Big Bird
Pre-Flight
ONE
We have flown the Cessna 206 across the USA on more than one occasion, usually with a destination in mind but no set route. Weather often defines our course and serendipity creates the adventure. This trip to the Bahamas was planned differently from all the others in that there was a plan. A schedule, even!
At home in Sandpoint, we had enjoyed three weeks of cool and unusually dry weather. Our departure window was February 6 through February 12 and, as weather always plays a significant role in flight decisions in the mountains, I was carefully plotting the trends in the days prior to the 6th. Not surprisingly, the weather Gods mixed their magic and made us dance! The first of many dance steps included our being packed and ready to go on February 1.
Flying small airplanes in icy clouds is a deadly practice, and one we avoid at all costs. The challenge is that in the mountains of the West, in winter, the freezing level is often on the ground. Thus, clouds harbor deadly ice more often than not and, in those conditions, we keep the plane in the hangar. So, in the final days of January we watched the long range forecasts paint an unending string of low pressure systems coming down from the Gulf of Alaska. It was a promise of a "normal" winter scene in the northern Rockies; blizzards of snow and ice in good measure. So, I decided to go on February 2, before the storm train got to town. We were dancing with the weather Gods already!
Annie had obligations in Sandpoint through the 6th and planned to catch up with me and “Big Bird” in Placerville, California. Reading further you may have note that our “planned differently from the beginning” plans were doomed before we even got started!
Thinking that I had wisely chosen the last day of good weather, I launched on the morning of February 2, pointed southwest. Flying at 12,000 feet in blue skies, I thought about what might await me in the four days before meeting Annie. First I thought about visiting the Trendlers' in Eugene: nope, fogged in. My Mom in Roseburg? Conditions were the same as in Eugene. Tim and Terry in Arcata? Visibility zero/zero. Hmmm, let’s try a new dance.
Talking by radio to the Flight Service Specialist I learned that the fog was widespread along the coast and interior valleys but the foothills, and a few fortunate airports in the coast range were clear. I had never flown in to Santa Rosa, CA., so I headed there. I remembered a long ago visit to the nearby village of Calistoga, famous for its hot springs and spas. By the time I had landed at STS, I knew that “taking the waters” was just what the doctor ordered! I highly recommend a bungalow at Indian Springs Spa as a worthwhile way to spend a couple of relaxing days. Sadly, the airport at Calistoga closed some years ago, to make way for some development that never happened. What a pleasure it was to taxi off the runway and park behind my own bungalow!
TWO
On February 4, I flew in clear skies up to Ukiah for a fascinating tour of the Fetzer Winery with Snake and Paula. I had planned to take Paula for an aerial tour of the valley (Snake had to return to work), but lunch and a tour of their home and gardens was so much fun that we ran out of time. Rain check, OK Paula? Climbing out of UKH I could see that most of the central valley of California was fogged in but, true to the forecast, the foothills were clear. It was a smooth hour long flight to Placerville, where I would stay with my daughter Amber and her husband Allan until Annie arrived.
After a few days in PVF, we joined Barbara and David Thomas for a trip to San Francisco. The Weather Gods took a mighty swing at a crummy forecast, and missed, as we enjoyed sunny skies and warm temperatures. We wandered for miles through Chinatown, North Beach, the Marina District, Golden Gate Park, laughing and eating all the while. As always, time spent with our dear friends is a fine gift no matter where we are. During our stay in PVF, I flew Allan up to Auburn where I got an Instrument Proficiency Check from a senior flight instructor. Passed with “flying colors” as they say. Now current to fly on instruments, proficient enough for comfort, and far enough south to have no worries about ice, it was time once again to dance with the Weather Gods.
The endless string of low pressure systems from Alaska which prompted my early departure from Sandpoint undertook their own dance as well; the Fast Shuffle. Instead of careening into the Pacific Northwest bringing blizzards and feet of snow to Idaho as is normal for the season, they took the southbound express elevator right down the coast. The resultant deluge*was covered daily on the television news describing some areas of CA as having received a years worth of rain in less than a month. “Swing and a miss, strike One!” The first of these storms hit on the morning of our departure from PVF. I wondered what tune the Weather Gods would play for this dance?
Pause for a technical interlude. In order to fly in instrument conditions (meaning that one cannot see the ground or the horizon), one must possess, and understand, en-route and terminal charts, and approach procedure plates for the route. Since I had never flown in the SE section of the USA I did not have any of these charts. So in January I ordered a “Trip Kit” from Jeppessen, for delivery in PVF on February 15, which included everything necessary for IFR (instrument flight rules) flight. The Weather Gods must be drinking buddies with the Freight Dogs because, somehow, “delivery date” got changed to “ship date”, and the six inch stack of charts necessary for our next month of flying did not arrive as scheduled! No charts, no departure. A quick call to Jepp (right at closing), an explanation of the dilemma, and somehow those folks got a second kit out the door, overnight delivery. The following morning, as I loaded Big Bird, Annie waited at Amber's’ house for the package. Incredibly, it arrived before noon. We were quickly airborne and only a couple of hours behind our best case scenario! Wow, those Freight Dogs are Gods after all!
THREE
Oh, did I mention the storms coming from the Gulf of Alaska? They got to PVF on the morning of our departure: ceiling indefinite, visibility 1/4 mile in fog and mist. But, hey, no ice, no turbulence, so off we went, flying in and out of clouds, between cloud layers, and rain showers. Ice was prevalent at the altitudes necessary for crossing the Sierra Nevada, (in fact, a Cirrus SR 22 went down only 50 miles away, reportedly iced up, just hours before our departure. The sole occupant did not survive) so we flew a southbound course, on the west side of the mountains. We expected the weather to clear near Palm Springs as forecast, but it did so only briefly over Edwards AFB. By the time we learned that our planned stop at Sedona was socked in we decided that a pit stop was called for. The nearest airport with an instrument approach was Needles, CA. This desert spot on the Colorado River sees 350 days of sunshine each year. But on this day, as we descended through snow squalls, turbulence, and onrushing darkness we succumbed to the “any port in a storm” theory. The Motel 6, and Juan’s Taco Shop were a perfect end to a remarkable day.
FOUR
Sunshine made a face saving appearance at Needles after our good nights sleep. Enough, at least, to burn off the fog surrounding the immediate airport environs anyway. Most of the surrounding mountains were obscured by clouds however, so I filed IFR again to fly the low altitude airways to El Paso, TX. “Swing and a miss, strike two!” for the Weather Gods, as this time the forecast was much worse than the reality. Visual Flight Rules (VFR) the whole day! If one thinks of the desert as a “wasteland” then the scene from above was just what one would expect. A lot of nothing. But, green and beautiful after all the recent rain. We were favored with a nice tailwind, which makes the ground pass under our wings at a faster pace. Landing at El Paso International, we fueled Big Bird with 100 LL and ourselves with big salads. There are times when Applebee’s is the best meal on earth! For the pilots out there, the service at Cutter Aviation was among the best ever, and proved to be an indication of the fine Texas hospitality to come.
From ELP, we launched in VFR for San Marcos, Texas. Favorable winds quickly pushed us along over increasingly dramatic terrain. As we flew further east, the desert began to change to a softer, more inviting looking landscape of brush covered hills and verdant river valleys. We raced to beat the sunset as our destination neared, the hills growing greener, the valleys showing signs of population; small towns tucked along the rivers, two lane roads winding between them, and small lakes and reservoirs everywhere. At last, as the sun set behind us, we descended into HYI. It appeared that San Marcos was nestled up against the easternmost edge of the famed “West Texas Hill Country”, where the Blanco, San Marcos, and Guadeloupe Rivers meet the flat land. We had come to Texas for the first time this day and our lifelong prejudices were already beginning to weaken. Our old friend Rick Byars as waiting for us as we taxied to the ramp.
We know Rick and Monica, and their college student kids Ameila and Zach, from the white water rafting community. In fact, we enjoyed a trip down the Middle Fork Salmon with them in the summer of 2004. Insightful enough to figure out early on that rafting was more a vacation than a vocation, both Rick and Monica went on to become college professors. They built their careers and raised their family in the small town of Wimberley while teaching in the Texas University system. Their inviting home on the banks of the beautiful Blanco River is a gem. The setting is very peaceful, and Wimberley is a pleasant little arts village. Annie & I both regret that we had taken so long to get down for a visit and on this trip, did not have the time to go out to the fishing shack on the Gulf coast. We could only stay for three nights but made ourselves a promise to return for more fine Byars hospitality.
FIVE
Now we get to see some landscape that is reported to be totally different from anything that Annie or I have ever seen. From San Marcos to Baton Rouge (BTR) would be 2.5 hours of flying in the sun, according to the forecaster, over the lush Texas lowlands and Louisiana bayous. “Swing and a miss, strike three, yer outta here!” That was for our friends the Weather Gods. Departing San Marcos, ceiling 300, visibility 1/2 mile, we flew in smooth clouds and rain showers for two hours at 5000 feet before finally leaving the clouds behind. Our straight-in approach was directly over the swollen Mississippi River. Taxiing to PAI Aviation, where we would park Big Bird for two nights, we opened the windows as we realized that the 80 degree temperature was the warmest we had experienced since last August! After 17 days away from home we were finally in “the hot”. Boy, it feels really good! We came to Baton Rouge to see cousin Christine perform in “The Exonerated” at the O’Reilly Theater on the LSU campus. The play is a riveting series of short monologs by death row inmates who were eventually exonerated and released. Some after decades behind bars. The performance changed the way we view the system of justice here in the USA, and we highly recommend seeing it.
I had originally planned to land at New Orleans rather than (BTR) for a visit to the tourist Mecca of Bourbon Street and a landing at Lakefront airport. But, serendipity intervened again, this time from the other side of the world, (perhaps sparing us from the also famous “Mardi Gras hangover!”). You see, when our son Rhett was returning from his second trip to Madagascar in January he had a 22 hour layover in London. Annie’s cousin, Christine St. John, has made her home there for many years as a successful theater actress. Rhett had contacted Christine about getting together during his layover and found out that she was just packing for a trip “across the pond” to perform in the play. So, Rhett didn’t get to see Christine, but, because he had hoped too, we learned of her engagement in Baton Rouge! In the end we were glad to scratch New Orleans from the itinerary in favor of Baton Rouge.
Anyway, Christine entertained us both on and off the stage. We had a couple of wonderful Cajun meals, including a literal mountain of boiled crawfish at Sammy’s which, after a few critical pointers from a local diner at the next table, we reduced to a buttery mass of demolished shells. And the crawfish e'touffe‘? Oh my goodness, I have come to understand why many of our Cajun brethren are so large of girth! Delectable dishes come forth from the Cajun kitchens of Louisiana!
SIX
Well, just how many strikes should we give the weather folks? It’s not like they are beginners, although they are good at filling our dance card with the Weather Gods! They missed again for our departure from BTR. Forecast to be clear, it was instead another IFR takeoff. Cleared by the controller to 5000 feet, we ended up between cloud layers for most of the trip across southern LA, MS, and AL. Finally, as we passed over Pensacola, the overcast broke up and we got our first view of the famous Gulf Coast beaches near Destin. Miles of clear sea waves breaking on white sand beaches which are, but for the occasional strip of high rise hotels, pretty much undeveloped and pristine looking. Dodging a few remaining cumulonimbus buildups, we continued to a random fuel stop in N. Florida named Perry. It was a lot of airport (3 W.W.II runways) for such a sleepy little spot. Fortunately, the gas pumps were automated self serve since there were no apparent life forms, other than a few curious vultures, to be found. We weren’t actually looking for serendipity in a backwater town (though that is precisely the kind of place where we DO find it), so we gobbled a handful of peanuts and dried mangos in lieu of a mystery lunch in town, and were off on our final leg to North Palm Beach.
Even though the weather was VMC (visual meteorological conditions) we had still filed IFR. Other than knowing that the airspace around Palm Beach (PBI) was busy, we were unfamiliar with the area and thought the protection and routing priorities offered under IFR would be helpful. Well, I guess it might take a little more local knowledge and less reliance on luck because, we were given six different re-routings from our original flight plan, some nearly opposite our desired direction, and one into worsening weather. No explanations were offered, but we figured out later that we were indeed entering the area through a busy approach corridor for PBI at peak time. As we spent the next few days beside Jim and Susie’s pool and watched the steady stream of afternoon air traffic coming in I realized that our crossways entry was like rubbing a cats fur the wrong way. In this case, the air traffic controller was the cat and I’m surprised that there wasn’t a whole lot of caterwauling. We eventually landed at N. Palm Beach County airport (F45), which was still undergoing repairs from the series of hurricanes that battered Palm Beach in 2004.
Of Annie’s siblings, Jim is the eldest and Anne is the youngest. Jim and wife Sue have had a second home at Lost Tree for more than 20 years. It is a “Top Shelf” gated community; on the beach, with four golf courses and a couple of lakes which offer yacht owners access to the intra-coastal waterway from their private docks built on their estates. These folks are not Wal-Mart shoppers.
Still, Lost Tree is a seriously fine oasis in the midst of the insanely busy commerce of the Florida coast. With beautiful homes and landscaping, and first class amenities for the residents, it’s easy to see why folks wait in line to pay $3 million for a fixer upper.
Jim and Katie were there with their kids Dillon and Cole. We had lots of fun around the pool and dinners at a couple of Susie's’ favorite local spots. After a quick shopping trip to get food items normally not available on Eleuthera, we were ready to plan our first flight to the Bahamas.
SEVEN
“Stationair N25AK, you are cleared the Governors Harbour airport via Freeport, Marsh Harbour, direct Governors Harbour. Fly heading 090, climb and maintain 3000, expect on course and 5000 in one zero minutes.” We are off on our first trip to the Bahamas, our longest ever over water crossing (147 NM), and an adventure of discovery in a new place on the world. How exciting!
The trip out was really quite easy. Perfect visibility, a tailwind, and little air traffic once we were out of PBI airspace allowed us to relax and enjoy the view below. Boats and ships of all descriptions cruised on azure waters only slightly marred by chop.
I mentally did the math for gliding distance to landfall. For a large part of the crossing there was no way the we would be able to make landfall should the engine quit from 5000 feet up. Climbing high enough to accommodate that option was not what we wanted; at some point one must trust the engine. We have done so throughout our flying adventures. In the mountainous west we are rarely within gliding distance to flat ground, much less an airport. This trip was no different. And, if something unexpected did happen, we were prepared to ditch, wearing our inflatable life jackets, and carrying an Emergency Personal Rescue Indicator Beacon, or EPRIB. This device is equipped with an internal GPS unit that, when activated, notifies the nearest rescue station via satellite of the exact location of a down aircraft or vessel in distress. The system is so good that the appropriate Coast Guard station has the GPS coordinates and vessel type within five minutes of EPRIB deployment. Older systems can take hours to pinpoint a location. Needless to say, this technology is a big safety improvement and increases my open water and back country comfort level considerably.
So, we were not much concerned about our chances but rather with the view of these remarkable waters liberally sprinkled with islands, cays (pronounced keys), coral reefs and sand flats, clearly visible through the crystal clear ocean.
We chose our outbound routing to include a flyover of Grand Bahama Island (Freeport) and Great Abaco Island (Marsh Harbour). We wanted to get a look, knowing that it was unlikely that we would spend any time visiting them. Like New Providence Island (Nassau) they are too busy for our tastes. We seek the quiet “out Islands”. Our first destination: Eleuthera.
EIGHT
Making landfall after a prolonged period without being in sight of land has become very easy, thanks to GPS. Punch in a waypoint, and those earth orbiting eyes give course and distance and will get us to our destination within three meters of accuracy. And so, without much of a surprise, there ahead lay Eleuthera, right where it was supposed to be. At the airport two gentlemen were enthusiastic greeters and baggage handlers, taking our pile of dunnage from the airplane to a cart, then into the customs area of the small terminal. After inquiring as to our departure point, Alex, the customs guy, explained the simple process of getting our mountain of baggage through customs. ‘”Anything to declare?“ “Just the wine, then, and these groceries?“ “OK”, and pointing to the first of many beautiful young women we would see each day, he said, “Please go see that lady and she will work out your import exemption and duty”. A few moments of calculations and we were assessed $49 in duties for the modest selection of not to be without Bonterra Wines from California. The duty lady mentioned how surprised she was that we didn’t complain. And I’m thinking, “wow, only $49 to have the only good wine in the Bahamas? Such a deal!”
NINE
So, through customs we go. The men have loaded our gear into a USA car, Chevy Impala. At this development I am mystified. I had only spoken with the rental car man, Mr. Cooper, on the phone from FL. for two minutes. He only wanted to know if we preferred a Jeep or car, and when we would arrive. “Car and about 3 pm local,” said I. That remains the extent of our transaction on this the 5th of March. We have the car and I haven’t had to proffer up my first born! Much less ID, insurance, or money! Thus, with Big Bird tied down and covered, we are off to Hakuna Matata, our beach house, and a couple of weeks of quiet in each others company.
TEN
Now, as several carefree days have passed, I can no longer track the exact chronology of events. Actually, I can’t keep track of the days at all, so I won’t try. Henceforth, until (or if) I manage to keep better pace of writing, I will speak generally of our experience. Governors Harbour is, indeed, a sleepy little harbor village of about 150 years age. On the western side of Eleuthera, it very closely mirrors, as we have learned, the true character of the island. Very quiet, with chickens pecking throughout, it is laid back to the extreme. There are virtually no tourist services here since the Club Med closed, and was torn down, in 2000. The restaurants are native, meaning whatever is available and usually deep fried. There are two grocery stores, neither any bigger than the Gas & Go in Sandpoint (they are both supplied by boat once per week). There is a ferry terminal on Cupids Cay which greets the passenger ferry twice a week. There is another barge for the fuel tank trucks and other heavy equipment that arrives less frequently. Goods for the rest of the island southward come from here. The north end terminus at Harbour Island has its own schedule, owing to the touristy nature of the scene up there. We spent some time at the library, which is housed in a beautiful stone building erected in 1897. It stands on a point of land with ocean on three sides. Folks are proud of their library and its new high speed internet hookup. With ten computers and a WiFi hot spot it can accommodate a large number of users per day. At $5 per hour it is a bargain. I did note that on our three visits it was mostly Anglos using the computers. Locals seemed to favor the research room downstairs for reading the newspapers. Island Farm is the source for fresh vegetables each day, and fresh bread on Tuesdays and Fridays. The farm looks to be about two acres and intensely cultivated. In season during our stay were various lettuces and arugula, beets, broccoli, tomatoes, peppers, chard, basil, and cilantro. We had found the restaurants, with a couple of exceptions, to be unremarkable and horribly expensive, so we were happy to be able to cook at the house.
ELEVEN
With the Island Farm at the ready, we then only needed locate a source for fresh seafood. There is an informal market at Governors Harbour every day at 3 PM. Every day, that is, IF Aaron decides to go fishing! The system for fishing seemed to be common everywhere we went; two men share a boat, one fishing with hook, line, and occasionally a hand net, the other free diving for conch and crawfish. Their catch was sold separately. It was, on several occasions, made clear which of the partners were the divers: blood vessels in the eyes damaged, faces bloated. One fellow even seemed to have suffered a loss of cognitive ability from regularly going too deep and getting the bends. The weather and water determine what is for dinner. The season as well. For instance, tuna, sailfish, wahoo, dolphin and other deep water fish were pretty much out of reach for the local fishers in their 17 foot boats. So, the catch was limited to grouper, snapper, other reef fish, conch, and crawfish (Anglos call them spiny lobster). On the days that Aaron did fish his catch would be determined by the weather and water conditions. If a “norther” is blowing the catch of crawfish would be few or none. If a westerly of sufficient strength blew, then snapper and other reef species would be hard to come by. Thus we found the most dependable supplies to be of grouper and conch. When asked, locals would reply without exception, something like, “I could eat grouper every day!” I do not share the “daily” part of that sentiment, but did enjoy grilling filets on the BBQ. Conch is another matter entirely. It is pounded into some semblance of tenderness, battered, and deep fried. Conch fritters are diced raw conch mixed with a spiced up dough, rolled into balls, and deep fried. Occasionally, one will find a conch salad, which is pretty much a ceviche made with diced conch, lime juice, peppers, and onion. Remember “Super Balls“, those incredibly bouncy little playthings? I think all the white ones ended up in the Bahamas and became conch salad!
Tarpum Bay is a settlement some miles to the south which boasts three fishermen and three small boats. Someone goes out on a daily basis (except when the weather is “bad”). Thus, most days fresh fish are available at 3 PM. And, just as in Governors Harbour, don’t be late! By 3:05. there is a line of Anglos larger than the size of the days catch and one will go away with a snapper or grouper filet or, nothing at all! As the days went by, we realized how prudent we had been to bring some 75 pounds of food from Florida. Same goes for the wine;-)
As far as the crawfish go, they are, well, superb. Similar in every way to lobster without claws, they are harvested with a spear gun while free diving. The fishermen's success on any given day determines the price, but, at worst, we paid $10 for enough for two servings. They grill very well, and are served with only a squeeze of lime and a bit of melted butter. They are exquisite.
So, you see, with some allowance for the learning curve, we have been able to enjoy good eating at our own initiative.
TWELVE
On the rare days when we needed more excitement than a couple of beach walks we would drive to the airport, fuel Big Bird, and launch for lunch on a neighboring island. This didn’t happen often because, in the Bahamas, the proverbial $100 hamburger costs $300 and, we were really comfortable right where we were. So, we flew to Norman’s Cay, New Bight, and Stella Maris. One strip we regret missing was Cape Santa Maria, which always seemed to be booked full and did not provide transportation from the packed coral airstrip to the resort. I informed them that I wanted to see the property with the idea of purchasing one of the new bungalows, but their interest was not measurable. I was surprised at that, having visited some of their Canadian fishing resorts and know them to be first class operations and generally attentive to the clients. Oh well, we’ll be going to Costa Rica in June, maybe we’ll find a winter getaway there.
THIRTEEN
We moved from Eleuthera to Cat Island right on schedule. Fernandez Bay Village is a delightful small resort on a small private beach offering rooms and cottages for up to 60 guests. While we were there only 30 folks where in residence, several of whom had flown their own planes. I passed out a few IAA membership applications after learning that the “Holy Grail” for eastern pilots is to fly out west to Idaho's back country! The food at FBV is quite good and the well stocked outdoor bar is 100% honor system. It is a magic place to watch the sunset each day, and the only place that I have ever seen “the green flash” as the sun disappears. We also enjoyed our first true Bahamian weather (meaning really nice) since our arrival in the Islands. Google Fernandez Bay Village for more info.
FOURTEEN
Next was a quick flight to Long Island and Stella Maris Resort. Famous for years as a fishing mecca, it does show its age. Perched as it is atop the limestone backbone of the island means that one must catch a courtesy bus to any of the nearby beaches. There is good fishing here, and the island is frequently visited by yachties looking for provisions and sportsmen after bonefish and offshore species. My lack of enthusiasm for activities available at Stella Maris had little to do with the resort amenities, and much to do with our desire to begin the journey home to Idaho. With unsettled weather moving into the out islands over the next few days it was easy to decide to go sooner rather than later.
FIFTEEN
So, the next morning we had called US Customs, filed a flight plan for Fort Pierce, FL., cleared Bahamas customs, and launched from Stella Maris airport direct Ft. Pierce. Our route took us over much of what we hadn’t seen on the way out and was a final treat at the end of our stay in the Bahamas.
US Customs was apparently having a slow day. After we moved our mountain of luggage into the building we saw the we were the only clients anywhere in sight. Filling out the forms was easy, then signs directed us to haul the luggage through a hallway to the inspection area. Nobody was in sight so we waited “behind the yellow line”, chatting about our adventure and the need for lunch. We were reminded of lunch again when the customs officer poked his head out of an office, part of a sandwich in hand, another part in his mouth.
“Ooh, bad sign”, I thought. “Nothing worse than making an overworked Federale miss his lunch hour”. But, despite my worst fears, the fellow engaged us in friendly conversation, albeit for more than 30 minutes, probing, I think, for some clues about our mountain of gear, my Panamanian birthplace, our recent travel history, and some of his favorite stories of his youth in Kansas. Eventually we were passed through. Already exhausted by the days efforts we opted for a good meal and a room for the night.
The next morning brought another IFR departure. The airspace is remarkably busy north of Palm Beach and we had two "traffic alert" calls within 5 minutes from ATC while departing Ft. Pierce in IMC. I actually got a glimpse of one of the targets. A Lake Buccaneer pilot wearing a tan shirt, red tie, and blue jacket was inbound as we both momentarily popped in between layers. I never saw the other alert target. Anyway, never a single traffic alert in 25 years flying, then two in 5 minutes while IMC. I’ll take a busy morning in the back country any day!
The weather deteriorated further during our flight to Crystal River. We wanted to swim with the manatees and so shot the VOR A approach to minimums in a driving rain. After securing a hotel room, renting a car, and checking out the manatee options, we had a nice meal at a bay side restaurant. As evening progressed the weather worsened until, at bedtime, it was raining harder that I have ever seen it rain before, and I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. Everything was flooded! The next morning found 40 knot winds, the Crystal River surging with whitecaps and murky water. The forecast: three days of the same, which did NOT include thunderstorms, or swimming, but DID include our departure.
SIXTEEN
So, after packing up the room and turning in the car, we made a quick job of packing 25AK. Our plan for some days had been to look to North Carolina for a stop to visit old friends Steve and Mary Meyer. Sadly, the same storm that spoiled our manatee plans dumped feet of snow in the Charlotte area on that day. Drat! We were getting less and less of where we wanted to go, and yet more of the homing instinct pointing us westward.
At engine startup, I called JAX control on the cellphone to open my IFR flight plan. The guy gave me an eight minute void time, which I could only make if I took off from the taxiway upon which I was parked. I think the FAA frowns on that kind of behavior. So I told the controller that I didn’t think I could taxi to the other end of the airport and complete my run up in 8 minutes, but that I’d try. At 9 minutes, 30 seconds, I called him again and learned that a Cheyenne was 7 miles out on the approach. I started the clock.
I didn’t know that Cheyennes could hover, but something like that must have happened because the big twin took 12 minutes to fly a VOR approach from the IAF. When he landed, I called JAX again asking for my clearance and was informed that the Cheyenne had not called in his cancellation so therefore, even though he was on the ground, I could not be cleared for departure. Good for safety margins, I thought, as I called the Cheyenne on CTAF. “Yep, I’m callin’ the cancellation on the cellphone right now”, said the pilot.
Ten minutes later I had not heard from JAX, so I called him again on the cell. “I don’t have his cancellation” he said, “can you find out who he called?”. You guessed it, the Cheyenne did not call JAX to cancel, but rather Tampa Center which, as a rule doesn’t try very hard to cancel an IFR that doesn’t belong to them.
I called the Cheyenne on CTAF again with the correct phone number for JAX. Two minutes later I called again. JAX informed me that a Merlin freight hauler was on the approach and that there would be further delay. What was worse, the Merlin had been forced to hold at some distance from the IAF while waiting for the Cheyenne to cancel. It would take him longer than the Cheyenne to arrive.
“Well”, I thought, “at least this guy is a regular and will call the right people for his cancellation!” By now, the Cheyenne was idling behind us on the only taxiway, waiting for departure, so we were trapped between a closed runway and a twin that could not turn around. It seemed like an eternity before the Merlin made a successful landing. I was immediately on the phone, battery failing, asking JAX for clearance, when, surprise, the $*^@•$ Merlin hadn’t canceled. Back on CTAF to learn that this guy, a daily arrival at Crystal River had, for some unknown reason, called Gainesville to cancel. And, like Tampa, Gainesville Center doesn’t care much about flight plans that don’t belong to them.
The last chance on a dying cell phone was a call to JAX and, finally, our long awaited release after 40 minutes idling at end of the taxiway.
We bounced around level 2 thunderstorms all morning. Then flew in between layers to Hammond, LA. We shot a contact approach to this large and mostly deserted W.W.II air base, located just east of the busy airspace of Baton Rouge and New Orleans. After fueling, we continued west into improving weather. We saw a great deal of east Texas, enjoyed a scenic detour to the north of Houston’s airspace, and flew the rest of the afternoon in headwinds but clear skies. We landed, once again, at San Marcos (KHYI) just as the sun went down.
SEVENTEEN
“N25AK, remain clear of Class B airspace”. This instruction from PHX approach control 25 miles out was the beginning of the unraveling of an already difficult day that was about to get worse.
Departing KHYI at 8 AM, we climbed out to the west to 6500’, the best altitude for forecast headwinds. The headwinds were just as forecast too; right on our nose at 25 to 35 knots. The sky was clear for a change as we settled in for a bumpy 3.5 hours to El Paso (ELP). It was bumpy, continuous moderate turbulence, just below the autopilot disconnect threshold, and quite tiring. The constant headwind quickly upped our estimated time enroute (ETE) to 4.5 hours, which gets close to nibbling into the fuel reserve. A look at the chart shows a dearth of airports conveniently east of ELP, so, as the headwinds continued to vary our ground speed to between 95 and 115 knots, I was running fuel calculations every 1/4 hour. The 18 wheelers on the Interstate below were moving about as fast as we were!
As we were passing abeam our last refueling opportunity at Pecos we noticed a lessening of the headwind and thus landed at El Paso with an hours fuel remaining on board. After lunch, a short walk, filled fuel tanks and a weather briefing, we decided to push on another 3 hours to Phoenix (PHX).
After three hours of bucking headwinds, moderate turbulence, and an occasional shower, we arrived just south of Phoenix. ”N25AK, remain clear of the Phoenix Class Bravo airspace, radar service terminated, squawk VFR”. Well, welcome to PHX! Our arrival snafu was caused by our VFR departure from ELP. The route Minimum Enroute Altitudes were well above the ceiling and freezing level, meaning ice above us, so we stayed down low flying VFR. Unfortunately, our arrival coincided with a crush of airliners into PHX Sky Harbor. We were going to Deer Valley (DVT) and, coming from the south meant we had to fly right over the top of busy PHX. Thus the “no go” from the controller. So, after 7.5 hours of hard flying we find ourselves short of our destination. There are three skydiving planes operating to our left, an aerobatic plane to the right, and a TFR (temporary flight restriction) around Luke Air Force base for an airshow. We were both wishing we had stayed at the Radisson in El Paso!
After three attempts over 30 minutes, we were able to file an IFR flight plan. A call to the controller to get our clearance was answered with “I can get you in VFR if you’d rather”! Sigh, timing is everything. Total for today was 8.5 very hard hours. I learned later, from a local pilot, that when coming from the W, N, or E, to simply file for Sedona. Then, nearing Sedona, amend the clearance for DVT. Works every time. I’ll do it that way if I ever come up with a reason to return to Phoenix.
At $3.29 per gallon, Cutter Aviation holds the record for the highest fuel I’ve paid in the lower 48. The average price in the Bahamas Out Islands was $3.58. Nonetheless, the service from Cutter is outstanding and included a free shuttle to and from our hotel.
EIGHTEEN
The weather gods were playing games yet again. Our plan to stay in Phoenix for the weekend had been based on Fridays forecast. But Saturday evening it was obvious that the weather picture had changed. High MEA’s on our next legs, and low freezing levels would challenge us again. Sunday looked like the best of the coming days so we made record time packing (I’m talking ten minutes) and hustled to the airport. Leaving PHX airspace is a whole lot easier than entering it!
Forecast occasional moderate turbulence was perhaps a bit optimistic. It was continuous! Headwinds down low were manageable but the turbulence was not. So, we went up to 12,500, where we found a smooth ride in exchange for 40 knot headwinds. Since I always try to go where the ride is smooth we stayed up there. It turned out to be the best move, as the snow covered, cloud shrouded mountains surrounding the LA basin required us to be up that high. Head winds remained strong until we descended into Bakersfield for fuel and lunch at the airport restaurant listed in the AOPA airport facilities guide.
The restaurant was closed, the self serve pumps 400 yards from the nearest toilet. I got a weather briefing on the cellphone for the flight up to Placerville. Although we stood in bright sunshine, it didn’t sound good; showers, occasional low ceilings, isolated thunderstorms, but VFR down low and the headwinds had finally gone away.
Flying up the central valley of California is truly a marvelous experience. In March it is lush and green beyond imagining. The sun to the west worked its way through the broken cloud cover regularly, lighting up the bright green fields, orchards, ponds and streams. Scattered bands of rain showers to the west and north shared the view ahead with the beams of sunshine. To the east, the foothills, were a different story. The Sierra Nevada mountains were causing the clouds to stall and build up. The scene was very dark, roiling clouds, lots of rain, and wind shear. We were beginning to think about alternatives.
As we neared the Linden VOR, we heard a pilot report from Merced (50 miles south) that a “funnel cloud” had popped up and then vanished. We were looking at our intended flight path*as a large and very dark cloud began to sag and spin about ten miles ahead. That was enough for us! “Nor Cal approach, N25AK is diverting to Modesto for landing to avoid what looks like a tornado forming”. “Roger 5AK, there have been two others reported in the area within the past few minutes”. Tornados in the Sacramento Valley? What's up with that? Well, at least we can be certain that it has nothing to do with climate change (global warming). Majah Rushie says so!
We landed at MOD at 5 PM, got great service from Sky Trek Aviation, including a courtesy car to take to dinner. When we returned an hour later we learned that a tornado with hail had landed on the airport! It sucked the glass doors of the building open and blew all kinds of loose paperwork out the doors! The guys said that the airplane was rocking around a bit, but our inspection showed no damage. We retired to a very comfortable hotel room in downtown Modesto and were glad to be there.
After our excitement with this most uncommon weather, and a good nights sleep at The Double Tree downtown, our morning flight to Placerville was uneventful. Other than the astonishing beauty of the central valley in full bloom, that is. Fields of every kind of crop were lush and green to the extreme, while most orchards were a riot of color from the blossoms. Everything sparkled in the morning sun as we set up for landing at PVF for a few days visiting our daughter and son in law again.
The final leg of our long journey was a familiar one, as we fly the round trip from our base to PVF frequently. Flying the west side of the Sierra Nevada, cutting east of Mt. Shasta, then along the east side of the Cascades is much to beautiful to describe as routine but, there ya have it, routine it is for us and we feel truly blessed to live where that kind of beauty and adventure is an everyday experience.
So then, here we are back at our wonderful home on the lake. Spring has arrived and we are busy readying the gardens for a magnificent summer. And planning our next winter escape in the Cessna!
We have flown the Cessna 206 across the USA on more than one occasion, usually with a destination in mind but no set route. Weather often defines our course and serendipity creates the adventure. This trip to the Bahamas was planned differently from all the others in that there was a plan. A schedule, even!
At home in Sandpoint, we had enjoyed three weeks of cool and unusually dry weather. Our departure window was February 6 through February 12 and, as weather always plays a significant role in flight decisions in the mountains, I was carefully plotting the trends in the days prior to the 6th. Not surprisingly, the weather Gods mixed their magic and made us dance! The first of many dance steps included our being packed and ready to go on February 1.
Flying small airplanes in icy clouds is a deadly practice, and one we avoid at all costs. The challenge is that in the mountains of the West, in winter, the freezing level is often on the ground. Thus, clouds harbor deadly ice more often than not and, in those conditions, we keep the plane in the hangar. So, in the final days of January we watched the long range forecasts paint an unending string of low pressure systems coming down from the Gulf of Alaska. It was a promise of a "normal" winter scene in the northern Rockies; blizzards of snow and ice in good measure. So, I decided to go on February 2, before the storm train got to town. We were dancing with the weather Gods already!
Annie had obligations in Sandpoint through the 6th and planned to catch up with me and “Big Bird” in Placerville, California. Reading further you may have note that our “planned differently from the beginning” plans were doomed before we even got started!
Thinking that I had wisely chosen the last day of good weather, I launched on the morning of February 2, pointed southwest. Flying at 12,000 feet in blue skies, I thought about what might await me in the four days before meeting Annie. First I thought about visiting the Trendlers' in Eugene: nope, fogged in. My Mom in Roseburg? Conditions were the same as in Eugene. Tim and Terry in Arcata? Visibility zero/zero. Hmmm, let’s try a new dance.
Talking by radio to the Flight Service Specialist I learned that the fog was widespread along the coast and interior valleys but the foothills, and a few fortunate airports in the coast range were clear. I had never flown in to Santa Rosa, CA., so I headed there. I remembered a long ago visit to the nearby village of Calistoga, famous for its hot springs and spas. By the time I had landed at STS, I knew that “taking the waters” was just what the doctor ordered! I highly recommend a bungalow at Indian Springs Spa as a worthwhile way to spend a couple of relaxing days. Sadly, the airport at Calistoga closed some years ago, to make way for some development that never happened. What a pleasure it was to taxi off the runway and park behind my own bungalow!
TWO
On February 4, I flew in clear skies up to Ukiah for a fascinating tour of the Fetzer Winery with Snake and Paula. I had planned to take Paula for an aerial tour of the valley (Snake had to return to work), but lunch and a tour of their home and gardens was so much fun that we ran out of time. Rain check, OK Paula? Climbing out of UKH I could see that most of the central valley of California was fogged in but, true to the forecast, the foothills were clear. It was a smooth hour long flight to Placerville, where I would stay with my daughter Amber and her husband Allan until Annie arrived.
After a few days in PVF, we joined Barbara and David Thomas for a trip to San Francisco. The Weather Gods took a mighty swing at a crummy forecast, and missed, as we enjoyed sunny skies and warm temperatures. We wandered for miles through Chinatown, North Beach, the Marina District, Golden Gate Park, laughing and eating all the while. As always, time spent with our dear friends is a fine gift no matter where we are. During our stay in PVF, I flew Allan up to Auburn where I got an Instrument Proficiency Check from a senior flight instructor. Passed with “flying colors” as they say. Now current to fly on instruments, proficient enough for comfort, and far enough south to have no worries about ice, it was time once again to dance with the Weather Gods.
The endless string of low pressure systems from Alaska which prompted my early departure from Sandpoint undertook their own dance as well; the Fast Shuffle. Instead of careening into the Pacific Northwest bringing blizzards and feet of snow to Idaho as is normal for the season, they took the southbound express elevator right down the coast. The resultant deluge*was covered daily on the television news describing some areas of CA as having received a years worth of rain in less than a month. “Swing and a miss, strike One!” The first of these storms hit on the morning of our departure from PVF. I wondered what tune the Weather Gods would play for this dance?
Pause for a technical interlude. In order to fly in instrument conditions (meaning that one cannot see the ground or the horizon), one must possess, and understand, en-route and terminal charts, and approach procedure plates for the route. Since I had never flown in the SE section of the USA I did not have any of these charts. So in January I ordered a “Trip Kit” from Jeppessen, for delivery in PVF on February 15, which included everything necessary for IFR (instrument flight rules) flight. The Weather Gods must be drinking buddies with the Freight Dogs because, somehow, “delivery date” got changed to “ship date”, and the six inch stack of charts necessary for our next month of flying did not arrive as scheduled! No charts, no departure. A quick call to Jepp (right at closing), an explanation of the dilemma, and somehow those folks got a second kit out the door, overnight delivery. The following morning, as I loaded Big Bird, Annie waited at Amber's’ house for the package. Incredibly, it arrived before noon. We were quickly airborne and only a couple of hours behind our best case scenario! Wow, those Freight Dogs are Gods after all!
THREE
Oh, did I mention the storms coming from the Gulf of Alaska? They got to PVF on the morning of our departure: ceiling indefinite, visibility 1/4 mile in fog and mist. But, hey, no ice, no turbulence, so off we went, flying in and out of clouds, between cloud layers, and rain showers. Ice was prevalent at the altitudes necessary for crossing the Sierra Nevada, (in fact, a Cirrus SR 22 went down only 50 miles away, reportedly iced up, just hours before our departure. The sole occupant did not survive) so we flew a southbound course, on the west side of the mountains. We expected the weather to clear near Palm Springs as forecast, but it did so only briefly over Edwards AFB. By the time we learned that our planned stop at Sedona was socked in we decided that a pit stop was called for. The nearest airport with an instrument approach was Needles, CA. This desert spot on the Colorado River sees 350 days of sunshine each year. But on this day, as we descended through snow squalls, turbulence, and onrushing darkness we succumbed to the “any port in a storm” theory. The Motel 6, and Juan’s Taco Shop were a perfect end to a remarkable day.
FOUR
Sunshine made a face saving appearance at Needles after our good nights sleep. Enough, at least, to burn off the fog surrounding the immediate airport environs anyway. Most of the surrounding mountains were obscured by clouds however, so I filed IFR again to fly the low altitude airways to El Paso, TX. “Swing and a miss, strike two!” for the Weather Gods, as this time the forecast was much worse than the reality. Visual Flight Rules (VFR) the whole day! If one thinks of the desert as a “wasteland” then the scene from above was just what one would expect. A lot of nothing. But, green and beautiful after all the recent rain. We were favored with a nice tailwind, which makes the ground pass under our wings at a faster pace. Landing at El Paso International, we fueled Big Bird with 100 LL and ourselves with big salads. There are times when Applebee’s is the best meal on earth! For the pilots out there, the service at Cutter Aviation was among the best ever, and proved to be an indication of the fine Texas hospitality to come.
From ELP, we launched in VFR for San Marcos, Texas. Favorable winds quickly pushed us along over increasingly dramatic terrain. As we flew further east, the desert began to change to a softer, more inviting looking landscape of brush covered hills and verdant river valleys. We raced to beat the sunset as our destination neared, the hills growing greener, the valleys showing signs of population; small towns tucked along the rivers, two lane roads winding between them, and small lakes and reservoirs everywhere. At last, as the sun set behind us, we descended into HYI. It appeared that San Marcos was nestled up against the easternmost edge of the famed “West Texas Hill Country”, where the Blanco, San Marcos, and Guadeloupe Rivers meet the flat land. We had come to Texas for the first time this day and our lifelong prejudices were already beginning to weaken. Our old friend Rick Byars as waiting for us as we taxied to the ramp.
We know Rick and Monica, and their college student kids Ameila and Zach, from the white water rafting community. In fact, we enjoyed a trip down the Middle Fork Salmon with them in the summer of 2004. Insightful enough to figure out early on that rafting was more a vacation than a vocation, both Rick and Monica went on to become college professors. They built their careers and raised their family in the small town of Wimberley while teaching in the Texas University system. Their inviting home on the banks of the beautiful Blanco River is a gem. The setting is very peaceful, and Wimberley is a pleasant little arts village. Annie & I both regret that we had taken so long to get down for a visit and on this trip, did not have the time to go out to the fishing shack on the Gulf coast. We could only stay for three nights but made ourselves a promise to return for more fine Byars hospitality.
FIVE
Now we get to see some landscape that is reported to be totally different from anything that Annie or I have ever seen. From San Marcos to Baton Rouge (BTR) would be 2.5 hours of flying in the sun, according to the forecaster, over the lush Texas lowlands and Louisiana bayous. “Swing and a miss, strike three, yer outta here!” That was for our friends the Weather Gods. Departing San Marcos, ceiling 300, visibility 1/2 mile, we flew in smooth clouds and rain showers for two hours at 5000 feet before finally leaving the clouds behind. Our straight-in approach was directly over the swollen Mississippi River. Taxiing to PAI Aviation, where we would park Big Bird for two nights, we opened the windows as we realized that the 80 degree temperature was the warmest we had experienced since last August! After 17 days away from home we were finally in “the hot”. Boy, it feels really good! We came to Baton Rouge to see cousin Christine perform in “The Exonerated” at the O’Reilly Theater on the LSU campus. The play is a riveting series of short monologs by death row inmates who were eventually exonerated and released. Some after decades behind bars. The performance changed the way we view the system of justice here in the USA, and we highly recommend seeing it.
I had originally planned to land at New Orleans rather than (BTR) for a visit to the tourist Mecca of Bourbon Street and a landing at Lakefront airport. But, serendipity intervened again, this time from the other side of the world, (perhaps sparing us from the also famous “Mardi Gras hangover!”). You see, when our son Rhett was returning from his second trip to Madagascar in January he had a 22 hour layover in London. Annie’s cousin, Christine St. John, has made her home there for many years as a successful theater actress. Rhett had contacted Christine about getting together during his layover and found out that she was just packing for a trip “across the pond” to perform in the play. So, Rhett didn’t get to see Christine, but, because he had hoped too, we learned of her engagement in Baton Rouge! In the end we were glad to scratch New Orleans from the itinerary in favor of Baton Rouge.
Anyway, Christine entertained us both on and off the stage. We had a couple of wonderful Cajun meals, including a literal mountain of boiled crawfish at Sammy’s which, after a few critical pointers from a local diner at the next table, we reduced to a buttery mass of demolished shells. And the crawfish e'touffe‘? Oh my goodness, I have come to understand why many of our Cajun brethren are so large of girth! Delectable dishes come forth from the Cajun kitchens of Louisiana!
SIX
Well, just how many strikes should we give the weather folks? It’s not like they are beginners, although they are good at filling our dance card with the Weather Gods! They missed again for our departure from BTR. Forecast to be clear, it was instead another IFR takeoff. Cleared by the controller to 5000 feet, we ended up between cloud layers for most of the trip across southern LA, MS, and AL. Finally, as we passed over Pensacola, the overcast broke up and we got our first view of the famous Gulf Coast beaches near Destin. Miles of clear sea waves breaking on white sand beaches which are, but for the occasional strip of high rise hotels, pretty much undeveloped and pristine looking. Dodging a few remaining cumulonimbus buildups, we continued to a random fuel stop in N. Florida named Perry. It was a lot of airport (3 W.W.II runways) for such a sleepy little spot. Fortunately, the gas pumps were automated self serve since there were no apparent life forms, other than a few curious vultures, to be found. We weren’t actually looking for serendipity in a backwater town (though that is precisely the kind of place where we DO find it), so we gobbled a handful of peanuts and dried mangos in lieu of a mystery lunch in town, and were off on our final leg to North Palm Beach.
Even though the weather was VMC (visual meteorological conditions) we had still filed IFR. Other than knowing that the airspace around Palm Beach (PBI) was busy, we were unfamiliar with the area and thought the protection and routing priorities offered under IFR would be helpful. Well, I guess it might take a little more local knowledge and less reliance on luck because, we were given six different re-routings from our original flight plan, some nearly opposite our desired direction, and one into worsening weather. No explanations were offered, but we figured out later that we were indeed entering the area through a busy approach corridor for PBI at peak time. As we spent the next few days beside Jim and Susie’s pool and watched the steady stream of afternoon air traffic coming in I realized that our crossways entry was like rubbing a cats fur the wrong way. In this case, the air traffic controller was the cat and I’m surprised that there wasn’t a whole lot of caterwauling. We eventually landed at N. Palm Beach County airport (F45), which was still undergoing repairs from the series of hurricanes that battered Palm Beach in 2004.
Of Annie’s siblings, Jim is the eldest and Anne is the youngest. Jim and wife Sue have had a second home at Lost Tree for more than 20 years. It is a “Top Shelf” gated community; on the beach, with four golf courses and a couple of lakes which offer yacht owners access to the intra-coastal waterway from their private docks built on their estates. These folks are not Wal-Mart shoppers.
Still, Lost Tree is a seriously fine oasis in the midst of the insanely busy commerce of the Florida coast. With beautiful homes and landscaping, and first class amenities for the residents, it’s easy to see why folks wait in line to pay $3 million for a fixer upper.
Jim and Katie were there with their kids Dillon and Cole. We had lots of fun around the pool and dinners at a couple of Susie's’ favorite local spots. After a quick shopping trip to get food items normally not available on Eleuthera, we were ready to plan our first flight to the Bahamas.
SEVEN
“Stationair N25AK, you are cleared the Governors Harbour airport via Freeport, Marsh Harbour, direct Governors Harbour. Fly heading 090, climb and maintain 3000, expect on course and 5000 in one zero minutes.” We are off on our first trip to the Bahamas, our longest ever over water crossing (147 NM), and an adventure of discovery in a new place on the world. How exciting!
The trip out was really quite easy. Perfect visibility, a tailwind, and little air traffic once we were out of PBI airspace allowed us to relax and enjoy the view below. Boats and ships of all descriptions cruised on azure waters only slightly marred by chop.
I mentally did the math for gliding distance to landfall. For a large part of the crossing there was no way the we would be able to make landfall should the engine quit from 5000 feet up. Climbing high enough to accommodate that option was not what we wanted; at some point one must trust the engine. We have done so throughout our flying adventures. In the mountainous west we are rarely within gliding distance to flat ground, much less an airport. This trip was no different. And, if something unexpected did happen, we were prepared to ditch, wearing our inflatable life jackets, and carrying an Emergency Personal Rescue Indicator Beacon, or EPRIB. This device is equipped with an internal GPS unit that, when activated, notifies the nearest rescue station via satellite of the exact location of a down aircraft or vessel in distress. The system is so good that the appropriate Coast Guard station has the GPS coordinates and vessel type within five minutes of EPRIB deployment. Older systems can take hours to pinpoint a location. Needless to say, this technology is a big safety improvement and increases my open water and back country comfort level considerably.
So, we were not much concerned about our chances but rather with the view of these remarkable waters liberally sprinkled with islands, cays (pronounced keys), coral reefs and sand flats, clearly visible through the crystal clear ocean.
We chose our outbound routing to include a flyover of Grand Bahama Island (Freeport) and Great Abaco Island (Marsh Harbour). We wanted to get a look, knowing that it was unlikely that we would spend any time visiting them. Like New Providence Island (Nassau) they are too busy for our tastes. We seek the quiet “out Islands”. Our first destination: Eleuthera.
EIGHT
Making landfall after a prolonged period without being in sight of land has become very easy, thanks to GPS. Punch in a waypoint, and those earth orbiting eyes give course and distance and will get us to our destination within three meters of accuracy. And so, without much of a surprise, there ahead lay Eleuthera, right where it was supposed to be. At the airport two gentlemen were enthusiastic greeters and baggage handlers, taking our pile of dunnage from the airplane to a cart, then into the customs area of the small terminal. After inquiring as to our departure point, Alex, the customs guy, explained the simple process of getting our mountain of baggage through customs. ‘”Anything to declare?“ “Just the wine, then, and these groceries?“ “OK”, and pointing to the first of many beautiful young women we would see each day, he said, “Please go see that lady and she will work out your import exemption and duty”. A few moments of calculations and we were assessed $49 in duties for the modest selection of not to be without Bonterra Wines from California. The duty lady mentioned how surprised she was that we didn’t complain. And I’m thinking, “wow, only $49 to have the only good wine in the Bahamas? Such a deal!”
NINE
So, through customs we go. The men have loaded our gear into a USA car, Chevy Impala. At this development I am mystified. I had only spoken with the rental car man, Mr. Cooper, on the phone from FL. for two minutes. He only wanted to know if we preferred a Jeep or car, and when we would arrive. “Car and about 3 pm local,” said I. That remains the extent of our transaction on this the 5th of March. We have the car and I haven’t had to proffer up my first born! Much less ID, insurance, or money! Thus, with Big Bird tied down and covered, we are off to Hakuna Matata, our beach house, and a couple of weeks of quiet in each others company.
TEN
Now, as several carefree days have passed, I can no longer track the exact chronology of events. Actually, I can’t keep track of the days at all, so I won’t try. Henceforth, until (or if) I manage to keep better pace of writing, I will speak generally of our experience. Governors Harbour is, indeed, a sleepy little harbor village of about 150 years age. On the western side of Eleuthera, it very closely mirrors, as we have learned, the true character of the island. Very quiet, with chickens pecking throughout, it is laid back to the extreme. There are virtually no tourist services here since the Club Med closed, and was torn down, in 2000. The restaurants are native, meaning whatever is available and usually deep fried. There are two grocery stores, neither any bigger than the Gas & Go in Sandpoint (they are both supplied by boat once per week). There is a ferry terminal on Cupids Cay which greets the passenger ferry twice a week. There is another barge for the fuel tank trucks and other heavy equipment that arrives less frequently. Goods for the rest of the island southward come from here. The north end terminus at Harbour Island has its own schedule, owing to the touristy nature of the scene up there. We spent some time at the library, which is housed in a beautiful stone building erected in 1897. It stands on a point of land with ocean on three sides. Folks are proud of their library and its new high speed internet hookup. With ten computers and a WiFi hot spot it can accommodate a large number of users per day. At $5 per hour it is a bargain. I did note that on our three visits it was mostly Anglos using the computers. Locals seemed to favor the research room downstairs for reading the newspapers. Island Farm is the source for fresh vegetables each day, and fresh bread on Tuesdays and Fridays. The farm looks to be about two acres and intensely cultivated. In season during our stay were various lettuces and arugula, beets, broccoli, tomatoes, peppers, chard, basil, and cilantro. We had found the restaurants, with a couple of exceptions, to be unremarkable and horribly expensive, so we were happy to be able to cook at the house.
ELEVEN
With the Island Farm at the ready, we then only needed locate a source for fresh seafood. There is an informal market at Governors Harbour every day at 3 PM. Every day, that is, IF Aaron decides to go fishing! The system for fishing seemed to be common everywhere we went; two men share a boat, one fishing with hook, line, and occasionally a hand net, the other free diving for conch and crawfish. Their catch was sold separately. It was, on several occasions, made clear which of the partners were the divers: blood vessels in the eyes damaged, faces bloated. One fellow even seemed to have suffered a loss of cognitive ability from regularly going too deep and getting the bends. The weather and water determine what is for dinner. The season as well. For instance, tuna, sailfish, wahoo, dolphin and other deep water fish were pretty much out of reach for the local fishers in their 17 foot boats. So, the catch was limited to grouper, snapper, other reef fish, conch, and crawfish (Anglos call them spiny lobster). On the days that Aaron did fish his catch would be determined by the weather and water conditions. If a “norther” is blowing the catch of crawfish would be few or none. If a westerly of sufficient strength blew, then snapper and other reef species would be hard to come by. Thus we found the most dependable supplies to be of grouper and conch. When asked, locals would reply without exception, something like, “I could eat grouper every day!” I do not share the “daily” part of that sentiment, but did enjoy grilling filets on the BBQ. Conch is another matter entirely. It is pounded into some semblance of tenderness, battered, and deep fried. Conch fritters are diced raw conch mixed with a spiced up dough, rolled into balls, and deep fried. Occasionally, one will find a conch salad, which is pretty much a ceviche made with diced conch, lime juice, peppers, and onion. Remember “Super Balls“, those incredibly bouncy little playthings? I think all the white ones ended up in the Bahamas and became conch salad!
Tarpum Bay is a settlement some miles to the south which boasts three fishermen and three small boats. Someone goes out on a daily basis (except when the weather is “bad”). Thus, most days fresh fish are available at 3 PM. And, just as in Governors Harbour, don’t be late! By 3:05. there is a line of Anglos larger than the size of the days catch and one will go away with a snapper or grouper filet or, nothing at all! As the days went by, we realized how prudent we had been to bring some 75 pounds of food from Florida. Same goes for the wine;-)
As far as the crawfish go, they are, well, superb. Similar in every way to lobster without claws, they are harvested with a spear gun while free diving. The fishermen's success on any given day determines the price, but, at worst, we paid $10 for enough for two servings. They grill very well, and are served with only a squeeze of lime and a bit of melted butter. They are exquisite.
So, you see, with some allowance for the learning curve, we have been able to enjoy good eating at our own initiative.
TWELVE
On the rare days when we needed more excitement than a couple of beach walks we would drive to the airport, fuel Big Bird, and launch for lunch on a neighboring island. This didn’t happen often because, in the Bahamas, the proverbial $100 hamburger costs $300 and, we were really comfortable right where we were. So, we flew to Norman’s Cay, New Bight, and Stella Maris. One strip we regret missing was Cape Santa Maria, which always seemed to be booked full and did not provide transportation from the packed coral airstrip to the resort. I informed them that I wanted to see the property with the idea of purchasing one of the new bungalows, but their interest was not measurable. I was surprised at that, having visited some of their Canadian fishing resorts and know them to be first class operations and generally attentive to the clients. Oh well, we’ll be going to Costa Rica in June, maybe we’ll find a winter getaway there.
THIRTEEN
We moved from Eleuthera to Cat Island right on schedule. Fernandez Bay Village is a delightful small resort on a small private beach offering rooms and cottages for up to 60 guests. While we were there only 30 folks where in residence, several of whom had flown their own planes. I passed out a few IAA membership applications after learning that the “Holy Grail” for eastern pilots is to fly out west to Idaho's back country! The food at FBV is quite good and the well stocked outdoor bar is 100% honor system. It is a magic place to watch the sunset each day, and the only place that I have ever seen “the green flash” as the sun disappears. We also enjoyed our first true Bahamian weather (meaning really nice) since our arrival in the Islands. Google Fernandez Bay Village for more info.
FOURTEEN
Next was a quick flight to Long Island and Stella Maris Resort. Famous for years as a fishing mecca, it does show its age. Perched as it is atop the limestone backbone of the island means that one must catch a courtesy bus to any of the nearby beaches. There is good fishing here, and the island is frequently visited by yachties looking for provisions and sportsmen after bonefish and offshore species. My lack of enthusiasm for activities available at Stella Maris had little to do with the resort amenities, and much to do with our desire to begin the journey home to Idaho. With unsettled weather moving into the out islands over the next few days it was easy to decide to go sooner rather than later.
FIFTEEN
So, the next morning we had called US Customs, filed a flight plan for Fort Pierce, FL., cleared Bahamas customs, and launched from Stella Maris airport direct Ft. Pierce. Our route took us over much of what we hadn’t seen on the way out and was a final treat at the end of our stay in the Bahamas.
US Customs was apparently having a slow day. After we moved our mountain of luggage into the building we saw the we were the only clients anywhere in sight. Filling out the forms was easy, then signs directed us to haul the luggage through a hallway to the inspection area. Nobody was in sight so we waited “behind the yellow line”, chatting about our adventure and the need for lunch. We were reminded of lunch again when the customs officer poked his head out of an office, part of a sandwich in hand, another part in his mouth.
“Ooh, bad sign”, I thought. “Nothing worse than making an overworked Federale miss his lunch hour”. But, despite my worst fears, the fellow engaged us in friendly conversation, albeit for more than 30 minutes, probing, I think, for some clues about our mountain of gear, my Panamanian birthplace, our recent travel history, and some of his favorite stories of his youth in Kansas. Eventually we were passed through. Already exhausted by the days efforts we opted for a good meal and a room for the night.
The next morning brought another IFR departure. The airspace is remarkably busy north of Palm Beach and we had two "traffic alert" calls within 5 minutes from ATC while departing Ft. Pierce in IMC. I actually got a glimpse of one of the targets. A Lake Buccaneer pilot wearing a tan shirt, red tie, and blue jacket was inbound as we both momentarily popped in between layers. I never saw the other alert target. Anyway, never a single traffic alert in 25 years flying, then two in 5 minutes while IMC. I’ll take a busy morning in the back country any day!
The weather deteriorated further during our flight to Crystal River. We wanted to swim with the manatees and so shot the VOR A approach to minimums in a driving rain. After securing a hotel room, renting a car, and checking out the manatee options, we had a nice meal at a bay side restaurant. As evening progressed the weather worsened until, at bedtime, it was raining harder that I have ever seen it rain before, and I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. Everything was flooded! The next morning found 40 knot winds, the Crystal River surging with whitecaps and murky water. The forecast: three days of the same, which did NOT include thunderstorms, or swimming, but DID include our departure.
SIXTEEN
So, after packing up the room and turning in the car, we made a quick job of packing 25AK. Our plan for some days had been to look to North Carolina for a stop to visit old friends Steve and Mary Meyer. Sadly, the same storm that spoiled our manatee plans dumped feet of snow in the Charlotte area on that day. Drat! We were getting less and less of where we wanted to go, and yet more of the homing instinct pointing us westward.
At engine startup, I called JAX control on the cellphone to open my IFR flight plan. The guy gave me an eight minute void time, which I could only make if I took off from the taxiway upon which I was parked. I think the FAA frowns on that kind of behavior. So I told the controller that I didn’t think I could taxi to the other end of the airport and complete my run up in 8 minutes, but that I’d try. At 9 minutes, 30 seconds, I called him again and learned that a Cheyenne was 7 miles out on the approach. I started the clock.
I didn’t know that Cheyennes could hover, but something like that must have happened because the big twin took 12 minutes to fly a VOR approach from the IAF. When he landed, I called JAX again asking for my clearance and was informed that the Cheyenne had not called in his cancellation so therefore, even though he was on the ground, I could not be cleared for departure. Good for safety margins, I thought, as I called the Cheyenne on CTAF. “Yep, I’m callin’ the cancellation on the cellphone right now”, said the pilot.
Ten minutes later I had not heard from JAX, so I called him again on the cell. “I don’t have his cancellation” he said, “can you find out who he called?”. You guessed it, the Cheyenne did not call JAX to cancel, but rather Tampa Center which, as a rule doesn’t try very hard to cancel an IFR that doesn’t belong to them.
I called the Cheyenne on CTAF again with the correct phone number for JAX. Two minutes later I called again. JAX informed me that a Merlin freight hauler was on the approach and that there would be further delay. What was worse, the Merlin had been forced to hold at some distance from the IAF while waiting for the Cheyenne to cancel. It would take him longer than the Cheyenne to arrive.
“Well”, I thought, “at least this guy is a regular and will call the right people for his cancellation!” By now, the Cheyenne was idling behind us on the only taxiway, waiting for departure, so we were trapped between a closed runway and a twin that could not turn around. It seemed like an eternity before the Merlin made a successful landing. I was immediately on the phone, battery failing, asking JAX for clearance, when, surprise, the $*^@•$ Merlin hadn’t canceled. Back on CTAF to learn that this guy, a daily arrival at Crystal River had, for some unknown reason, called Gainesville to cancel. And, like Tampa, Gainesville Center doesn’t care much about flight plans that don’t belong to them.
The last chance on a dying cell phone was a call to JAX and, finally, our long awaited release after 40 minutes idling at end of the taxiway.
We bounced around level 2 thunderstorms all morning. Then flew in between layers to Hammond, LA. We shot a contact approach to this large and mostly deserted W.W.II air base, located just east of the busy airspace of Baton Rouge and New Orleans. After fueling, we continued west into improving weather. We saw a great deal of east Texas, enjoyed a scenic detour to the north of Houston’s airspace, and flew the rest of the afternoon in headwinds but clear skies. We landed, once again, at San Marcos (KHYI) just as the sun went down.
SEVENTEEN
“N25AK, remain clear of Class B airspace”. This instruction from PHX approach control 25 miles out was the beginning of the unraveling of an already difficult day that was about to get worse.
Departing KHYI at 8 AM, we climbed out to the west to 6500’, the best altitude for forecast headwinds. The headwinds were just as forecast too; right on our nose at 25 to 35 knots. The sky was clear for a change as we settled in for a bumpy 3.5 hours to El Paso (ELP). It was bumpy, continuous moderate turbulence, just below the autopilot disconnect threshold, and quite tiring. The constant headwind quickly upped our estimated time enroute (ETE) to 4.5 hours, which gets close to nibbling into the fuel reserve. A look at the chart shows a dearth of airports conveniently east of ELP, so, as the headwinds continued to vary our ground speed to between 95 and 115 knots, I was running fuel calculations every 1/4 hour. The 18 wheelers on the Interstate below were moving about as fast as we were!
As we were passing abeam our last refueling opportunity at Pecos we noticed a lessening of the headwind and thus landed at El Paso with an hours fuel remaining on board. After lunch, a short walk, filled fuel tanks and a weather briefing, we decided to push on another 3 hours to Phoenix (PHX).
After three hours of bucking headwinds, moderate turbulence, and an occasional shower, we arrived just south of Phoenix. ”N25AK, remain clear of the Phoenix Class Bravo airspace, radar service terminated, squawk VFR”. Well, welcome to PHX! Our arrival snafu was caused by our VFR departure from ELP. The route Minimum Enroute Altitudes were well above the ceiling and freezing level, meaning ice above us, so we stayed down low flying VFR. Unfortunately, our arrival coincided with a crush of airliners into PHX Sky Harbor. We were going to Deer Valley (DVT) and, coming from the south meant we had to fly right over the top of busy PHX. Thus the “no go” from the controller. So, after 7.5 hours of hard flying we find ourselves short of our destination. There are three skydiving planes operating to our left, an aerobatic plane to the right, and a TFR (temporary flight restriction) around Luke Air Force base for an airshow. We were both wishing we had stayed at the Radisson in El Paso!
After three attempts over 30 minutes, we were able to file an IFR flight plan. A call to the controller to get our clearance was answered with “I can get you in VFR if you’d rather”! Sigh, timing is everything. Total for today was 8.5 very hard hours. I learned later, from a local pilot, that when coming from the W, N, or E, to simply file for Sedona. Then, nearing Sedona, amend the clearance for DVT. Works every time. I’ll do it that way if I ever come up with a reason to return to Phoenix.
At $3.29 per gallon, Cutter Aviation holds the record for the highest fuel I’ve paid in the lower 48. The average price in the Bahamas Out Islands was $3.58. Nonetheless, the service from Cutter is outstanding and included a free shuttle to and from our hotel.
EIGHTEEN
The weather gods were playing games yet again. Our plan to stay in Phoenix for the weekend had been based on Fridays forecast. But Saturday evening it was obvious that the weather picture had changed. High MEA’s on our next legs, and low freezing levels would challenge us again. Sunday looked like the best of the coming days so we made record time packing (I’m talking ten minutes) and hustled to the airport. Leaving PHX airspace is a whole lot easier than entering it!
Forecast occasional moderate turbulence was perhaps a bit optimistic. It was continuous! Headwinds down low were manageable but the turbulence was not. So, we went up to 12,500, where we found a smooth ride in exchange for 40 knot headwinds. Since I always try to go where the ride is smooth we stayed up there. It turned out to be the best move, as the snow covered, cloud shrouded mountains surrounding the LA basin required us to be up that high. Head winds remained strong until we descended into Bakersfield for fuel and lunch at the airport restaurant listed in the AOPA airport facilities guide.
The restaurant was closed, the self serve pumps 400 yards from the nearest toilet. I got a weather briefing on the cellphone for the flight up to Placerville. Although we stood in bright sunshine, it didn’t sound good; showers, occasional low ceilings, isolated thunderstorms, but VFR down low and the headwinds had finally gone away.
Flying up the central valley of California is truly a marvelous experience. In March it is lush and green beyond imagining. The sun to the west worked its way through the broken cloud cover regularly, lighting up the bright green fields, orchards, ponds and streams. Scattered bands of rain showers to the west and north shared the view ahead with the beams of sunshine. To the east, the foothills, were a different story. The Sierra Nevada mountains were causing the clouds to stall and build up. The scene was very dark, roiling clouds, lots of rain, and wind shear. We were beginning to think about alternatives.
As we neared the Linden VOR, we heard a pilot report from Merced (50 miles south) that a “funnel cloud” had popped up and then vanished. We were looking at our intended flight path*as a large and very dark cloud began to sag and spin about ten miles ahead. That was enough for us! “Nor Cal approach, N25AK is diverting to Modesto for landing to avoid what looks like a tornado forming”. “Roger 5AK, there have been two others reported in the area within the past few minutes”. Tornados in the Sacramento Valley? What's up with that? Well, at least we can be certain that it has nothing to do with climate change (global warming). Majah Rushie says so!
We landed at MOD at 5 PM, got great service from Sky Trek Aviation, including a courtesy car to take to dinner. When we returned an hour later we learned that a tornado with hail had landed on the airport! It sucked the glass doors of the building open and blew all kinds of loose paperwork out the doors! The guys said that the airplane was rocking around a bit, but our inspection showed no damage. We retired to a very comfortable hotel room in downtown Modesto and were glad to be there.
After our excitement with this most uncommon weather, and a good nights sleep at The Double Tree downtown, our morning flight to Placerville was uneventful. Other than the astonishing beauty of the central valley in full bloom, that is. Fields of every kind of crop were lush and green to the extreme, while most orchards were a riot of color from the blossoms. Everything sparkled in the morning sun as we set up for landing at PVF for a few days visiting our daughter and son in law again.
The final leg of our long journey was a familiar one, as we fly the round trip from our base to PVF frequently. Flying the west side of the Sierra Nevada, cutting east of Mt. Shasta, then along the east side of the Cascades is much to beautiful to describe as routine but, there ya have it, routine it is for us and we feel truly blessed to live where that kind of beauty and adventure is an everyday experience.
So then, here we are back at our wonderful home on the lake. Spring has arrived and we are busy readying the gardens for a magnificent summer. And planning our next winter escape in the Cessna!
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You may have to head further south if you want consistent, very warm temperatures in the winter months. 