Friday, May 11, 2012
Page 18 - I have lost my sense of time
The sun is sinking below the horizon. No real land marks to guide me. So, to look at the chart is almost useless. To turn right or left is almost as useless. I continue north by northeast. Getting home has taken over me.
The light colored grasses are changing to dark colored grasses. The blue gray sage brush has changed to an even darker gray. There are no more shadows. The sun is down below the horizon now. The sun, like the compass, is like a light house that helps the ship's captains guide the ship from the shallows. I am for sure out of landmarks even though this country is more familiar than where I have been.
I haven't considered time as measured by a clock. I guess I only considered time by the shades of sunlight from dawn to sunset. Now, there is no more daylight. I have lost my sense of time. The only landmark that will let me know that I am in Montana is Highway 212, a two lane highway that runs from Belle Fourche to Miles City.
I can hardly see the compass, but I can still see the landscape below the airplane. If a dirt road would show up, I think I could still see it. Visibility to where I am going is narrowing fast, colors from day into night have changed as though controlled by a rheostat. Still, there is almost enough light that if I can get to the highway I would see it. There is just enough contrasting color to tell me if I am turning left or right. There is a dim light ahead, probably a radio tower. I will head for it as it is not too far to the right of my course. It is my guiding light. I think to myself that if something should happen and I accidentally wreck this airplane that someday when this light goes out that whoever should be the one to replace the light might accidentally find my airplane.
Now, I see a car light. The angle I see it from the nose of the plane lets me think it could by Highway 212. If I can only get to it before complete darkness sets in...
Monday, April 2, 2012
Page 17 - I won't make it on up to Ekalaka
As I get close enough, I tell the attendant that I would like to get the airplanie filled with gas as soon as possible because I would like to get on up to Ekalaka, MT before dark. He tells me that it is doubtful that I will make the Montana border by night fall. He informs me that after the sun sets night fall comes quickly in the fall and winter months, and that it will probably be dark by about six or close thereafter.
The airplane is serviced. My bill fold is handy as he tells me the cost of the gas. I have the amount to the penny. During all of this, I have remained sitting in the airplane. Paying out the window. Sort of like being at a drive thru.
After I have paid, I ask if there is anything between the gas pit and the direction I'm pointed. I am going to start my take off at the gas pit. He looks at me funny and tells me, "It's all yours. Go for it!" I hollered out my thanks as he propped the plane. It started on the first try. I wave as I carefully line the plane up in a direction that is clear of any possible surface debris. I ease the throttle forward as Piper, continental, Champion and Lewis all come together in crescendo as the airplane begins it roll to the northeast.
In seconds the plane is airborne. About 15 degrees is the compass heading. Land marks are few and a shallow climb to get all the airspeed and ground speed available. I leveled off about fifty feet above the ground. A few minutes after leaving Gillette, the Powder River is under my left wing tip. I'm still in the short grass country. Occassionaly, I see deer or antelope and a few head of cattle scattered here and there. Flying so low I can see long shadows from the sage brush and can almost smell it as I near home. I suppose the attendant was right after all. It will be sun down long before I make the Wyoming Montana border. For sure, I won't make it on up to Ekalaka that day as it will be dark.
The airplane is serviced. My bill fold is handy as he tells me the cost of the gas. I have the amount to the penny. During all of this, I have remained sitting in the airplane. Paying out the window. Sort of like being at a drive thru.
After I have paid, I ask if there is anything between the gas pit and the direction I'm pointed. I am going to start my take off at the gas pit. He looks at me funny and tells me, "It's all yours. Go for it!" I hollered out my thanks as he propped the plane. It started on the first try. I wave as I carefully line the plane up in a direction that is clear of any possible surface debris. I ease the throttle forward as Piper, continental, Champion and Lewis all come together in crescendo as the airplane begins it roll to the northeast.
In seconds the plane is airborne. About 15 degrees is the compass heading. Land marks are few and a shallow climb to get all the airspeed and ground speed available. I leveled off about fifty feet above the ground. A few minutes after leaving Gillette, the Powder River is under my left wing tip. I'm still in the short grass country. Occassionaly, I see deer or antelope and a few head of cattle scattered here and there. Flying so low I can see long shadows from the sage brush and can almost smell it as I near home. I suppose the attendant was right after all. It will be sun down long before I make the Wyoming Montana border. For sure, I won't make it on up to Ekalaka that day as it will be dark.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Page 16 - I need all the daylight I can get
I'm at Casper, a more accommodating facility. I land and take on fuel and again, and I am on my way. It is nearly 4pm when I depart for Gillette, Wyoming. The cast afternoon sunlight tells me I need to make good time on this leg of the trip. Again, I am blessed. I follow a highway up. "Fly little airplane. Fly."
A few minutes after leaving Casper, I find myself in almost familiar territory. To the west of the route and near the route are the head waters of the Powder River that I surveyed in Montana and to the right of the route is the Belle Fourche River that will eventually flow through Bell Fourche, South Dakota. "Fly little airplane. Fly as fast as you can!"
The sun is getting toward the left wing tip as a I skim about a hundred feet above the ground. At times, 5000 ft is indicated on the altimeter. I see deer and antelope here and there as I race across the short grass country. I think, "Probably excellent sheep country."
Gillette is in sight. Only a light breeze as I see a runway right in front of me. I won't even circle as I now need all the daylight time I can get. The country side glistens. The air is clear. No snow anywhere, but mother nature has turned the green grasses from orange to a near gray.
My feelings are of exhiliration. Everything seems like it was all preplanned. This voyage is coming together like clockwork. The sun is still by the wing tip. I am ever so close to home and the conclusion of an eleven year old dream. At the same time, it might end a multitude of dreams I have had over the years about this very trip. Dreams where none end up in a successful trip to Ekalaka, Montana.
It is well that right now I travel alone as far as another person is concerned. They would never understand the anxious moments I have. How could so little mean so much as everything means to me right now? I would like to say "Yes! I did it!" But, I am not home yet. I feel the success of this trip has not really been mine, but of the Holy Spirit. I feel like there will be a day that I bend down on my knees giving thanks and praise and glory to the Lord for what He has done for me.
Landing at Gillette, the sun is nearer the wing tip than the horizon as I taxi off the runway and on to the ramp where there just happens to be one of the airport attendants standing and directing me to the gas pit.
A few minutes after leaving Casper, I find myself in almost familiar territory. To the west of the route and near the route are the head waters of the Powder River that I surveyed in Montana and to the right of the route is the Belle Fourche River that will eventually flow through Bell Fourche, South Dakota. "Fly little airplane. Fly as fast as you can!"
The sun is getting toward the left wing tip as a I skim about a hundred feet above the ground. At times, 5000 ft is indicated on the altimeter. I see deer and antelope here and there as I race across the short grass country. I think, "Probably excellent sheep country."
Gillette is in sight. Only a light breeze as I see a runway right in front of me. I won't even circle as I now need all the daylight time I can get. The country side glistens. The air is clear. No snow anywhere, but mother nature has turned the green grasses from orange to a near gray.
My feelings are of exhiliration. Everything seems like it was all preplanned. This voyage is coming together like clockwork. The sun is still by the wing tip. I am ever so close to home and the conclusion of an eleven year old dream. At the same time, it might end a multitude of dreams I have had over the years about this very trip. Dreams where none end up in a successful trip to Ekalaka, Montana.
It is well that right now I travel alone as far as another person is concerned. They would never understand the anxious moments I have. How could so little mean so much as everything means to me right now? I would like to say "Yes! I did it!" But, I am not home yet. I feel the success of this trip has not really been mine, but of the Holy Spirit. I feel like there will be a day that I bend down on my knees giving thanks and praise and glory to the Lord for what He has done for me.
Landing at Gillette, the sun is nearer the wing tip than the horizon as I taxi off the runway and on to the ramp where there just happens to be one of the airport attendants standing and directing me to the gas pit.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Page 15 - Now, I think I am lost...
I am facinated by the vastness of the rugged, pristine beauty of the high country. Everything looks wild, untamed, and unspoiled. What peace I find as the little airplane takes me sailing through the air like a child on a magic carpet. I find myself day dreaming. I was so intoxicated with the whole experience that right now I think I am lost.
Pilots don't like to admit they have ever been lost while flying, but right now the compass shows to the northeast, my ultimate direction in going home. Now, I find myself coming up on a beautiful lake or reservoir. I couldn't be too far off course. I study my chart and confirm where I am at. The reservoir is called Pathfinder. It certainly helped me find where I wanted to be! I am right on course and about sixty miles southwest of Casper, Wyoming.
This has been an odyssey for the Vagabond, Pilot, and me. It seems that to turn the airplane to any point on the compass there is endless beauty. I fly by Independence Rock, a historic land mark on the Oregon Trail. This rock was named on July 4, 1830 in honor of the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. I would suppose this land mark is still a welcome site for today's travelers in this area. "Harlan, you will never learn to fly, and for sure you will never own an airplane."
Pilots don't like to admit they have ever been lost while flying, but right now the compass shows to the northeast, my ultimate direction in going home. Now, I find myself coming up on a beautiful lake or reservoir. I couldn't be too far off course. I study my chart and confirm where I am at. The reservoir is called Pathfinder. It certainly helped me find where I wanted to be! I am right on course and about sixty miles southwest of Casper, Wyoming.
This has been an odyssey for the Vagabond, Pilot, and me. It seems that to turn the airplane to any point on the compass there is endless beauty. I fly by Independence Rock, a historic land mark on the Oregon Trail. This rock was named on July 4, 1830 in honor of the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. I would suppose this land mark is still a welcome site for today's travelers in this area. "Harlan, you will never learn to fly, and for sure you will never own an airplane."
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Page 14 - Pilot is ready
Then, I walked outside to survey my surrounding. I thought that I would just gas the airplane myself. It looked like the gas pit facility was about the same as the one I operated in San Mateo. As I go back to the hanger to get the gas can out of the airplane, I can see the snow is beginning to let up. I could go over to the administration building and get someone to gas the plane, but I can do it okay. It is a joy to be down and safe and servicing the airplane myself. Checking the oil and satisfying myself the airplane is okay, now I will find the office and pay for the fuel. Maybe, I can find a cup of coffee and be on my way.
The people sitting around the office were surprised to see me. They asked where I came from and when I landed. I told him I came up from Rock Springs, feeling my way across the Continental Divide, and worked my way down the highway and into the airport. It was snowing so bad I didn't think anyone would see me. Who would be flying in this sort of weather? I landed and taxied up and into the hanger and even serviced the airplane already. The people sitting around just couldn't see how I landed in near blizzard conditions. I think it certainly wasn't from any skill of mine!
I paid for the gas as they were telling me I was lucky I had got down safely. There had been more than a few pilots trying to make Rawlins in similar condiditions, and they were not so lucky. We visited a short while longer over coffee then I went over to the wall chart of the Rawlins area. I studied the route up to Casper.
The people sitting around the office were surprised to see me. They asked where I came from and when I landed. I told him I came up from Rock Springs, feeling my way across the Continental Divide, and worked my way down the highway and into the airport. It was snowing so bad I didn't think anyone would see me. Who would be flying in this sort of weather? I landed and taxied up and into the hanger and even serviced the airplane already. The people sitting around just couldn't see how I landed in near blizzard conditions. I think it certainly wasn't from any skill of mine!
I paid for the gas as they were telling me I was lucky I had got down safely. There had been more than a few pilots trying to make Rawlins in similar condiditions, and they were not so lucky. We visited a short while longer over coffee then I went over to the wall chart of the Rawlins area. I studied the route up to Casper.
Rawlins to Casper, Wyoming
Again, I have said all my goodbyes and ask if someone would come out to the hanger and help me push the airplane out and prop it for me so I can be on my way. The snow had given way to sunshine. The airplane looks okay and Pilot, the dog, is ready to go. The plane starts on the first pull of the prop, and soon I am taxiing out on the runway and then on my way to Casper. As I take off and climb out on course, I find the reason I have been constantly flying at higher indicated altitudes is that the average elevation in Wyoming is about six thousand seven hundred feet on the course I'm flying. Only Colorado has a somewhat higher elelavation. I find I'm still near part of the meandering Divide, but I'm on the east slope and there are gentle and few light down drafts.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Page 13 - A good little machine.
Who would help me now if I panic? Be nice to have a cup of coffee if I could get my hand off the throttle or controls to hold it and a way I could sip it without taking my face out of the side window.
The snow now is almost at blizzard conditions and now there is a RUNWAY! Someone has shown me the way! As I turn into what I really hope is a runway, I barely reduce power. I will have to fly this approach as the snow is blowing so hard there is no such thing as gliding. The airplane responds nicely to the controls. I sort of have to fly taxi this way and that hoping to find a place to park and tie the airplane down before the wind blows it away. I see an open hanger and head for it. I can see the gas pit where the airplane would probably be fueled if someone could see me which they don't. Who would be flying in this sort of weather? I come up to the open hanger and taxi right on into the hanger and even turn it around in the hanger before I turn the engine off.
As I cut the engine, I have to sit and think awhile about where I am at and what I am going to do. I think I should be expressing some sort of word of thanks. Maybe we have guardian angels. I really have to think about this experience. It is still snowing, and I can hardly see anything outside past the hanger door. I am thankful I am down and safe as I begin to stir around and undo my seat belt. I open the door so my dog, Pilot, can get out and stretch. Finally, I get out of the airplane not knowing what I'm going to do, but whatever I do I better get started. Other than my airplane, the hanger is bare. I did walk around the airplane as if I had to admire its design and how well it can fly. A good little machine.
The snow now is almost at blizzard conditions and now there is a RUNWAY! Someone has shown me the way! As I turn into what I really hope is a runway, I barely reduce power. I will have to fly this approach as the snow is blowing so hard there is no such thing as gliding. The airplane responds nicely to the controls. I sort of have to fly taxi this way and that hoping to find a place to park and tie the airplane down before the wind blows it away. I see an open hanger and head for it. I can see the gas pit where the airplane would probably be fueled if someone could see me which they don't. Who would be flying in this sort of weather? I come up to the open hanger and taxi right on into the hanger and even turn it around in the hanger before I turn the engine off.
As I cut the engine, I have to sit and think awhile about where I am at and what I am going to do. I think I should be expressing some sort of word of thanks. Maybe we have guardian angels. I really have to think about this experience. It is still snowing, and I can hardly see anything outside past the hanger door. I am thankful I am down and safe as I begin to stir around and undo my seat belt. I open the door so my dog, Pilot, can get out and stretch. Finally, I get out of the airplane not knowing what I'm going to do, but whatever I do I better get started. Other than my airplane, the hanger is bare. I did walk around the airplane as if I had to admire its design and how well it can fly. A good little machine.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Page 12 - I never figured I would get in a mess like this.
No time to file a flight plan. It's on to Rawlins, Wyoming.
Leaving out of Rock Springs, I'm glad there is still a highway below me that leads to Rawlins. I find myself at about seven thousand five hundred feet indicated altitude, which is only about four to five hundred feet above the ground, flying the Great Divide Basin aka The Red Desert. It is such an arid land. The sky is now getting somewhat grayer as I begin to hug the highway. Now, it is "IFR - I Follow Roads." Visibility is not good. I know in a few minutes I will be crossing the Continental Divide, and I hope I can continue to see the highway and around anywhere so i can get on into Rawlins.
Not much to see on the chart as I look for certain check points on my route. I find myself looking this way and that as the ceiling gets lower and moisture is beginning to show up on the windshield. I open the side window to see better. I probably should have inquired about the weather before I left Rock Springs, but I didn't. Now, there are flakes of snow hitting the windshield. I hadn't thought about an alternate airport, and in this country, with this short fuel range, there is no alternate airport. "If I have to, I will land on the highway." I have no time to look at the compass. For that matter, there is no time to look at a chart. The snow is now beginning to get heavy. "Fly little airplane! Fly!"
I have no idea now of time and distance. I guess I never figured I would get in a mess like this.
At Rawlins, the airport should be on the east side of town, right near the highway. I will fly so close to the ground that if I can assure Rawlins, I can assure the airport. "Fly little airplane! Fly!" The snow is even heavier now. I can hardly see. I hope there is nothing higher in front of me than I am flying! A quick glance at the altimeter shows I am now about seven thousand indicated. "I must have went over the continental divide." I'm not sure if I even set the altimeter back at Rock Springs. Maybe, it is still reading correctly...
Leaving out of Rock Springs, I'm glad there is still a highway below me that leads to Rawlins. I find myself at about seven thousand five hundred feet indicated altitude, which is only about four to five hundred feet above the ground, flying the Great Divide Basin aka The Red Desert. It is such an arid land. The sky is now getting somewhat grayer as I begin to hug the highway. Now, it is "IFR - I Follow Roads." Visibility is not good. I know in a few minutes I will be crossing the Continental Divide, and I hope I can continue to see the highway and around anywhere so i can get on into Rawlins.
Not much to see on the chart as I look for certain check points on my route. I find myself looking this way and that as the ceiling gets lower and moisture is beginning to show up on the windshield. I open the side window to see better. I probably should have inquired about the weather before I left Rock Springs, but I didn't. Now, there are flakes of snow hitting the windshield. I hadn't thought about an alternate airport, and in this country, with this short fuel range, there is no alternate airport. "If I have to, I will land on the highway." I have no time to look at the compass. For that matter, there is no time to look at a chart. The snow is now beginning to get heavy. "Fly little airplane! Fly!"
I have no idea now of time and distance. I guess I never figured I would get in a mess like this.
At Rawlins, the airport should be on the east side of town, right near the highway. I will fly so close to the ground that if I can assure Rawlins, I can assure the airport. "Fly little airplane! Fly!" The snow is even heavier now. I can hardly see. I hope there is nothing higher in front of me than I am flying! A quick glance at the altimeter shows I am now about seven thousand indicated. "I must have went over the continental divide." I'm not sure if I even set the altimeter back at Rock Springs. Maybe, it is still reading correctly...
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