Tag Archives: Alaska

Reacting to Low Rotor RPM

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Yeah, I know RPM = life, but think about it, guys!

I did my monthly perusal of the NTSB helicopter accident reports this morning and this one jumped out at me. It’s another instance of a pilot reacting badly to a low rotor RPM situation. (You can read my favorite example of a poor response to low rotor RPM here.)

The report is short and, for some reason, cut off before the end. (NTSB seems to be having trouble with its database lately.) Here’s the story:

The commercial helicopter pilot reported that he was on a Title 14, CFR Part 91 business flight transporting one passenger and seven dogs to a remote camp. He said as he approached the camp, which was at 3,800 feet msl on a snow-covered glacier, flat light conditions made it difficult to discern topographical features on the glacier, so he elected to land at an alternate landing site at 3,200 feet msl to wait for conditions to improve. During the approach to the alternate site, just before touchdown, the pilot said the low rotor annunciator horn sounded, and he lowered the collective to regain rotor rpm. The pilot said he was unable to initiate a go-around, so he brought the helicopter to a hover, but due to the prevailing flat light he was unable to discern his height above the site, and he unintentionally allowed the helicopter’s left skid to touchdown on the uneven, snow-covered terrain. He said that there was an “instantaneous dynamic rollover” as the helicopter rolled to the left, the main rotor blades struck the snow, and the helicopter came to rest inverted. The helicopter sustained substantial damage to the fuselage, tail boom and main rotor drive system.

Glacier Crash with Dogs

Coast Guard photo of crash site. We’re taught to keep the shiny side up. Note dogs.

The two human occupants were not injured. They don’t say anything about the dogs, but since they were likely crammed into the back seat area, they probably cushioned each other and are okay, too. (Seriously, who puts seven dogs in the back seat area of a 4-seat helicopter?)

About Low Rotor RPM

Helicopter pilots have a saying: RPM = life. It means that if your blades are spinning fast enough, you should be able to fly. But if you lose RPM, there’s a chance that you might drop out of the sky (yes, like a brick) and have a very ugly encounter with the ground. Why? Because the spinning of the rotor blades is what gives a helicopter lift. If they stop spinning, they’re not generating lift. If they’re not spinning fast enough, they’re not generating enough lift to keep the helicopter airborne.

Helicopters have low rotor RPM warning systems. In an R44, it consists of a light on the instrument panel and a “horn.” The sound of the horn is very annoying and impossible to miss. (See for yourself here.) Because RPM is so important, the full system — light and horn — are required for flight.

On a Robinson helicopter, the low rotor RPM warning system kicks in at 97% RPM. Since the helicopter is operating at 102% RPM, that’s just 5 units below normal operation. But as they teach in the Robinson Safety Course, the helicopter should be able to fly with RPM of 80% + 1% per 1,000 feet of density altitude. Using this accident altitude as an example and assuming that it wasn’t above the standard day temperature of 15°C at the “snow-covered glacier” landing zone, the helicopter should have been capable of flight with rotor RPM as low as 84% or 85% (see density altitude chart). I use the word should (and italicize it for emphasis) because this is a rule of thumb. I do not recommend flying a helicopter below normal operating RPM. This rule of thumb just helps pilots understand how critical a low rotor RPM situation might be.

What causes low rotor RPM? Engine malfunction is one cause. A bad magneto or stuck value could rob the engine of horsepower, thus preventing it from keeping the rotor RPM where it needs to be. Performance needs beyond what the engine can produce is another. For example, it takes more power to hover than to fly; attempting to hover with a heavy load at high density altitude could result in a loss of rotor RPM. That may have been the situation here; the pilot was in an R44 Raven I (or possibly an Astro) at more than 3,000 feet density altitude at or near max gross weight*.

Emergency!

During flight training, helicopter pilots are trained to react to low-rotor RPM situations. In fact, Robinson helicopter pilots get extra training every two years (per SFAR 73) because of the unusually high number of low RPM accidents in early Robinson helicopters. Although modern-day Robinsons have correlators and governors to help the pilot maintain proper RPM, this special training and endorsement is still required.

Low rotor RPM is treated as an “emergency.” That means it has an emergency procedure associated with it. Helicopter pilots are drilled on the procedure until it becomes second nature.

Page 3-10 (in the “Emergency Procedures” section of the R44 Raven II Pilot’s Operating Handbook) states:

A horn and an illuminated caution light indicate that rotor RPM may be below safe limits. To restore RPM, immediately roll throttle on, lower collective and, in forward flight, apply aft cyclic.

As a result, when we hear that low rotor RPM warning horn — which is directly related to the deterioration of life-giving RPM — we react quickly to recover lost RPM. That means increasing throttle (to add engine power) and lowering the collective (to reduce drag caused by the rotor blades). Pulling back on the cyclic, when moving forward, can also help recover lost RPM by transferring energy in the forward speed to rotor RPM (which is why RPM increases during a cyclic flare in an autorotation).

Lots of folks argue about which is more important and whether you need to do all three. I think rolling on the throttle is most important but will acknowledge that it doesn’t always resolve the problem. Lowering the collective usually helps.

Hold that Collective

While that is all well and good, I’d like to make this radical suggestion: is lowering the collective to recover RPM a good idea when you’re within 10 feet of the ground?

In this accident, the pilot heard the low rotor RPM horn “just before touchdown.” I’ll be generous and take that to mean anywhere within 10 feet of the ground. So he’s coming in for a landing. He’s already got his descent going and he’s either increasing power to bring it into a hover or he’s past that point and is reducing power gently to touch down. Either way, lowering the collective will cause him to descend faster than he already is. (It doesn’t say anything about rolling on the throttle; did he?) He’s less than 10 feet from the ground. The report goes on to state that he was able to bring it into a hover but was apparently lower than he thought (perhaps because of his collective work?) and touched a skid to the snow, causing dynamic rollover.

Low Rotor RPM Might Not Always be an Emergency

I’d like to argue that low rotor RPM is not an emergency situation when you’re very close to the ground.

After all, what’s the worst that can happen? At less than 10 feet, you don’t need the RPM to keep you alive. Even if the RPM dropped to 0 when you were only a few feet off the ground, you’re not going to die. You’ll drop like a brick — a few feet. Spread the skids a little. I don’t even think the belly would touch the ground. If it did, the seats would collapse as designed and (literally) save your ass. We’re talking less than 10 feet here.

Instead of dealing with low rotor RPM when you’re less than 10 feet from the ground, doesn’t it make sense to ignore the horn and just land?

Remember, in an R22 or R44, the horn sounds at 97% RPM. In this example, he could still remain in flight with the RPM all the way down to 85%.

Let’s review. The pilot is at a critical moment of flight: landing, just before touchdown. The low rotor horn goes off, zapping his concentration. Instead of completing the maneuver he was almost done with, a maneuver that would put him safely on the ground, he switches gears to handle the sudden “emergency.” That reaction just puts him closer to the ground with him focused more on the RPM situation than the ground he could very well make contact with. As a result, he botches the landing, possibly distracted by a non-emergency “emergency.”

A side note here: I have witnessed a low-time pilot literally freezing up when the low rotor RPM horn sounded on landing. I was sitting beside him, horn blaring, in a hover 3 feet off the ground at a very high density altitude airport — 10,000 feet. His brain simply shut off. I repeated the words, “Just set it down,” three times before he snapped out of it. There was no danger, but the damn horn sent him into some kind of mental seizure. If that happens in cruise flight, he’s definitely dead.

The horn is scary. We’re trained to react to it. But is low rotor RPM recovery always the answer? I’ll argue that any time you’re very close to the ground, you need to think about the consequences of all of your actions before making them. Don’t react to an emergency that doesn’t exist.

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* Doing the math… I don’t have the details of the accident flight’s weight. But if you figure two grown men weighing at least 180 pounds each and seven 50-pound sled dogs in the back, you have 710 pounds for just the cabin occupants. A Raven I with minimal equipment weighs at least 1440 pounds. So that brings a total of 2150 pounds. Add half tanks of fuel for another 150 pounds; that’s a total of 2300 pounds. The max gross weight of a Raven I is only 2400 pounds. So with my guesstimates, he was pretty close to max gross weight.

Now because I know the mentality of the helicopter forum participants who often lurk here (and then share their opinions about me in the forums they troll), I feel compelled to defend my calculations here instead of in the comments thread. (I don’t waste my time in the forums anymore.)

The dogs were “sled dogs,” which you’d expect since that’s the kind of dog most useful at “remote camps” in Alaska. They were later rescued by the Coast Guard, which airlifted them off Godwin Glacier after the crash. I’m estimating 50 pounds each, but they could easily be larger. Here’s a photo of them. (Frankly, I’m having trouble imagining seven 50-pound dogs crammed into the back seat area of a helicopter like mine. I’m also cringing at the thought of vacuuming all the shedded fur out.)

And yes, both the pilot and the passenger could have been Weight Watchers graduates weighing in at 140 pounds or less each. And they could have been wearing shorts and sandals. Or nothing at all. And there might have been only 10 gallons of fuel on board.

But my guesstimates are based on what I’ve experienced in reality. People are fat and like to bring unclaimed baggage, pilots like to take as much fuel as they can for missions in remote areas. It’s far more likely that the passenger was even bigger and had gear with him and the pilot had his tanks much closer to full than empty. But until the FAA releases more info — which is not likely, since there was no fatality in this accident — guesstimates are the best we can do.

Decorating with MY Art

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Because everyone — even me — has some artistic ability.

One of the things that’s challenging me lately is the collection of blank walls at our Phoenix apartment (code-named “Rear Window”). It’s a challenge because I’m determined to decorate them with artwork — which I’ve never been very good at doing.

Why We Don’t Hang Art

I should explain. Our first house, in New Jersey, was made of reinforced poured concrete. Built in 1926, it was one of several in town that was formed with reinforcement mesh, concrete forms, and poured concrete. The walls, floors, and ceilings were all poured concrete. To say our house was solid is an understatement. It will survive earthquakes, floods, and nuclear explosions.

One of the problems of having a house like that is hanging pictures. A masonry nail (at the very least) was required to hang anything on the wall — whether it was a spice rack, framed poster, or paper calendar. As a result, we always thought twice or three times or more before hanging anything. We didn’t want to put unnecessary holes in the walls — holes we might later regret putting there.

So we hung very few items on the walls.

We lived there eleven years. The hesitancy of hanging anything on the walls became part of our mentality. To this day, after twelve years in our current home, we’re still hesitant to hang anything on the walls.

But there’s no excuse not to hang art on these plain, pale colored walls in Phoenix. So we’re going to do it.

My Art

I’ve been an amateur photographer since my college days, although I stopped taking photos for a bunch of years and only got involved again about three years ago. Like so many people, I’ve discovered that digital photography makes photography more affordable, more convenient, and more fun. I make a conscious effort these days to go to interesting places and take interesting photos. And since it costs the same to shoot one photo as it does to shoot 20, I experiment a lot. And although I’ll never quit my “day job” (whatever that is) to become a professional photographer, I’ve collected enough good shots to feel proud of my efforts and want to show them off.

So I’ve decided to draw upon my portfolio of photos to decorate the walls at Rear Window. Why buy someone else’s photos when I can show off some of my own?

(My apologies to the professional photographers out there trying to sell your work. There is a market for it. That market just isn’t with me.)

ribba.jpgI found some very basic frames that included bevel cut mats at Ikea. (Although Aaron Brothers is having their big 1¢ sale right now, getting a large mat cut would cost me about $95 and I’m not interested in spending more on a mat than the frame and enlarged photo combined.) The frame comes several colors, although I’ve chosen black. It’s also available in a wide variety of sizes, some of which have mat cutouts for multiple photos. So I have a lot of flexibility here to hang all kinds of photos in a number of sizes.

To get things started, I ordered enlargements of two of my favorite photos made last year:

  • North to the FutureNorth to the Future was taken in Alaska in March 2008 at Girdwood Airport, a small dirt strip (snowcovered that day) about 40 miles south of Anchorage. I’d been flying the day before as a passenger on three incredible helicopter flights but did not have my camera aboard. (Don’t ask.) The next day, I had my camera handy and snapped this photo on my way into Alpine Air’s office at the airport. The clouds were caught up in the snow-covered mountains all around the airport, the sky was an amazing blue beyond it, and the bright red and yellow of the airplane really called out to me. The title of this photo comes from Alaska’s state motto. The photo was entered into a photo contest but did not win.
  • Lake Powell from Romana MesaLake Powell from Romana Mesa was shot in August 2008. I’d made the 2-hour drive from Page, AZ around the northwest end of the lake to the top of Romana Mesa in Mike’s pickup truck. Suffering with a bad back and concerned that I wouldn’t get back to Page before it got dark, I didn’t stay long or spend much time exploring. But the late afternoon light was great and there were just enough clouds in the sky to make it interesting. I took about 80 shots on that little excursion and this is one of my favorites.

I ordered 20 x 30 enlargements of each of these. They should be arriving by mail any day now. Later today, I’ll head down to Ikea to pick up the frames. This weekend, I’ll put them all together.

I’ll hang them at Rear Window the next time I’m in Phoenix. The airplane photo will be perfect centered over our new red sofa. The Lake Powell photo will go over the fireplace — until I can find the giant clock with Arabic numerals (not Roman numerals!) that I really want there. Then I’ll likely shift it to one of the walls in the dining room.

If I like the way they look, I’ll choose more photos and have them printed in other sizes. I’ll buy other frames. Little by little, I’ll cover the walls with souvenirs of our travels.

I’m really looking forward to this. It’ll be great to have these pictures reside somewhere other than on my hard drive.

Got photos you’re proud of? Don’t keep them cooped up on your computer’s hard disk. Make a place for them in your home. I guarantee you’ll be glad you did.

Alpine Air Video

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The things I saw but couldn’t capture on video.

This morning, I got an e-mail message from the folks at Alpine Air. Regular readers may recall that I visited them last week in Alaska for a job interview. And although I was onboard one of their helicopters for three incredible flights, I didn’t have a camera handy on any of them.

Fortunately, another passenger not only had a camera, but a video camera. This Mac user put together an incredible little movie of his flight — done with iMovie, perhaps? — and put it on his iWeb Web site.

See it for yourself at http://web.mac.com/stansfieldb/
Pacific_Rim_Tour_Blog/Alpine_Air_Alaska_Video.html

The most amazing thing about this video is that I turned down an opportunity to fly in such a beautiful place. (I know, but it was a career thing.)

Look closely when the flight departs the Alpine Air ramp at Girdwood and you’ll see the airplane I photographed on the ground there.

Many thanks to the maker of this video, Brian Stansfield, and the folks at Alpine Air for forwarding the link to me.

Alaska in March

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A few notes from a brief trip.

I was in the Anchorage, Alaska, area this past week, from about 12:30 PM on Tuesday through 8 AM on Friday. I got home last night.

I was up there for a pilot job interview. The reason I needed 2+ days is because the weather is ever-changing and we wanted to make sure I’d have a chance to fly. I did, on Thursday, and surprised myself by landing atop a snow-covered ridge and making the steepest confined space landing I’d ever attempted. But all that is another story.

The Weather

Airplane at GirdwoodThis was only my second visit to Alaska. (The first was last June.) I expected it to be cold and miserable. I was pleasantly surprised. Although it was cold, it wasn’t nearly as cold as I expected. Daytime temperatures hovered in the low 30s each day, dropping down into the low 20s at night. With a borrowed down jacket and the right footwear, I didn’t feel that cold. And although there was some snowfall each day, there wasn’t enough to consider the weather bad. In fact, it was rather nice.

The way I’d describe it is this: March in the Anchorage area is like late January or early February in New York.

Of course, there was snow everywhere. I’d never seen so much of the stuff before. It was piled up alongside the roads and it blanketed the fields, hillsides, and mountaintops. In most places, it was the pure white, unspoiled stuff — the kind you see on Christmas Cards. Absolutely beautiful.

Girdwood

I spent most of my time in Girdwood, which is about 40 miles south of downtown Anchorage, in a little valley off the Turnagain Arm at the foot of Mt. Alyeska. The town is known primarily for the Alyeska Ski Resort. Snow-covered mountains tower above the town on three sides. Beyond them are seven glaciers.

I stayed at a B&B that I [sadly] cannot recommend. The place stunk of dog or cat urine — I suspect cat — that had obviously soaked into the padding under the carpet. I found it difficult to breathe. I think the lack of fresh air and my inability to get a good night’s sleep contributed to the cold that hit me at the end of the week. It’s a shame, because the place was otherwise very nice, clean, and well-equiped. If they’d replace the carpet and institute a strict No Pets policy, they’d have a place I’d be glad to recommend.

Girdwood has only about 1,000 year-round residents, but oddly enough, it has more (and better) restaurants than what one can find here in Wickenburg. So there were plenty of dining opportunities. The locals like The Bake Shop, which I’d been to on my first visit to Girdwood last summer. Great soup for lunch and good breakfasts.

Everything is absurdly expensive — about 30-50% more than what you’d pay in the lower 48.

Skiing

Alyeska SkiingIf you’re a skier or a snowboarder, Girdwood is probably someplace you’d like a lot. There were certainly plenty of people on the slopes of Alyeska when I was there — that might be because it was spring break. The mountains are steep and covered with trails. There are a handful of lifts, as well as a tram, to get to the top.

I took the tram up on Wednesday afternoon, when it was too cloudy to fly. The tram passed through the first layer of clouds, revealing the skiers and snowboarders coming down the mountain out of the second layer of clouds. Once outside, I walked around a bit, waiting for the clouds to clear. Occasionally, I’d get glimpses of the snowcovered mountains on the opposite side of the valley or the top of Alyeska. But it never cleared out enough to get decent photos.

From the Air

You really don’t realize just how much snow there is or how many mountains there are until you see the area from the air. As part of my interview process, I got to ride along on three flights in the Girdwood area.

The first was to a stretch on the Alaska Rail Road to pick up a worker. He was part of the team set up to clear huge amounts of snow dumped on the tracks by an avalanche. We saw the entire scene from the air — including the bulldozers and snow cats hard at work. This wasn’t the only avalanche we saw. Avalanches are quite common in the area in the winter time and we saw signs of past avalanches on each flight.

The other two flight were scenic tours with glacier landings. This is a relatively common type of helicopter tour in Alaska. We didn’t, however, land on the glacier. We landed on some snowy ground near its lower end, where it meets the sea. The pilot shut down and we stepped out onto the snow. It was quite tricky to walk on the stuff without sinking in. On the second flight, I stepped out onto the snow and my foot sank into it up to my thigh.

I should mention here that the glaciers look different in winter time than they do in the summer. In the winter, they’re blanketed with pristine snow. In the summer, a lot of the surface show melts, revealing the blue ice and glacial moraine beneath it. While the blue ice and the melted pools of water you may see atop it is a sight you’ll never forget, the clean winter show is equally beautiful, in its own way.

Once on the ground with the helicopter’s engine turned off, it was very quiet. But I could hear water dripping from the nearest of three glaciers. And the sound of tiny cracks. After a while, a chunk of ice from the most distant of the glaciers broke off and slid into the sea with a rumbling sound. Very cool.

During the flight, we also saw moose, mountain goats, seals, and sea otters. My big regret: I didn’t have a camera with me.

It thrills me to think that I might do flights like this throughout the day, every day, all summer long.

Clear Skies in Anchorage

After a side trip to Portage Lake, I took the rental car back to Anchorage on Thursday night. I was spending the night at a friend’s house.

DenaliWe went out to dinner, then took a drive to one of the overlooks near the airport. The view to the north, over the Knik Arm, was perfectly clear — so clear, in fact, that we could see all of Mt. McKinley (Denali) and the mountains around it — which had to be at least 150 miles away. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky in any direction, so we could clearly see all of the Alaska Range and whatever other mountains were nearby. My friend told me it was the clearest evening he’d ever experienced in the year and a half he’s lived in Anchorage. We watched the sun set — it was nearly 8:30 PM! — and headed back to their house.

I wanted to stay up that night to possibly see the Northern Lights — I’ve been told you can see them from points just north of Anchorage if it’s clear — but by that time, my cold had set in and my nose was running like a faucet. With an 8 AM flight the next morning, I figured it would be best to hit the sack early.

Alaska In March

I don’t know if the three days I spent in Alaska are typical of three March days in the area. I hope they are. It was a very pleasant time to visit, a time with no tourist crowds, a time to meet and talk to the real locals. I hope I get a chance to visit in the spring again.

Morning Flight to Alaska

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It’s nice when travel goes smoothly.

Last June, Mike and I went to Alaska for vacation. Our travel plans, which were made by a real travel agent, were completely screwed up, as I detailed in “Trouble on the Tundra” in this blog.

While I think the travel agent was to blame for our screwed up hotel arrangements on that trip, I can’t blame her for airline delays. I blame the airline — Alaska Airlines — for that. Unfortunately, I had to fly with the same airline again yesterday. Fortunately, when they get it right, they do a good job. And they got it right yesterday.

But I’m getting ahead of myself a bit.

I want to fly in Alaska this summer. Last week, I lined up a job interview with a company based in Girdwood, AK, which is just south of Anchorage. Here’s a quick summary of yesterday’s flight to Alaska from Phoenix.

Before the Crack of Dawn

My flight was scheduled to leave Phoenix at 6 AM, so I was up and getting ready to go at 3 AM. I was out the door in the cool, predawn morning at 3:30 and, after a quick stop for gas in my Honda, was on the road heading out of Wickenburg at 3:45 AM.

The thought of this would send many late risers into cardiac arrest. But I’m an early riser and typically start my day around 5 AM anyway. Getting up two hours earlier wasn’t a big deal, although it did require the use of an alarm clock. Well, that’s not really true, because I woke up about 5 minutes before the alarm would have buzzed and turned it off before it woke Mike.

The drive down to Phoenix was a pleasure. There were few cars on the road on Grand Avenue and Carefree Highway. I set my cruise control at a reasonable speed — that’s one that was unlikely to get me jail time — and zipped on down the road. I had my iPod connected, and listened to last week’s episode of “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me” from NPR. The top was up because it was quite cool outside.

Traffic on I-17 was light, which you’d expect at 4:30 in the morning. But what you might not expect was getting an excellent parking spot in the West Long Term Economy lot at Sky Harbor. This is the long-term parking lot on the west side of the airport, adjacent to Terminal 2. I got a parking spot about 100 feet from the crosswalk to the terminal, so I was able to park, get my luggage, and simply walk to the terminal where my plane would depart. No need to take a shuttle bus or to remember if I needed the “Roadrunner” or “Gecko” or whatever shuttle on the way home. This probably saved me about 20 minutes of travel time.

I already had my boarding pass printed out, thanks to the miracle of the Internet. And I only had one piece of luggage, which, although not exactly small, would easily fit in the overhead bin of most airliners. So I didn’t have to wait on line at the counter. That saved me another 20 minutes.

A Brief Security-Related Rant

I did, however, have wait on line at security. And although I don’t usually pull out my liquids and gels and stick them in a plastic bag for the world to see, I had a feeling that that morning I might get grief about it. So I grabbed one of their baggies and dumped my entire toiletries bag into it. I’ll use the baggie from now on.

For the record, I have real gripe with this whole liquids and gels thing. First of all, if you don’t pull them out of the bag, they usually don’t bother you about it. In fact, I’ve never been bothered about it. That makes me wonder if (1) they can see it at all and (2) if they really care. Rules like 3-3-1 (or whatever bullshit name they’ve applied to this particular invasion of privacy) are not designed to keep us safe. They’re designed to inconvenience us just enough to make us think they’re keeping us safe. If I’ve taken liquids and gels through in my luggage a dozen times without getting searched, how many others have? Doesn’t their equipment sense the naughty stuff even if it’s inside the luggage? (Jeez, I hope so!) And just because my plastic baggy clearly displays a tube of Neutrogena face cream, does that mean there’s Neutrogena face cream in it? Come on, TSA! Do you think we’re all a bunch of morons? And how about it if you stop playing head games with us and just do a good job getting us through security?

But in some cases, it’s best to just go with the flow. So I used a baggie and put it in a bin with my shoes, cell phone, purse, loose change, jacket, scarf, and boarding pass. The other bin was for my computer, which I also had to pull out, completely remove from its protective case, and lay in a separate bin with nothing above or below it. (Again, who’s to say that there’s really a computer in there if TSA’s equipment can’t see that it’s a computer with its expensive x-ray equipment? Why does it have to be out of the case? Are they trying to profile us based on our choice of laptop make and model?)

Of course, sending the boarding pass through in a bin was a bad idea. Even though they never said to keep it in my possession as I went through the metal detector, I had to retrieve it to show the metal detector guy before he’d let anyone else through. This held up the line. But I wasn’t the only one who made this error. The guy in front of me did the same thing — but it was too late to retrieve my boarding pass at that point because he’d held up the line and my stuff had already gone through the x-ray machine.

The only good thing about all this security is that if your valuables go through the x-ray machine before you get through the metal detector, there’s a reduced chance of your valuables being stolen before you can get to them. In the “old days,” I never let my things go down the belt unless I knew I’d beat them to the other side of the x-ray machine.

Ah, the good old days. The memory of going through security fully dressed, without half unpacking my luggage, is sweet indeed.

The Flight

Although Terminal 2 is not one of the nicest at Sky Harbor, they’d fixed it up quite a bit since my last pass through there a few months ago. There was a nice coffee stand where I bought a latte, a muffin, and a piece of pumpkin pound cake for the flight.

When I got to the gate, they were boarding. I stopped long enough to pull my iPod, headphones, and laptop out of my luggage and put my down jacket (borrowed from Mike) in. A short while later, I was seated in 7F with the wheelie bag in the bin over my head and a tiny airplane pillow behind my lower back, belted in and sipping latte.

The plane left on time.

We took off to the east, then banked left to the north. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but it was bright enough to see the Salt River, Chandler and Falcon Field Airports, and Fountain Hills. Our flight path took us up the west side of the Verde River, past Bartlett and Horseshoe Lakes (which both appeared full), Sedona, and Flagstaff. We probably flew over the top of Howard Mesa, although it could have been on the other side of the plane.

Just before we reached the Grand Canyon, the sun appeared as a bright orange dash of light at the horizon. It grew slowly out of the east, rising almost imperceptibly until it was an orange ball. As it brightened, it cast long shadows over the rugged terrain.

That’s when I started noticing the thin, long clouds at right about our altitude. It took me a moment to realize they were contrails from other jets criss-crossing the sky. We flew parallel to one for a while, cutting across another. Although I’ve seen many contrails from the ground — we all have! — this is the first time I’d ever noticed them from the air. It was very cool.

We flew over the Little Colorado River and Colorado River, now heading north-northwest over terrain that wasn’t as familiar to me. It clouded up, obscuring my view for a while. Later, the clouds broke up again and I could see more unfamiliar ground. Much later, I saw the Columbia River, where it makes its big turn in western Washington state. Then more clouds as we turned to the west and began our descent. It wasn’t until we were below the clouds, making our final approach to Seattle Tacoma Airport that I realized how windy it was. Large flags blew straight out. I got a postcard-view of downtown Seattle before we touched down on the wet runway of the airport.

Once in the terminal, I had to find my gate for the next flight. I was in Terminal N, which appeared to be an island terminal in the middle of the ramp, and had to get to Terminal C. I asked an airport employee and was directed to an underground train system. One stop and I was at my terminal, with 40 minutes to kill before boarding my next flight.

I went for a short walk. The terminal was quite nice, with a big open food court area and lots of nice shopping. (I tell you, there’s better dining and shopping at many airport terminals than I can find in my own town.) I wanted to get a shoe shine, but the shoe shine girl was at her alternate location in Terminal D (according to the guys in the Bose booth beside her shoe shine chairs.) So I bought some sushi and carrot sticks to go at little restaurant not far from my gate.

I spent a short time waiting in the gate area. Planes took off down the runway right outside the window. A few very small clouds floated up the runway about 100 feet off the ground. Clouds were broken in layers around us, with blue sky and sunshine making occasional appearances. Although the weather wasn’t great, it was a pretty day.

Before long, I was on my Seattle to Anchorage plane, seated in 16F. (I’m a window seat person, in case you haven’t noticed.) There was an empty seat between me and the man on the aisle and, as the incoming crowd thinned out, we marveled at our luck on the otherwise full flight. But just before closing the doors, they let two more passengers on board: a heavyset man and his much thinner wife. We got the wife.

She was a very pleasant person, but a talker. (Yeah, I know; I’m a talker, too. But I know how to shut it off. She didn’t.) She lived in Fairbanks and spent her summers in a motorhome in Yuma, AZ where her sister lived. (I can tell you more about her entire life, including her kids and grandkids, but I’ll spare you.) They were going back to Fairbanks to surprise a friend of theirs for her birthday. In a month or two, they’d drive back to Fairbanks from Yuma in their motorhome.

It was nice chatting with an Alaskan about Alaska, although I can’t seem to come up with many points worth sharing. We did talk a bit about fishing and about how the tour companies tend to do as little as possible to satisfy the tourists, who generally have no clue what they’re missing. We also talked about cruise ship passengers being more interested in shopping than actually seeing and learning about the port cities they stop at.

The whole time we flew — and it was a 3-1/2 hour flight — it was cloudy beneath us. Until we got about 45 minutes outside of Anchorage. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t looking down at clouds. I was looking down at snow covered mountains.

Of course, I’d had much the same view on our flight to Anchorage in June. This time, however, the air seemed cleaner and crisper and the view seemed more spectacular. The mountains came right down to the ocean, with snow almost all the way to the bottom. There was no beach, no rocky shoreline for a stroll. Just ocean and then those tall peaks.

I don’t know how tall those mountains were, but I’m sure most were at least 5,000 feet. They were rugged and rocky and looked as if they were made of granite. There were pine trees along the lower elevations of many of them. And, looking to the east, that’s all I could see: rocky, snow-covered mountains.

The woman beside me took an interest in the view and leaned over for a better look. She pointed out a few glaciers — there were dozens of them! — and places where she and her husband went fishing from their boat, which they keep in Valdez. Then the clouds moved in again, hiding the ground from view. I looked out on the horizon and saw the top of Denali (Mount McKinley), way off in the distance.

Then we descended through the clouds, The next time I saw the ground, we were approaching Anchorage and I could see the airport from our downwind leg. We came in from the north, over the mud flats, which were littered with large blocks of ice that hadn’t been there in June. I reminded myself that it was still winter, a fact that was confirmed when I felt the cool breeze on the jetway as I walked out into the terminal.

Only the day before, I’d been wearing a t-shirt as I walked around Las Vegas.

The End of a Smooth Flight

I was in a rental car, on my way to Girdwood, within 30 minutes of landing at Anchorage. The only reason it took me that long was (1) I stopped to look at the historic photos of the airport on the way to the Rental Car counter and (2) I couldn’t remember which rental car company I used, so I had to ask at five of the eight rental car desks before I found my reservation. (I never claimed to have all the answers. And besides, isn’t it impossible for everything to be perfect on a trip?)

There’s a lot to be said about packing light. Because I only had one piece of luggage and because that piece of luggage was small enough to carry on board with me, I saved a ton of time by not having to check it and then retrieve it. (I also didn’t have to worry about the airline losing it.) Because the luggage had wheels, transporting it was easy. I think that my choice of luggage and the way I packed is a big part of what made my trip so smooth.

I’m just hoping my return trip will go as smoothly.

Composed at a B&B in Girdwood, AK with ecto.