girls, and eat some dinner. I did manage to get 3 kite skiers and 2 gold miners moved before the weather turned on me, so it was still a good days work.

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Story Sunday — Photo of the Day — Pants on a String

There was a storm brewing on the other side of the mountains and the wind was temperamentally building. I was surprised when the report from the glacier was less than 10 knots, but optimistically assumed we were experiencing a lull before the storm. I also knew that if they did not get their groceries today, it might be several days before conditions allowed another trip. I quickly loaded the plane and headed for the 10,000′ level. It was obvious that the wind was blowing at altitude because the clouds were passing by the peaks at a tremendous rate and conditions were changing rapidly. The clouds were looming over the landing site and it was becoming apparent that the line between do-able and dangerous was growing very thin.

The airflow affecting the cloud formation just overhead indicated winds in excess of 60 mph but where I was currently flying conditions remained … reasonable. I made one pass over the campsite and was disappointed when they explained on the aviation radio that the wind had picked up significantly in the past 20 minutes. The climbers had taken a 12 foot probe and tied a pair of pants onto the end of it and stuck it in the snow for a wind indicator. The pants looked like a thin silk flag as they stood straight out pointing away from the ominous cloud formation threatening to overtake us at any moment. This is not uncommon and can be viewed in the picture above as the air comes up and over the range it will actually hold in position for several hours, and then, all of a sudden unleash it’s furry.

I could feel the wind tugging on the control surfaces of the super cub yet I was reluctant to retreat because the air was relatively smooth. As I flew away from the camp a massive downdraft required full throttle to maintain a 500 foot per minute decent. This is where the game can get a little dicy because the Super Cub is no longer performing at its full potential because of the reduced airflow over the wings, and through the engine and propeller. 350 lbs of groceries and gear sat behind me in the seat and the 10,000′ elevation was making itself known. It does not take a rocket-scientist to realize that you have about 30 seconds to make a choice; either go home and don’t look back, or, if you’re comfortable, drive it in there. Circling overhead and talking about it is not always an option, because the longer you lolly-gag the longer you leave yourself exposed.

I was comfortable with landing because I had felt the wind and while it was powerful it was not turbulent, but I knew it was a one way trip. A go-around was absolutely out of the question because of the steepness of the terrain as well as the unstable air. I turned in towards the snow and ice and drove it into the ground under nearly full power with no flaps. It was an un-eventful landing and I quickly unloaded the gear and explained that I wanted to be airborne in 10 minutes –Usually we hang out and at least drink a cup of coffee.

I didn’t know if it was my imagination or if the clouds really were closer, but as soon as the Cub was unloaded and I looked around it seemed as though things were getting worse. The clouds were darker and the wind was stronger. Somebody had an anemometer and we held it into the Southerly wind. It quickly climbed through 10 then 15, 17, 22 mph….. that was all I needed to see, I walked away from the wind indicator and headed straight for the plane. I hollered to the course leader that I needed to be airborne immediately, because I had to take off with a tail wind. They grabbed all the garbage and backhaul they could and I was in my cub with the engine running in less than 2 minutes. I sat with the engine idling while I stared at the pair of pants whipping in the wind, I was waiting for a lull that never seemed to come. I had to take-off down hill because an up-hill, up-wind take-off was suicide in the rising terrain and massive downdrafts at the base of the nearest mountain. I waited, and waited but the wind never relented. I eventually poured the cobbs to it and started down the glacier with 25+ mph of wind blowing on my tail. At 10,000′, in fresh snow, with a half loaded Super Cub, and a 25 mph tailwind it took me almost 2000′ to get airborne.

There is nothing like that feeling of your airplane breaking ground as the wings finally build enough lift to fly … it is a beautiful thing. I spoke with this course a couple of weeks later and they said that within 15 minutes it was snowing and blowing so hard there was no way I could have landed and they did not a see a break in the weather for 3 more days. That’s one thing with the glacier work, you just never know what you are going to get.

*NOTE*  I have no pictures of this event because of the circumstances, but the above photo is taken in the same area with a much milder system brewing on the horizon.

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Photos of the Day — The Big City and the Big Wind

I’ve mentioned in other posts that we live up at Sheep Mt. for the bulk of our flying season which is May-Sept.  During the winter months we move down to the big city so, welcome to Palmer.  In French Palmer means – “Where the freaking wind never stops blowing.”  OK so maybe I just made that up, but don’t forget it.  I should not isolate the blame to Palmer, because Palmer’s sister town, Wasilla, is no better and it’s ugly to boot.  Summers are nice, but during the winter months the air never stops moving. The nice thing about Palmer is the fantabulous mountains surrounding the small town.  Pioneer Peak is the most prominent mountain standing 6,400′ above the saltwater at its base.  It really is a good place to live and is referred to as the Matanuska (Mat-an-oo-ska) Valley which includes Wasilla and the surrounding communities.  Over the past 15 years the Matanuska Valley has become Anchorage’s bedroom  because it’s only 45 minutes away.

What you are looking at here is Palmer-proper with the “downtown” section right beneath the nose and the runway (PAAQ) to the East (left)  I grew up here and got my pilots license right there on the Palmer runway when I was 18 years old.  You see that row of rivets running down my engine cowl ?  It’s pointing at the Glenn Hwy which will take you directly to our house at Sheep Mountain this summer.  Sheep Mountain is a beautiful 1 hour and fifteen minute drive from Palmer.  We come into town several times a week to get groceries, and water the plants.  So we may be able to fly you out of Palmer if it works with our scheduling, don’t hesitate to ask.

The reason the wind blows so much is because Palmer and Wasilla sit at the mouth of two large valleys the Matanuska and the Knik.  Those two drainages are the main passage-ways, or relief valves through the Chugach Mountains.  And when I talk about wind, I mean some WIND!!  on average it is less than 20 mph, but then all of a sudden the mountains will get an attitude and LOOK OUT !  The stiffest breeze I’ve seen this winter is 80 mph.  The next photo was taken during a Palmer windstorm …  and here’s what it does to a Super Cub.  Makes me really sad, poor guy.  Mike’s Cessna 185 was parked just 75 feet away when this happened, we were more fortunate I guess.

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Photo of the Day — Story Friday — Frictionless

We were up at the base of the Alaskan Range near the toe of the Kahiltna Glacier, and we had been airborne for more than 4 hours. I don’t know about you, but I start getting a little antsy after a few hours in the cub seat. We fly primarily over wilderness areas with no airstrips so when it’s time to take care of physiological needs I just look around for a place to plop down for a few minutes and stretch our legs.

It was that annoying time of year when there is not enough snow for skis, but almost too much for tires. It’s always a toss up as-to which landing gear to operate with until the seasons have definitely made up their mind. On this particular day I had opted for my 35″ Bushwheels, and it was a good choice, but I wish they made a treaded model.

I looked around for a landing spot for about 5 minutes, and started to get antsy because I really had to pee. Many a pilot has wrecked a perfectly good airplane in an attempt to not piss their pants. I remember a couple of years ago a guy landed on a snow packed runway in a Cessna 180 with little tires. There were two grooves torn into the crusted surface, and then a divot where the prop spinner met the ground moments before the aircraft catapulted onto it’s back. Anyways, that’s another story … so I see this spot that I figure is long enough to land, so I do a low pass, to look at the depth of the snow drifts and then wing around to land. It was plenty long enough even with the heavy load of gas, gear, and passenger, but a 10 cut bank marked the touchdown point on a teardrop shaped plateau that tapered down to a very sharp point after about 450′. The length did not concern me, and the winds were mostly calm. It was slightly sloped so it would have been nice to land uphill but the bushes on the low end mandated a small obstacle approach. I opted for the downhill landing over the 10′ foot cut bank and toward the pointy end of the teardrop.

I plopped into the snow just 18 inches past the bank and stood hard on the binders ….. no deceleration. I pushed harder on the brakes but still no response. I was surprised because I thought there would be some amount of breaking or deceleration due to the resistance of the snow … I was wrong. Halfway down the strip I was getting nervous, and it was too late for a go-around. ( this is true with most of our strips, once you are on the ground you can forget about a go-around) I looked out my side window and my tires were locked up tight just plowing through the snow. I was working my way down the pointy end of the teardrop, and a successful outcome was in question. We finally began decelerating and stopped just 6 feet from falling off the other end. The passenger made a comment something like, “%$@*&* man your tires never turned an inch”. He was not exaggerating. We had set down on the very end, and slid the entire 444′”.

We land in snow fairly regularly but sometimes unknown conditions will throw a curve ball at you, and temperature and humidity are major factors determining the amount of available friction. I was certainly surprised by the lack of resistance but I sure was thankful to stop. My flying mentor Gar is 73 years old and has been flying airplanes in Alaska since the early 60’s. One thing he is always reminding me is that, “Airplanes will humble you in a big hurry.” You really can’t be too careful with this sort of flying. Usually it’s scenarios just like this one that are not life threatening, but they sure can be expensive if you don’t stop sliding.

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Photo of the Day — Story Friday — Broken Animal Crackers

These guys were walking through the Chugach Mts. on a month long expedition. They needed food, fuel, and supplies delivered at three different points along their route. We try not to leave food unattended in the wilderness because animals always find it and make a mess. We usually plan to meet the teams so that we can give them their supplies in person, and back-haul their garbage.

Their second re-ration was scheduled for June 1st at 10,000′. (Let me remind you that this is Alaska, so 10,000′ is really high, and even in the middle of summer a couple of feet of snow and 80 mph winds are not uncommon.) When I woke up on June 1st it was rainy and foggy and rather persistent, so we held out for the next day which showed little improvement. On the 3rd of June they called and said it was improving. Since we were already 2 days behind schedule, I launched immediately for the 20 minute flight to 10,000′. By the time I got to 8500′ I could tell that things were not looking good up ahead. I got within radio range, and was speaking to the course leader on the ground. He told me that conditions had deteriorated drastically over the last 30 minutes. I was only 600 yards from them, but I could do nothing. Their camp was on a long narrow shelf with steep mountains to the immediate South, and a 3000′ cliff just a couple hundred yards to the North. I was circling out over the cliff and looking onto the shelf, but could see nothing but white. The weather was only deteriorating so I headed home with an airplane still full of groceries.

The weather continued to be horrible for several more days, and finally on the 6th of June I got a sat-phone call from the mountain. The report was mediocre at best, but I hurriedly loaded the plane and headed for the glacier. 6 days late on a re-ration is a really long time, and I knew that they were out of fuel. Without fuel it’s difficult to get water because they can’t melt snow, not to mention the shortage of food. As I passed through 8500′ I noticed it looked … bad. Not horrible, but bad. The clouds were higher now, and I had decent forward visibility, but there was no substantial light to cast any shadows. I climbed up to 10,000 feet and circled over their camp just 200′ below. The only reason I could see the ground was because of the climbers out walking around. It looked like they were floating in a world of white. I asked two of them to put on skis and go down-hill away from camp so that I could aim for something on final approach. This is a little airborne test that I like to make occasionally. If I can see their tracks while they ski I will take further actions toward a landing attempt. If I cannot see their tracks in the snow … the light is too flat and I won’t do it. As the skiers got roped up and headed down hill I strained to see a variance in color on the ground … nothing. Just two dudes floating around on a common rope.

I forgot to mention there was also about 20 mph of wind at elevation so the variables were stacking up against me. Even if I had them lay-out two parrallel climbing ropes up the glacier for a visual clue, the prevailing winds would make the approach unstable. And with a heavily loaded super cub, at 10,000′, in super-flat light … it ain’t worth it !!

I reported the bad news on the radio and asked them if they wanted an air-drop. We don’t often airdrop because it breaks the animal crackers and leaks the fuel, but sometimes you gotta get ‘er done. Without a moments hesitation they said, “Yes, anything, fuel please.” I flew off to the North so that I could get immediate clearance from the invisible ground and circled out beyond the cliff while tying surveyors tape to several gallons of white gas. Gallon cans of white gas have about a 50/50 chance of staying intact if dropped in the snow. On my first pass I threw out 3 gallons of white gas and one food bag. I did not dare get low-and-slow, as is custom for an airdrop, because low-and-slow is a bad idea when you can’t see the ground. I stayed up high enough that the people on the ground looked small and made three passes throwing food out the door each time. While dropping the food I focused on looking straight ahead and flying level. Normally I look at my target, and drop while looking down, but I did not dare take my eyes off the few visual references I had. It’s not that I was in the clouds or had reduced visibility, it was simply that everything was white, and there was no sun-beam strong enough to separate the monotony. This is the only airdrop I have done at a cruise power setting, hundreds of feet off the ground, but it worked thanks to all the fresh snow.

I took the above picture the morning after the airdrop when I was finally able to land and laugh about it with them. They were more hungry than I realized, and told me they had just laid in their tents and tried not to burn any calories. 6 days is rather extreme and VERY uncommon. Especially in the era of sat-phones. Usually the weather will break for a few hours and we will get it done very near the schedule. But then again … this is the last frontier, it can do what ever it wants, it’s Alaska.

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Photo of the Day — Bouncy Mt. Top Landing

I was flying home with an empty Super Cub when I flew by a mountain top that looked liked a possible landing spot. I had seen the potential several years earlier, but had never taken the time to work out a landing on it. The winds were calm and the air had not yet been disturbed with afternoon thermals so I decided to give it a couple of passes. It was plenty long enough, but I was surprised by how steep it was. It was one of those scenarios where it was too steep to drag downhill or uphill so all I could do was fly by at an angle looking out the side window. This makes it much more difficult to judge length and texture but it can still give you the overall perspective. There was a hump in the middle that I was trying to get a good look at to determine size. After several passes I decided the hump of concern would not be an issue because the steep terrain would decelerate me so quickly that by the time I reached it I would just roll over it. (A “bump” jars the aircraft, a “hump” launches the aircraft)

In the process of checking-out the strip I also detected a very slight tailwind, but since length was not really an issue I decided it was manageable. I flew by the airstrip one last time as I headed out for final approach. As I turned in toward the mountain top with my flaps fully extended I double checked my ground speed and found it acceptable. As I passed the point of no return I could feel the tail wind had increased. I tried to ease off the throttle and pitch the nose up to really slow it down, but could feel the airplane sag out from underneath me, so I came back in with a little bit of power and hit the ground “long and hot” (meaning I landed well beyond where I intended going faster than I desired). I nailed “the hump” and launched back into the air even though I was climbing a significant hill. One wheel came almost 2 feet off the ground, that is a massive bounce, and is unacceptable in this sort of flying.

We all botch landings once in awhile, and this was a perfect example. I should have moved-on as soon as I detected the tailwind. These sorts of landings don’t lend the luxury of a, “little tailwind”. I’ve noticed with pilots that nothing is ever their fault. It’s always the, “gust of wind” or “engine problems”. Truth is that gust of wind is still my fault because I should have accounted for the fact that there was adverse wind blowing… and then gone home! This landing was no big deal, and nothing of consequence happened. There were no passengers onboard and I was very light, but I remember this event because it surprised me, and I hate surprises in the pilot seat.

An embarrassing bounce.

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Photo of the Day — Invisible Air-strips

This is somewhere in the Talkeetna Mts. Do you see that ditch the left tire of the Super Cub is sitting in ? Notice the rocks behind the left tire. If the airplane was not sitting at an angle you would barely be able to tell if that was flat or if that was a bank. This airstrip washes out on a yearly basis and leaves us scrambling for a place to land. The rocks, grass, and mud, confuse the eyeballs so texture is very difficult to determine and the ground is doing it’s best to deceive. Just staring at the picture you may be thinking, “what is he talking about?” … Imagine flying over that at 45 mph trying determine the size of that bump, the rock next door, and everything else necessary to make an intelligent decision.

Those are 35″ tires, so that ditch is about 12″ deep. How would you like to hit that bump right after touchdown on a 450′ strip? You would bounce like a rabbit on steroids. The 35″ tires and rugged Super Cub landing gear can take the abuse, but it would tear the landing gear off of most aircraft. You are probably wondering if I smacked it when I landed….. The truth is I pushed the Super Cub into this position because I did not see the ditch. Mike was on final for landing and I was in a hurry to get out of his way. I just find it interesting how these little factors can all add up into a problem if you are not paying close attention.

The airstrip has not gotten washed out for the last 3 years because we finally found a pretty good spot for it. I have landed here many many times and I still have to do an occasional go-around because I cannot see the airstrip, even on short short final. I have learned to simply drive the cub to the general area of the strip, and then make necessary changes at the last second to hit the proper spot once my brain separates it out. Occasionally I miss the airstrip all-together and see it passing beneath the plane off to one side or the other, and I have to come back around to try again. Seeing an airstrip is a bigger part of the challenge than people realize. On most runways around the world that is not the primary concern, but in bush flying it is one of the many factors. The good thing about having invisible airstrips is that nobody else can see them either.

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New Video and Photos of the Day — Glacial Lake Drains

As glaciers melt they form rivers of glacial water.  Sometimes these streams bump into the lateral boundaries of larger neighboring glaciers.  The larger glacier acts as a dam, and a temporary lake begins to form.  Glacial melt-off continues to pour into the lake for many months and the lake level begins creeping up the sides of the surrounding valley.  As the water level rises the glacier dam continues to melt, calving huge chunks of ice into the lake. Now the lake is brimming with massive icebergs. Eventually the lateral boundary, or edge, of the large glacier becomes buoyant with the deepening water. As the edge of the glacier begins lifting, a chasm is opened and the lake begins draining.  Slowly at first and then with an increased intensity as the water carves a path.  In a very short time (1-3 days) millions upon millions of gallons of water rush beneath the ice for several miles eventually pouring out at the toe of the glacier. This is known as Glacial Lake Outburst Flooding (GLOF).  I promised a blog entry on GLOF on Dec 14th.

The video shows what this lake looks like before, and after the flood.  We fly over this lake on a regular basis, so we see the first signs of drainage and alert the Alaska River Forecast Center.  The lake is most spectacular within the first 48 hours of drainage because the icebergs are still saturated with water thus showing a deeper blue.  As time passes the chunks of ice will become white in color as the water drains out of them.  These icebergs are monstrosities teetering on uneven footing.  While they lay like beached whales on the gravel bars huge chunks of ice continue to break off.  I have had the privilege of walking among these giants and it is an awesome experience.  With my wife’s company, BackPackAK.com, this is one or our favorite trips.  We land out on the glacier and then hike around/through the lake, and up and over a beautiful mt. pass with waterfalls and mountain lakes.  This is an excellent hike, unique beyond imagination.

Turn the volume up because these are some good tunes.

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Photo of the Day — Final Approach for a No-Name Peak

The passenger in the back seat took this photo on final approach.  I am landing just to the left of the peak on the far right.  This landing is interesting because I am descending rather hard over that little ridge and then the glacier is climbing fast.  Plus, I do not have a lot of room on top of that glacier to get stopped.   I have to drag over those cliffs pretty low, then descend hard for about 3 seconds, followed by an immediate application of full power to start a climb up the glacier before touch down.  I can barely taxi up-hill under full power because it is so steep.  (I talked about this sort of scenario on Jan 5th) I cannot  attempt this landing without excellent light on the snow because there are too many factors at play, and it is a totally one-way strip.

That may sound rather insane, but I assure you it is not.  I AM NOT just flying around looking for crazy places to land for an adrenaline rush … this was just another day at work.  If I bend my Super Cub it’s my livelihood and I am out of work, so I am super cautious.  I landed on top of this mountain empty before I ever took a passenger in here.  The wind conditions have to be perfect and I make several circles to ensure that everything is stable.  I have nothing to prove, I am just a dude doing my job, and this is where we needed to land.  I hope you like the picture.

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Photo of the Day — Don’t Land Short

Glaciers change by the hour.  Just because I landed on the ice one week does not mean that I will be able to land there the next.  As the ice melts new rocks are exposed, and streams cut new gaps.  Summer to summer the changes are very drastic and spots that were once very land-able become totally unrecognizable and dangerous.  FInding an ice landing is the most demanding flying that I do.  Determining the size of rocks, cracks, and bumps is nearly impossible as there is nothing “standard” to compare them to.  Glaciers are very deceiving and it takes a tremendous amount of experience to really be able to correctly judge a new landing spot.  This particular landing spot is less than 400 feet long.  Both ends were totally unforgiving.  Remember I am not landing on these spots empty, I am fully loaded with people and gear.  A go-around was possible, but only under the proper conditions.  Go-arounds are often more dangerous than just dealing with the outcome of the first attempt.  It is so important on a landing like this that you get your head right before turning final, because things can get ugly in a hurry.  By getting your head right I mean being prepared to improvise, adapt, and overcome.  I made multiple trips off of this spot because there were several people in this particular hunting party.  On landing, my main gear was touching-down right where my tail wheel is sitting (in the above image).  I am not boasting, I am just stating a fact;  in order to do that time-and-time again in various conditions … you better be doggone proficient.  Proficiency outweighs every airplane modification, and hot-dog pilot on the market.  That is why people fly with Mike Meekin and Matt Keller year after year, we do it more than anybody.

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Photos and Video of the Day — An Australian Goes Glacial

When we took off out of Palmer this morning it was 10 degrees. Fortunately Todd was prepared for this because when he left Australia a few weeks ago they were in the middle of a cold snap … it was only 90. January is not the optimal time for a glacial tour, but if you don’t mind bundling up it’s well worth it.

Todd and I went on a little flight from Palmer out into the Chugach Mts. and landed at 7000′ on a small glacier. The wind was blowing hard up at elevation, but the area I chose was protected by the surrounding mountains. You can see in the video that the light was pretty flat, but there was just enough of it to find the ground. Sometimes the lighting changes depending on the given angle you are looking at the snow, so it is important to evaluate the ground closely to determine which angle the lighting is the best. After stomping around on the glacier for a few minutes we flew over to the Knik Glacier and took some pictures of the ice. The blues in the glacier were absolutely brilliant today. We tried to land down in the gorge, but I didn’t trust the thickness of the ice on the lake. It was a good flight this morning, but from the looks of those clouds and the feel of the afternoon winds … something nasty is out there.

This is the video from today’s flight into the Chugach.

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Photo of the Day — Feeling It

I was looking at this picture thinking, “wow, nice job Matt, the way you captured all the bugs and scratches on the wind screen, beeeaautiful”. Then I remembered where I took this, and why it was funny to me. Look at my GPS, and notice the ground speed, 29 mph. N7780Y cruises at 90 mph in dead calm air at 2500 RPM. I think the wind was blowing 50-60 mph at altitude. The air-strip I was heading for was on the valley floor so it had good approaches from both directions and I had a sneaking suspicion that it was not blowing as hard on the ground. I landed several times here on this particular day and it was never blowing more than 20 on the ground.

For those that don’t fly I am going to briefly explain the difference between airspeed and groundspeed. If my airspeed in flight is 100 mph and I am flying into a 100 mph headwind then my ground speed is 0 mph. That’s all, it’s not rocket science. Airspeed is all-important when it comes to the flight of the aircraft because it’s what keeps the plane in the air. It’s also what all of our structural limitations are based on for deploying flaps, maneuvering speed, Never Exceed Speeds, etc. Groundspeed is what gets us home in time for dinner. Pilots often ask what airspeed I land at in the cub. I have NO IDEA. I honestly don’t know, I have never looked at my airspeed indicator on landing because I don’t care. I can feel it in my butt like all the other guys that fly cubs. I just fly it as slow as I can behind the power curve so I am hanging on the prop a bit.

Here is my point after saying all this … I ALWAYS LOOK AT MY GROUNDSPEED on final. I know that is bassackwards from how we were taught because the aerodynamics of the plane don’t care about groundspeed, and if you have a tailwind you could stall and crash. A well-tuned Super-Cub-Butt should be able to feel a 3 mph tail-wind. If I see my specific magic groundspeed, in landing configuration, on final, I know I can get my plane stopped in the given distance. (NOTE: I did not put numbers in that last sentence because I don’t want some idiot to sue me when he/she crashes using them.) All I am saying is that I feel my airspeed, but I visually check my groundspeed, because groundspeed is the energy I need to dissipate upon touchdown. I did not always have a GPS so I certainly don’t need it, but I sure do love double-checking that ground speed. On numerous occasions I have used that information to get out of bad approaches on one-way strips before it was too late. If you’ve ever landed on the side of a mountain with a 8 mph tailwind you overlooked then you know what I am squawking about … ya’ that’ll make your butt pucker.

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Photo of the Day — OOPS!

There is a 3 dimensional aspect to flying which is nearly impossible to explain to those who have never sat at the controls. This characteristic of flight is amplified when numerous layers of clouds obstruct certain terrain features and enhance others. Are you familiar with the saying, “I know it like the back of my hand”? What if the back of your hand was 75% obscured, and you could only see random pieces of it, would it be the same? Please say no.

So here’s the story … This group of six gals was headed out for a month long mountaineering expedition in the Alaska Range. The weather was crap on the morning of the flight, and just when I had given-up hope for getting the flight done on the scheduled date, the weather cleared. So I jumped in the Cessna 185 and booked it for the Alaska Range. There were multiple layers of clouds obscuring the mountains in some areas, and showing sun on other portions of the landscape. I landed at the Black Rapids airstrip and loaded the plane with three of the gals and a bunch of gear and headed up the glacier. We picked our way up to 7500′ feet headed for the VERY familiar landing spot. Since I left in such a hurry, I managed to forget both the GPS and my topo map back at Sheep Mt. in my Super Cub. I did not care because I had been to this area numerous times, and … I knew it like the back of my hand. So I flew up the glacier past lots of glacier fog (clouds that lie right on the surface of the glacier, but only 75′ thick) and multiple cloud layers to “Divide Basin” on the Black Rapids Glacier. I circled a few times while I observed the movement of the clouds and determined a landing spot on the glacier below.

Once I had it dialed-in I landed and dropped the ladies off and headed back for the second load of girls and gear. As I was enjoying the music on my iPod and soaking in the view I beheld a strikingly familiar glacial landscape only recently revealed by a separation in the glacial fog. Much to my dismay I recognized it as … Divide Basin … the desired drop-off point. I had just off-loaded 1100 lbs of girls and gear 8 miles from the pre-planned destination … OOPS! I decided to keep going because I could tell that the glacial fog below was fickle at best. When I returned I asked the group leader if she wanted the good news or the bad? With a red face I explained that they were not in divide basin, but actually 8 miles to the West. Yep, it was embarrassing. If I were a better bull-shooter I probably could have covered for myself, but I’ve never been any good at bull-shooting, so I just shrugged and explained that a landing in the desired spot was not possible due to the prevailing conditions. They agreed to stay where I had put them and it actually turned out great. They told me weeks later that the weather had been awesome for them most of the time but horrible all around. I guess we all get lucky once- in-awhile.

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Photo and Story of the Day — More Things Found on the Ice … Like Bombers

Yesterday we were on the topic of things found on glaciers and I thought this would follow well. This B-29 bomber crashed in 1957 on a small glacier in Hatcher Pass.  Hatcher Pass is a local mountain recreation area.  I hiked to it about 8 years ago and it is well worth the trip.  I occasionally fly over bomber glacier so I took these shots a few years ago while I was flying by.  It’s a great hike or flight which ever suits your fancy, I can help you with either one.  It is currently a very makeshift hut that backpackers can sleep in.  

I did a little research and found the story behind the night of the 1957 crash, and I am going to post the text below.  The story fits well with the pictures shown as you can see both the nose section separated and sitting 500′ up glacier as well as the parachutes still intact laying on the ice as described below.    I borrowed the following text from the web site Alaska Hike Search.  

Here is the story of the Crash as told by Frank Baker:

Heroism High in the Talkeetnas

Good evening. Here’s a compelling story from yesteryear about bravery and heroism high in the Talkeetna Mountains, near Hatcher’s Pass.

On November 15, 1957, about 6:30 p.m., a B-29 bomber from Elmendorf Air Force Base with a crew of 10 was returning to base after a radar-calibrating mission farther north. Weather had deteriorated and the ceiling had dropped to below 4,000 feet as they made their way south past Talkeetna. A routine radio report from the aircraft reported no problems. The plane was scheduled to arrive at Elmendorf at 7 p.m.

Staff Sergeant Calvin Campbell, then 34, was assigned to the right scanner position, about mid-point in the aircraft behind the engines. One of his tasks was to monitor the two engines on the right side. Staff Sergeant Robert McMurray had similar duties on the left side. In the pilot seat was Major Robert Butler.

In a recent telephone interview Campbell, now 77, described what happened next

“We were descending toward Elmendorf at good speed, when we hit real hard with no warning. Everything went black…I mean real black. Then we hit again and it felt so cold. It felt like the wings tore off and when I crawled out, I saw that the fuselage was broken into two. We were on a snowy field—I didn’t know at the time it was a glacier. It was so quiet.

“McMurray was right below me, pinned between the fuselage and the observation post. I pulled him out of there. Navigator Lt. Claire Johnson had dragged himself out of the plane and collapsed in the snow nearby. I wrapped them both in parachutes and put Johnson in a sleeping bag that I found in the cargo hold.

“I could hear Sgt. Garza, the flight engineer, yelling from farther up the slope. He was still inside the nose section. It had sheared off and gone up the hill about 500 feet.”

“When I got up to Garza I soon realized he was the only other survivor—it was just the four of us. The pilot, Major Robert A. Butler and the five other officers had all perished. Garza weighed about 140 lbs…it was hard pulling him out. I placed him on a piece of canvas and dragged him down to the others. He had a broken arm and broken leg. I went back to the cargo hold and got more sleeping bags and then got us into the wreckage out of the wind—it felt very cold, but I had extra flight clothing to help cover us up.”

Air Rescue at Elmendorf began its helicopter search at daybreak the following morning, zeroing in on the B-29’s last known position. By 9:30 they found the crash site—on a broad glacial slope at fifty three hundred feet —about a mile northeast of upper Reed Lake. Thanks to Campbell’s decisive actions, the injured men survived the night. They were taken to the hospital at Elmendorf.

“I think we were about 17 degrees off course.” Campbell says. “Too far to the east—put us right into those high mountains.”

Campbell said that except for a scratch over his eye, he was unharmed. He later would suffer complications from frostbitten feet, however, and lose the use of several toes.

Calvin K. Campbell received a special commendation from President Dwight D. Eisenhower, the Soldier’s Medal, a decoration for valor in a non-combat situation. He retired from the Air Force in 1968.

“I didn’t feel like a hero or anything,” says Campbell. “I just did what I had to do. “The other guys would have done the same thing for me.”

Today, the broken bomber sits on the glacier as a quiet memorial to the six men who died there 43 years ago.

I hiked there with a friend earlier this summer—via upper Reed Lake trail and then over the pass. The wreckage looked surreal, out of place. Here was 50 tons of torn and twisted metal, once with wings stretching about half the length of football field. The pride of the U.S. Air Force in World War II now lay in ruins on a glacier, bent and buckled, wrenched apart, scattered… exposed to the whims of nature.

We walked around the site awhile, took a few photos, afraid to touch anything. Six men had died here. It was unearthly quiet, as Calvin Campbell described it. A cool gust of wind blew up from the valley below. I felt like it was telling us to move on.

After that visit I vowed to find out more about the incident, and eventually located Calvin K. Campbell, who though not in the best of health, was more than willing to talk about the experience. My special thanks to Calvin and Elmendorf’s Historian for help in researching this unique piece of Alaska history.

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Photo of the Day — Slip, Slip-Sliding Away

On a good day when the sun is shining, and the winds are calm this little spot is heavenly.  On this particular morning “heavenly” is not the adjective I am looking for.  Maybe “stressful” would be a better description.  I took this shot first thing in the morning after a big storm in August.  Did I mentioned that the “lake” is more-or-less our airstrip.  Can you see that yellowish speck at the lower left corner of the lake … that’s their North Face tent.  They shook the snow off so we could locate them.  16 hours earlier the wind had been blowing 80 mph and it managed to break tent poles in every camp we had out in the field … hahahah, you gotta love Alaskan weather, it can do anything.  We actually decided not to land until they got some of the snow removed because it was just too marginal.

We came back after a few hours and they had managed to reveal portions of where the airstrip was.  They did a great job considering there were no shovels to be had, they used an old rake that was laying at the site.  You can see in the one picture the dude is not even wearing his shirt because he was working so hard at snow removal.  I mentioned in the post on Dec 24 that conditions like this remove ALL braking effectivity.  It was great when the sun came out and started doing some of the work for us.   Unfortunately, the sun turned the air-strip into a mud pit.  I had to hose the plane down when I got home because I had mud stuck to the engine cowl, tail feathers, and tops of my wings.  Mud is no good because of the little rocks that get picked up and slung into the propeller by my huge 35″ Bushwheels … it can cost me lots of money and then I get grouchy and start whining.

This strip is only 350′ long, at 5500′ elevation, and it is susceptible to some very undesirable wind effects.  This is one of those strips that could bite you hard.  When you add 8 inches of wet snow into this already challenging mix it means that we made a lot of trips this day.  We actually shuttled 6 or 8 loads down to a longer strip where we left with half that many trips.  Weight is a big deal, especially when you are dealing with excessive drag at slightly higher elevations.  Long story short, we got everybody out of the mountains only slightly behind schedule, and we never even had to put skis on.

One of the nice things about doing simple day trips with Blue Ice Aviation is that storms like this don’t get you stuck out, because the plane is with you all the time.  If the weather is bad, we don’t fly.  If we are out exploring and the weather is getting worse we go home.  It’s a real luxury. The Super Cub and myself are always with you so you can get home in time for a bacon cheeseburger and beer on tap at Sheep Mt. Lodge.  This is very important  :o)

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Photo of the Day — Heavy Snow + Big Winds + Buried Gear = Bad Day

There is a long story behind this picture, and it is not a good memory. Mike and I had a group of 4 mountaineers that we had landed at 8500′ elevation at the base of Mt. Marcus Baker. They were on a 7 day expedition in mid-May attempting to climb the tallest peak in the Chugach Mts. Before we departed we left explicit instructions as to landing strip preparation in the event fresh snow fell or winter winds blew. These four mountaineers were in over their head on this mountain so when a big storm rolled in from Prince William Sound they used their satellite phone to harass us continuously, as if there were something we could do. I would have had better luck trying to fly to the moon than attempting a pick-up in the prevailing conditions.

When the storm passed 7 feet of fresh snow had fallen. I was backed-up with flights, but because of their incessant whining agreed to pick them up a day early. I arrived over their camp at 5 pm and was very disappointed to see that there had been no airstrip preparation as I had instructed. With 7 feet of fresh snow I was reluctant to land, but since there were several men on the ground to dig me out I did it. I landed on the steep slope and managed to turn around and get the nose pointed down hill. The snow was really deep so I cold just barely keep moving. If I had not had gravity on my side take-off would have been impossible. I decided to pack the area down a bit by taking off and landing several times. When I applied power and started sliding down-hill the snow was so deep that it was flying up and over the front of the wings, and over the windshield. The poor old-bird barely accelerated and would occasionally bog down as I slowly gained more speed. It was taking me nearly a half a mile to get airborne because of all the snow I was plowing. I finally packed it down enough to take-off loaded, but opted to leave the heavy gear behind because I needed all the help I could get to get airborne. I got done really late that night and was planning on picking up the gear the following day.

When I returned the following day the wind was blowing really hard. I landed but immediately regretted this decision. I got VERY stuck and the wind velocity was increasing all the time. I was all alone at 8500′ on a glacier, in snow boots and carharts, in a 40 mph wind, in the face of another Spring storm, with a very stuck Super Cub. I was NOT having fun anymore. I will not go into all the details because I would rather not post them here, but ask me sometime and I will tell you the full story. I eventually got dug out and was deciding how I was going to get out of there. I could not take-off uphill and into the wind because it was far to steep, and ended abruptly into the mountain pictured above. I had two options: #1) take-off with a 40 mph tail wind #2) spend the night at 8500′ in a storm. I did not like either option, but opted for #1. To give myself the best chance I dug a big hole and set the tail of the airplane into it so that the wind blowing down glacier would blow over my tail rather than getting underneath and tipping me up on my nose. Then I got out the snow shoes and stomped out a runway to improve my initial acceleration. I needed a windsock so that I could judge when there was a lull in the wind. This is a common practice when using a one-way strip. Surveyors tape (the most common windsock) is worthless when the wind is blowing this hard because it just sticks straight out all the time, so I used a piece of 1/4″ nylon rope about 8 feet long. I tied it to a probe and then crawled into the Cub and started the engine. I left all the gear behind once again as I did not dare add any extra weight. I sat with engine running for several minutes waiting for the nylon rope to sag, I waited and waited, and when it drooped I applied full power and started down the glacier. Normally I lift off at a ground speed of about 35-40 mph. My GPS showed over a 100 mph before the wings created enough lift to carry me off the ground. It felt so good to be back in the air and off that stupid mountain.

The above picture shows the climbing gear when I finally retrieved it in August. Almost 100 days it sat on the side of that mountain. Not because I forgot about it, but because that wind storm buried the 6′ probe and flag so thoroughly that there was no trace of it for months. I occasionally flew over the area looking for some sign of the gear but it was gone. I did not think I would ever find it. Until this one beautiful day in August I decided to give it one last look. I took a very good GPS location and flew straight home to put my wheel skis on. When I finally landed along side the gear, I was thrilled. The snow was set up like concrete and it took me nearly an hour to dig it out and load it into the Super Cub. What a goat-rope, I worked my buns off for these guys and made 3 trips on my own nickel to retrieve this gear. I did not make any money, but I got this picture … so enjoy it … it cost me ;o)

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Photo and Video of the Day — Maybe a Little White Knuckled

This is my Dad, Wes Keller. I had just picked him up off a river bar after a 10 day moose hunt, and we went for a little cruise around the area just for fun. I had never landed on a glacier with my Dad, so I set down and we walked around a bit. Nothing is more fun than taking your own Dad out and showing him around. My Dad is also a pilot with several thousand hours of flight time in the Air National Guard and Air Force. And when I was a little baby he had a construction company up on the North Slope and we lived in both Wainwright and Point Hope. He flew a Cessna 207 all-over the North Slope of Alaska hauling building supplies. Dad and I have flown together a fair bit, but I had just never taken the opportunity to do this.

He was a little white knuckled when he saw nothing but steep ice over my shoulder out the front, I know this because I felt him grab my seat back just moments before we touched the ice. Maybe it was pay back from when I was 15 years old and he had me hanging my arm out the door of our Stinson-3 air dropping propane bottles to our cabin. HA ! that is a great memory. It was a full five-gallon propane bottle. I wanted to make sure I was ready for the drop, so I forced the door open 2 miles before the drop-point and got the bottle outside the plane. I was feeling pretty good about it for the first few seconds, but then the wind started blowing the bottle around and banging against the side of the fuselage and my arm was getting really tired. I kept hanging on, but I was scared I was beating up the side of the airplane and I was loosing my grip after what seemed like an eternity Dad said, “drop!!” and I let the bottle fly, and pulled my numb arm back inside the cabin. We were both laughing pretty hard. The propane bottle made it but it took two men 30 minutes to pull it out of the 4 foot deep hole it had burrowed into the swamp. Now Dad is a State Legislator working as the representative for Wasilla, Alaska, Sarah Palin’s home town. This picture is one of my best memories, I love my Dad.

Below is a video of landing on the glacier pictured above.

Thanks to Cat Powers “Cross Bones Style” for a great song.

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Photo and Movie of the Day — She is The Next Generation of Bush Pilot

This little airstrip is one of our nastiest. You can watch the video and it will significantly diminish its nasty little disposition. It is difficult for a number of reasons. The biggest problem it that it sits on top of a knob so the winds are never funneled in any one direction, instead the wind swirls and is seldom a help. It is difficult to see because the tundra hides it almost entirely. I don’t dare wander off the established strip because of the sharp rocks would destroy my $3200 tires. To add to the difficulty of visibility is the fact that the far end of the strip disappears just seconds before touch down because of the center of the strip is so much taller than the end. This is a relatively new strip, only 4 years old. We only use it twice each summer and its always an adventure. The video makes it look like I simply turned and landed, but the truth is that I made 5 passes before I got the wind to cooperate. If a nasty strip like this allows me to power-up and go-around I may make several attempts until I can feel the winds are in my favor before setting down. The worst thing you can do is get in a hurry, the ground isn’t going anywhere.

So after making five passes, fighting the wind, and struggling to locate the exact position of the strip I finally got it on the ground, I crawled out of the plane and unloaded the 300 pounds of groceries. I was waiting while they sorted through the supplies, and enjoyed the opportunity to stretch my legs. A teenage girl walked over to the 1962 Super Cub and spent a long time standing at the door gazing at the faded old instruments, wooden floor boards, and manual controls. After some-time she turned to look at me and in disbelief and acknowledged, “You mean you landed that thing here MANUALLY, I thought it was all electronic ? !!”. I just about died laughing… but she’s probably right someday I’ll get replaced by a bush plane drone. Until then I’m gonna enjoy every second.

I threw in a couple of scenic clips from random flights this summer, but most of this video was taken on the day of the flight described above.

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Photo of the Day — Granola Bar Reaches Terminal Velocity

When the first snow-fall of the season reaches down to the 3000′ elevation, I always hope that we are done using the affected strips … but all too often we are not. I flew up this valley to the one-way airstrip where a doctor and his son were anxiously waiting to be picked up. I found their tent covered with snow and observed the two hunters gazing longingly up towards their only escape. I was unsure about landing because the snow had covered the airstrip so completely that I could no longer tell where it was. One of the most important thing about landing on a bush air strip is knowing where to set your tires on the ground. I dropped down until I was just 5 feet off the ground, and flew down the area where I knew the strip lay, but my eyes could not make it out. The airstrip is so steep it can only be drug flying down hill at an angle across the strip. I circled above thinking about the situation and my options. IF it was sunny I could have seen the definition of the ground, or IF it was a two-way strip I could have gotten a better look, or IF there was not so much snow it would not be a problem. It is an obvious, and proven fact in life, that as difficulties add-up successful outcomes are less likely to follow.

It is difficult to resort to “plan-B”, but I seldom regret it. I grabbed a small scrap of paper and scribbled a note, “mark strip. can’t see ground. kick snow off landing surface. be back later.” I taped it to a granola bar and chucked it out the window when I flew by. I really enjoy flying my Super Cub and I am highly motivated to be very cautious. There is NOTHING good about bending metal on my airplane for any reason, especially if it’s because I am in a hurry. Later that day Mike and I both returned, and I took this picture just seconds before he landed. The hunters had walked to the low end of the strip and put out two markers. They had also kicked as much snow as possible off the strip as they walked back and forth. The lighting had also improved so my eyeballs weren’t straining to see the ground. You can see Mike’s plane is even casting a shadow, that is a good thing. Without a shadow (on snow) the ground tends to sneak up on you, and I don’t like that.

This is a picture of us loading. You can see I am parked where they had their tent set up the night before. Snow is obviously very slippery and braking is utterly useless. Brakes are not needed when the airstrip is climbing and you are plowing through snow. I was down and stopped in 200 feet and I never touched the brakes.

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