15 Airports, Non-stop Without Re-Fueling

I was looking for some small adventure, that would be inexpensive, to take my Zenith CH601 XLB on. I saw the recent thread about the guy who landed at 13 airports in one day, though I think he refueled along the way.

In order to do this cheaply I changed the plan - how many could I land at on a single fill up and still make it back to my home airport?

After much planning and calculating it seemed like 15 would be possible.

My engine is a Lycoming O-235-C1 and the plane holds 12 gallons a side, 24 total with 23 usable. I figured if I throttled back to between 2300 - 2400 rpm, and stayed down around 2500 feet for most of the flight I might make all 15.

Starting from Pine Mountain Lake (E45) I would then do - Mariposa, Madera, Chowchilla, Merced, Turlock, Modesto, New Jerusalem, Tracy, Stockton, Kingdon, Lodi, Franklin, Amador Westover, Calaveras, Columbia and back to Pine Mountain Lake.

All of the landings were touch and go's. I did not stop anywhere. Two were towered fields. Apparently my flight plan was solid as I made all 15 and landed with an hours reserve.

Total distance: 293 miles
Total Fuel consumed: 18.7 gallons
Total Flight time: 3.9 hours
Fuel remaining on landing: 5.5 gallons
Average fuel burn: 4.79 gallons per hour

This was fun and challenging. There was not a lot of time in between airports and most of them I had never been to before. It was a great way to spend a Friday morning!

Zenith Aircraft Fuel Sender Replacement Nightmare

I have had never-ending problems with fuel drains and fuel sender leaks for the 2-1/2 years my Zenith CH601 XLB has been flying.

I finally fixed the fuel drain leaks by using the longer fuel drain plugs (Curtis CCA-2500).

The problem with the senders was that I was getting frequent drips around the screws on both tanks. I would try and reseal them with the Permatex white fuel sealant, but it never seemed to hold for long.

Then I noticed my pilot side tank was leaking a lot. I pulled the access cover and fuel was seeping out of half of the screws, and possibly the middle terminal.

When I touched the sender, the terminal insulator cracked and a large chunk just fell off. Time to replace.

I ordered a new sender and gasket kit from Zenith ($43).

Removing the sender was quite easy. Getting the new one back in would be a different story.

At the time I also noted some seepage around the hose connector at the tank so I unscrewed that and pulled it out.

What struct me about this was the hardened Permatex. It was very hard and cracked apart when pressure was applied. I know this is used a lot with success but I couldn't help thinking that normal vibration, and time, could cause this stuff to crack and possibly lose seal. I wire-brushed off the old Permatex and used EzTurn on it before reinstalling.

I took a close look at the old sender. I have put 300 hours on my plane and have run about 50% mogas and 50% 100 LL. I was curious how the rubber (viton?) gasket had held up and suspected that was part of the leak problem.

I was wrong. The gasket looked perfect except for spots of the hardened Permatex on it. Again, I wondered if the hardened Permatex was leading to leaks since it could create a gap between the gasket and the tank.

To be clear - I have no real evidence that the Permatex had lead to any leak issues. However, after some research, I decided to use EzTurn on the re-install. I liked the idea of a product that never hardened and remained resilient.

A 5oz tube of this will last a lifetime.

One thing that bothered me when I had previously tried to stop the units from leaking was not knowing how much torque to apply to the screws. I was just using a normal screwdriver and had no idea of what I was doing was too tight or not tight enough.

I had recently bought a $100 torque screwdriver and was looking forward to KNOWING I had applied the correct torque. After looking up the torque value for #8 screws in the Lycoming manual, I learned the torque should be 20 to 22 inch pounds.

Just because this torque value applied to Lycoming screws didn't mean it was right for this "Made in India" fuel sender unit. So, I practiced on the old sender first and came to the conclusion that 20 inch pounds seemed about right and decided to use that setting.

I had read elsewhere that it helps to practice this install before you lube stuff up and start installing, so I did.

And right here began a tremendous amount of frustration! ARGHH!!1*%$!

First, while sitting a my hangar desk I tried to simply screw the 5 screws back into the sending unit, thru the gasket and into the back plate. Simple right? An hour later, cursing and quite literally screaming, and slammed the hangar door and went home after failing this stupid simple task.  

This is probably a good time to mention that I live with a lot of pain and doing just about everything hurts me. This leads to a very low stress tolerance. I get frustrated and stressed as my pain continues to increase.

I came back the next day and after another 45 minutes I finally got the friggen 5 screws back into the old sender while sitting at my desk!

There is something about the tight tolerance of the holes in the sender and backing plate and the holes in the gasket. Unless everything is aligned perfectly they will not go in.

Next I began the install of the new sender. I used the ExTurn on both sides of the gasket and all of the screws.

As per the instructions I put the long screw in first and tried to fit the backing plate thru the hole in the tank. An hour later, cursing and quite literally screaming, and slammed the hangar door and went home after failing this stupid simple task!

The next day I tried again and nothing I could do would get the backing plate thru the hole in the tank. Then I thought I had discovered why:

The new backing plate is on the bottom, the old one on top. The cut-out in the new plate was about a 16th of an inch shallower than the original. After filing the new one down, I went back to the install thinking I had finally solved the problem.  An hour later, cursing and quite literally screaming, and slammed the hangar door and went home after failing this stupid simple task!

You may think I am exaggerating here for the sake of a good story. I am not. I was three days into this install and had gotten absolutely no where - except having a whole lot of physical pain to show for it.

The next day I tried again. Frustrating attempt, after frustrating attempt, failed. The bloody backing plate just would not go thru the hole!

I was about to give up for the day when I tried on last time. By some miracle (I have no idea why) the backing plate went thru the hole!

Woohoo! Almost done now.

Wrong.

No matter how I tried I could not get another screw lined up to screw into the backing plate. An hour later, cursing and quite literally screaming, and slammed the hangar door and went home after failing this stupid simple task!

Day 5. My anxiety, stress and pain is eating at me even before I get to the hangar. I am quite literally considering selling the plane because this kind of stress, and the pain that goes with it, is more than I want in my life.

It took me almost 2 hours to get the second screw started. This is while lying on my back cutting the crap out of my hands on the sharp metal edges of the access opening, and the rib opening. The whole inside of the wing is, quite literally, a bloody mess. There is blood everywhere.

Once I was able to get the second screw started and tightened down, the rest were fairly straightforward. I progressively torqued down the screws with the torque screwdriver, starting at 5 inch pounds, then 10, then 15 then 20 using an opposite screw pattern.

Woohoo! I'm done.

Wrong.

When I try to screw down the grounding plug to the sender the terminal comes apart. Are you friggen serious??? ARGHH!!1*%$!

Ever tried to strip a 4" wire in a extremely confined space and install a new terminal? The tools won't fit in the space.

An hour and a half later the new terminal is on. If there was blood before, the inside of the wing now looks like the St. Valentine's Day Massacre.

After reconnecting the terminals the install was done.

The view from inside the tank (using a harbor freight borescope and taking a cell phone pic of the screen).

The thought of having to start over on another day for the other sending unit was more than I could bare. So I bit the bullet and pulled out the other sender, wire-brushed off the old Permatex, put a new gasket in (though the old one looked perfect, even after all the mogas) and applied EzTurn on the screws and both sides of the gasket. I then torqued the screws to the 20 inch pounds.

After a very long day of work I managed to get the second sender back into place and refilled the tanks to check for leaks.

I came back the next day, did a test flight and re-inspected. No leaks so far.

It's been a week and a half since this ordeal and the dozen cuts on my hands are finally starting to heal.

In the end I decided that if either sender ever leaks again, it is a sign from God that its time to sell the plane.


 

Crossing the Sierras to Death Valley

Every pilot has dreams of making certain flights or going on specific adventures. Two of my "pilot dreams" have been crossing the Sierras - and flying to Death Valley. This past weekend both of those dreams came true.

I take flying safely very seriously. I always want a landing option should my single engine fail in flight. It does not matter that it is a rare occurrence. I always assume my engine will fail at the worst possible moment.

Some pilots fly single engine aircraft over terrain that provides few landing opportunities, for an entire career, and never have a problem. And some do it just once, and it's the last flight they ever take. There are many types of pilots and many perspectives on this issue.

My perspective has always been that if it can happen, it WILL happen, to me. It will happen at the worst possible time. I rarely put myself in a situation where I have a near zero chance of surviving an engine failure.

I was taking this trip seriously and spent many hours planning every detail. We would be flying over a very narrow mountain road during the whole flight which might provide a landing option should the engine decide to crap out. Due to the narrowness of the road, and the trees on either side, it wasn't really a good option. But it was at least something.

We flew from Santa Rosa (STS) to Pine Mountain Lake Airport (E45) two nights before. After spending Thursday night and Friday at our cabin there, we launched Cardinal 34777 at 8:30 am on Saturday morning.

During the take-off, I made the first of a few mistakes that I would make this trip. I failed to set the flaps at 10 degrees for takeoff, even though it was on my checklist. This resulted in a very long take-off roll and a disturbingly low climb-out over the trees at the end of  the runway.

This mistake added to the anxiety I was already feeling about crossing the 13,000 foot peaks of the Sierras, in winter. Although I tried to joke around with Bobby, my stomach was in knots contemplating all of the things that could go wrong.

Our route would take us directly over Yosemite Valley, Tuolumne Meadows, around the north side of Mt. Dana and then drop down over Lee Vining Airport and Mono Lake.

We would need to be up to 11,500 feet by the time we got to Yosemite in accordance with the park's over-flight rules. The morning was cold and 777 was climbing well. As we neared Half Dome we were at the required altitude.

Half Dome in the morning light

There was patchy snow in Yosemite Valley as we continued to climb for more altitude. Approaching Tuolumne Meadows, the snow became a solid blanket. I was trying to relax and admire the scenery when Bobby inadvertently identified my second mistake.

"Looks like the Tioga Pass road is closed," says Bobby.

"What?", I ask.

"Look, it's all covered in snow," he replies.

I kept my mouth shut but inside my heart jumped as I realized my carefully planned engine failure option was no option at all.

I was wondering how the hell I could have not realized this when, all of a sudden, the GPS I was using to navigate the treacherous mountains, suddenly goes blank. The black screen of death. 

"YGTBSM...", I say to myself. Anxiety level is climbing higher with every issue. The view out of the cockpit is only getting more intimidating as the knots in my stomach develop into a full blown stomach ache.

There are zero options for landing now...

I tweak the cables on the GPS and, with relief, the GPS comes back to life. It is perhaps important to note that I did have a back up GPS. At least some of my flight planning was still working. 

I have neglected to mention, so far, the truly scary part of this flight. Believe it or not, the most dangerous part of this flight is not the possibility of making an engine out landing in the mountains, in winter. 

The black, ugly monster that I am trying not to look at, is looming 20 miles ahead. It knows I cannot avoid it. It knows it can take my little plane and smash it like a bug. The black, ugly monster is  called, Tioga Pass. 

A recent NTSB report reads:

THE PLT REPORTED THAT AFTER ENTERING TIOGA PASS, HE MADE A LEFT TURN TO FOLLOW THE CENTER OF THE PASS & THE ACFT BEGAN TO SINK. HE APPLIED FULL POWER & WENT TO THE BEST ANGLE OF CLIMB SPEED, BUT WAS UNABLE TO STOP THE SINK. THE ACFT THEN HIT AN ELECTRICAL TRANSMISSION TOWER, CRASHED & BEGAN BURNING. THE 2 PASSENGERS RECEIVED SERIOUS BURNS. THE PLT & A PERSON ON THE GROUND RECEIVED MINOR INJURIES.

Tioga Pass lies on the north side of Mt. Dana, a 13,000 foot peak and one of the tallest in the Sierras. It is the Highway 120 route through the Sierras. The Sierra Mountains rise up to this point and then, dramatically, end into a flat, high desert. Immediately on the leeward side of the mountain is the world famous Mono Lake.

Highway 120 Through Tioga Pass

The danger presented by Tioga Pass is as described in the NTSB report above. The winds flow west to east, up the long slope of the Sierras. The higher the terrain, the greater the winds. Tioga Pass is a "V" shaped opening in an otherwise continuous range of mountains. The V shape funnels the high surface winds through a narrow opening. As the winds enter the funnel they accelerate. Then as they exit the Pass, the winds rush down the leeward side, or they roll into a strong vortex. 

The winds can create such a strong downdraft you can't fly out of it and it slams you into the ground. Or, the vortex can flip the plane upside down and cause a complete loss of control. Everything depends on the wind speed at the time you reach the Pass. It is generally recommended not to fly the Pass if the wind speed is over 30 knots. 

At the time of my weather briefing the forecast winds were 28 knots....  

I recognize the need to calm myself down before we get to the pass, so I start joking around with Bobby.

My best friend Bobby and I

I take a picture, drink some water and remind myself that I can turn around at any point. 

We climb higher and I run through the plan for getting through the pass in my head. "Get as much altitude as possible, approach it at a 45 degree angle so you can quickly turn back if the winds or turbulence are too strong. Keep the wings level and maintain best climb speed in a downdraft. Turn back at the first sign of a serious problem. Stay calm, you have the skills to do this safely," I tell myself.

  Mt. Dana is just to the right of the prop. Tioga Pass is between the prop and Mt. Dana. 

The above picture shows us approaching the pass at a 45 degree angle. As we get closer I can feel the wind speed increase. The plane begins to bounce slightly in the light turbulence. The airspeed indicator and GPS suggest a wind speed close to thirty knots, as we approach the funnel.

There is a part of me that wants to turn around an go home and crawl into bed. And then there is a part of me that wants to face both this fear, and this challenge. And so we fly on.

The danger zone is perhaps 5 miles long or about 3 minutes at our current speed. As we enter the funnel the wings rock, the wind noise increases and I grasp the yoke with both hands. My palms are sweating and I make a quick swipe on my pants before a gust lifts the left wing tip. Bobby is dead quiet. The turbulence increases and suddenly the vertical speed indicator starts winding down.

We are in a downdraft. I pitch the nose up and add power. I stare at the vertical speed indicator, willing it to stabilize. The needle drops - 300 fpm (feet per minute), 400 fpm, 500 fpm. "Stop, damn you!" I want to scream. It stops at 500 fpm. We are almost through. I pitch the nose up a little higher and the vertical speed starts to decrease - 400 fpm, 300 fpm, 200 fpm. Then it reaches zero and I realize we are through the Pass!

  The back side of Tioga Pass -Mono Lake and Lee Vining Airport

Another view of Mono Lake   

   
It would be an understatement to say I was relieved. Ahead lay miles and miles of flat land where I could land my plane safely any time I needed to. I looked at Bobby.

"Well, that puckered my you-know-what!" says Bobby. (OK, what Bobby said was little more graphic)

"Yeah, me too," I reply, feeling the exhilaration of having faced real fear and come out on the other side.

This is the first time I have seen Mono Lake and it is a strange sight. It is salt encrusted with strangely green water, surrounded by a barren brown landscape. There appears to be not a single tree or shrub, anywhere.

We fly on over the lake heading for a point in the sky called Nikol intersection. This IFR fix is at the head of a long flat valley that will lead us down to the town of Bishop and then on to Lone Pine. I decide to land at Bishop and refuel so that we won't have to do it tomorrow on the way back.

I am already concerned about the return trip through Tioga Pass. I want to get there early in the morning before the wind picks up.

The Sierras are off to our right while on the left we have dry 10,000 foot peaks as we fly down an empty valley.

We land and Bishop and take a moment to call the wives and let them know we made it over the Sierras and through the Pass. 

On the ramp and Bishop - and thanking my little bird for getting us here safely. 

     

I calculate exactly how much fuel we will need to Death Valley and back to Pine Mountain Lake. I want enough fuel, but no more than necessary. The lighter we are, the better 777 will be able to climb back through the mountains on the way home.

After a 20 minute stop at Bishop we are airborne again. Next stop, Death Valley! A few miles south and we pass the small town of Lone Pine. It's not hard to guess how it got it's name.

In the distance is another strange sight, a multi-colored dry lake bed.

We have entered a strange land and the sights continue to amaze us.

It seems there are places here where no one has ever set foot. Miles of empty dry mountains with no sign of humans whatsoever. Empty valleys with no roads in, and row upon row of unmarked sand dunes.

We fly 75 miles over this empty world before we cross the last dry mountain range.

It is so bizarre to be able to look for miles in any direction, and yet see no sign of any kind of life. It has a strange beauty that makes you want to see more. . It is a magical emptiness and we feel very fortunate to observe it from our birds eye view.

With a sense of excitement and accomplishment we pass over the last ridge and Death Valley fills the cockpit windscreen. It is not what we were expecting.

I had envisaged cactus and scrub brush and sand dunes. It is none of these. It is a wide flat expanse of stained white surface, bordered on both sides by high mountain ridges. It is like nothing I have ever seen before.

Flying south towards the airport at Furnace Creek

After a 2 1/2 hour trip, we finally touch down in a gusty crosswind on the narrow landing strip at Furnace Creek.

Geographically, we are almost in the dead center of Death Valley. After shutting down the engine I snap a picture of the altimeter. It reads -290 feet below sea level.

I can now say I have landed a plane below sea level!

Bobby and I unpack the camping gear from the plane, wolf down a quick sandwich and begin the 1/2 mile hike to the campground. The temperature is in the low 70's and there is a nice breeze blowing. Death Valley is not living up to it's reputation today.

Bobby on the road to the campground

We quickly set up camp and then head out to explore this strange new world.

 We are surprised by the amount of vegetation and wildlife! I thought Death Valley was supposed to be dry and dead. It is not.

In our short stay we saw a coyote, rabbits and believe it or not - a Great Blue Heron. In case you don't know, this is a waterfowl. At every turn Death Valley seems to have another surprise for us.

Oh, by the way, did I mention the world class golf course? Nope, not kidding about that, either!

The gorgeous (and expensive) golf course at Furnace Creek 

It's dinner time and we're hungry. Time for a manly dinner!

Bobby eyeing his rib eye

The sunset over the desert is not done justice by this photo. It was awe inspiring.

Sunset in Death Valley

We fall asleep to the howling of a pack of coyotes. This feels more magical than scary, in this enthralling land.

The next morning, with much regret, we pack up early and prepare for the flight home. Neither Bobby nor I are ready to leave this fascinating place. Even 777 looks happy sitting on the ramp.

The flight home involved much of the same stress as getting here. After 15 minutes at 11,500 feet I realize I am getting hypoxic (oxygen starved) when I can't read a simple 5 item check list that is on my lap. I drop down to a lower altitude and the symptoms disappear. I make the mistake of telling Bobby that one way to check for hypoxia is by asking simple math questions. If you can't answer them quickly, you may have a problem. 

"What's 9 x 8?" asks Bobby. He continues to ask me math questions, all the way home. I'm pretty sure he didn't know the answers, but I guess it made him feel more comfortable...

We climb back through Tioga Pass at an altitude that MAY have been slightly above the legal height for pilot who is not breathing oxygen. However, there is also an FAA regulation that allows a pilot to take any action necessary for the safety of a flight, whether it violates a regulation or not. As the pilot in command of this flight I judged it was safer up high. This proved true as we cleared the Pass with no problem and I immediately descended to a lower altitude.

We got a few cool pics on the way back to Pine Mountain Lake.

Hetch Hetchy Reservoir

It feels a little disorienting to return to a normal life after such an adventure. It seems surreal that you could pack so much exhilaration, fear, excitement, beauty - and life, into a few short hours. 

It is the airplane that makes this possible. It is an adventure machine that can transport your soul beyond the bounds of daily life. It can carry you far and wide in both body and spirit. It touches you and leaves an ache that is only quenched the next time you take to the skies. 

When Bobby and I are 80 years old and sitting in our rocking chairs drinking beer, we will recall this adventure. He will embellish it by claiming multiple near death experiences and I will laugh at his non-stop math questions all the way home.

"Hey Bobby, do you remember that time we flew to Death Valley?"

"Say what?"

"You want another beer?" 

Gary Welch    

Sometimes, flying feels too godlike to be attained by man. Sometimes, the world from above seems too beautiful, too wonderful, too distant for human eyes to see . . .

— Charles A. Lindbergh, The Spirit of St. Louis, 1953.

Me, My Father, and the U-2, Dragon Lady

A U-2 "Dragon Lady" over Beale Air Force Base

Dad and I began writing a book together. It was more of a means of reconnecting with my father rather than a real attempt at a marketable product.

Dad had been “career Air Force” and I, and my sisters, had been born on, or near, an air force base. As a result I will always have a love/hate relationship with this branch of service.

I love it because it made my father a real life hero. I hate it because it was a lousy life for a kid. We moved every two years so you could never have real friends.

Dad flew 36 missions over Europe as a gunner in the ball-turret of a B-17 named “You’ve Had It.”

Dad's WWII B-17, "You've Had It"

He did two tours of Vietnam as a photo-interpreter during the worst years of the conflict. He would analyze photographs, some of which were taken by the infamous U-2 spy plane. He would use the photos to identify enemy installations, movements and targets.

Dad in Vietnam

Years later, in a hell-hole called Grand Forks Air Force Base, North Dakota, Dad worked in a secretive cave protected by a huge vault door in a secure area of the flight-line. This was the period of the Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD) theory of cold war politics. Dad put together strike packages for the nuclear-armed B-52 bombers that were kept in the air 24/7 to be able to strike Russia, should they attack us first. Most of the reconnaissance photos Dad used during this period were also provided by the U-2 “Dragon Lady”.

B-52 at Grand Forks AFB, North Dakota

Sometime in 1999, after I had matured enough to stop blaming Dad for my childhood difficulties, I sat him down and told him how I really felt about him.

I told him he had always been my hero. I explained that no matter which air force base we were on, no kid’s father could claim to be braver than my Dad. I bragged about my father because his actions made me feel special. He was the greatest hero I’ve ever known, and he was my father.

I wanted a closer relationship with my father, but he lived 2000 miles away. I came up with the idea of a working on a book together because this would create a continuous dialogue between us, via email and phone calls. The story line would have to be built around Dad’s expertise and experiences. I could draw on his knowledge and it would add realism to the story.

The story we agreed on was about a young U-2 pilot who was shot down over Somalia and was subsequently captured by a local Islamic warlord. She would be rescued with the unconventional use of modern technology and psychological warfare.

The heroine of the story was the U-2 pilot. During my research on the subject I quickly learned that there was little information on the pilots of these strange aircraft. I wondered about the possibility of being able to interview a current U-2 pilot and started making phone calls. The calls led me to Beale Air Force Base. 

Coincidentally Beale AFB is a short 3 hour drive from where I live. The public information officer said the only way I could get approval to interview a U-2 pilot was through the Pentagon. She more or less said, “and good luck with THAT!”.

I spoke with Dad and he said, “What the hell, let’s try the Pentagon!”  This began another round of frustrating phone calls. I finally got in touch with a not-so-encouraging officer who gave me the details on how to make the application. There would be an evaluation of the benefit to the air force, background checks, yadda, yadda, yadda. We were informed that the process might take some time – and, that few such requests were approved.

Months went by and Dad and I continued to work on the book. A dear friend of mine also contributed with the typing and editing. Finally, one day I see in my email box a communication from the Pentagon. I was expecting disappointment.

“Dear Mr. Welch,” it began, “Your request to visit and interview a U-2 pilot at
Beale Air Force Base, CA has been assigned Case #99-396 and is approved.”

The Email from the Pentagon (click on the image to read)

Holy crap! Dad and I were going to Beale Air Force Base to interview a U-2 pilot – together! It would be the coolest father and son thing we had ever done. 

I called Dad and told him the good news. He immediately started talking  about making plans to fly down. We also talked about what a great military honor it was to have this opportunity. 

I was ecstatic not only because of the opportunity to visit Beale, but also because it meant my Dad would come and spend time with me.

I contacted Beale in the hopes that this interview would happen in the very near future. I was to be disappointed by delay after delay. Months and months dragged on with one problem or another with the arrangements at Beale. 

The delays finally drove me to writing a very strongly worded email in which I copied the Pentagon. A few days later the public relations officer called to say the interview had been scheduled for the following month,September 2001, and gave me the date and time. I called Dad and he booked a flight.

This was finally happening and I was thoroughly excited!
 
September 11, 2001 ended the dream of Dad and I visiting Beale AFB and interviewing the U-2 pilot. At the time, considering the magnitude of the 9/11 tragedy, my disappointment was trivial. Yet, it still hurt me deeply.
 
World events, and my disappointment, made it hard for me to remain enthusiastic about the book. It was a struggle for me to write. I also lost the support and guidance of my friend who had been helping with the editing.  The book languished. A few years later my Dad died and the book along with him. We never made it to Beale.
 
Two weeks ago I was to revisit this sad part of my past. My engineering partner asked me the strangest question. He says, “Gary, how would you like to go to Beale Air Force Base?” I looked at him because I was sure I mis-heard. What?
 
“We have a project there and I need you to go take a look at it. Will you do it?” I could feel the emotions swelling in my heart as I answered, “Of course I will!”.  I was thinking that I had some unfinished business there.
 
The day came to visit Beale AFB. I put on Dad’s leather flying jacket. The jacket had the nose art from his B-17 painted on the back. I knew there was little chance of actually seeing a U-2 today so I tried to put that out of my mind.

Dad's Flying Jacket 

I made the 3 hour drive and was passed through the security gate. I was early for my meeting, so I pulled 
the car into an adjacent parking lot for a few moments of reflection.

As I climbed out of my car I realized I was right next to the runway. The early morning yellow light reflecting off of the billowing clouds made for a spectacular sight. It was then I heard a jet engine spooling up. A few seconds later an all-black, sleek, T-38 Talon leapt off the runway and climbed into the blue sky above. The mighty roar of those twin jet engines brought back memories of air force life from a long time ago.

The All-black T-38 Talon from Beale AFB

I started crying as I thought about Dad. I put my hand on his embroidered name on his jacket and said out loud, “Well Dad, we finally made it to Beale.”
 
As if out of a Hollywood script, I immediately heard the sound of another jet engine winding up. 

With tears now streaming down my cheek, I’m thinking, “It couldn’t be…?”.

She rose off the tarmac like a ghostly shadow. It was the U-2 Dragon Lady roaring into the sky!

I had a hard time believing my eyes. Yet there is no mistaking the long wings, the rounded nose and the jet-black color of the U-2 Dragon Lady. She soared off the runway and seemed to momentarily hang in space above me. Then she climbed slowly into the sky where the eery-looking jet-black spy plane was swallowed by a stark-white cloud.   

It's sounds like a story I made up, or embellished, but this is exactly the way it happened. The sight of that beautiful, ugly, U-2 soaring over my head with tears pouring from my eyes will never be forgotten. A lifetime of emotions swirled through my mind. My father never home, the isolation of air force life for a child, my lonely mother, and my father, the greatest war hero ever.

It is the U-2 aircraft that will always connect me with my father, Master Sergeant Martin Derek Welch. Although he is gone now, he is still my hero and I will always be proud of him.

We finally made it to Beale Air Force Base, Dad.

My Father, war hero, 
and Mom

   

     

The Hidden Jewel of California's North Coast

Shelter Cove is the hidden jewel of California's north coast. It is one of the state's most scenic destinations, yet few people, even in northern California, have ever heard of it. If the residents of this idyllic oasis have their way, this is exactly the way it will stay.

California's north coast is legendary for it's beauty. The Marin Headlands, Point Reyes, Bodega Bay and Jenner represent some of the most spectacular vistas in the world. The combination of the color of the water, the roughness of the ceaseless sea, the sharp cliffs and the rolling saw grass combine to take the breath away. The fresh smell of the cool ocean breeze seems to elevate the senses. As many times as I have visited the majestic locales, I never lose my sense of awe.

It is with this understanding and appreciation of these majestic places that I am able to say that Shelter Cove exists on another level of beauty. It is as if mother nature combined everything that was breath-taking from the coast, distilled it into a single raindrop and that rain drop fell onto the shore called Shelter Cove.

The unique nature of this village is evident in the complete lack of all normal tourist trappings. There is not one fast food restaurant here, no bars, no nick-knack stores or artist galleries. And leave your cell phone at home because they don't work here either.

What Shelter Cove does have is a links-style golf course that wraps around a general aviation airport. It has spectacular views of California's majestic coastline and it is wrapped in peaceful serenity.

Shelter Cove has a number of wonderful restaurants for fine dining. It has a limited number of hotels that sit right on the shoreline with mysterious tide pools hiding beautiful marine creatures. It also has a small campground right next to the golf course and landing strip. To the south of the runway is the the cove itself - perfect for fishing and diving.

A visit to Shelter Cove is a tranquil escape from the world. The melting red sunsets will warm your soul and the gentle surf will soothe you to sleep. Exploring the tide pools for brightly colored magical creatures will draw you back to the innocence of childhood. It will touch your heart like no other place on earth. But please, don't tell your friends....

The Disappointment of My IFR Rating

When I began my quest for an IFR rating over three years ago I had a simple goal in mind. Living in the San Francisco area of California we are subject to frequent overcast layers in the summer, referred to as the marine layer. My wife and I had to cancel many flights because of this thin cloud layer hanging over the airport. The frustrating part of this phenomena is that the Central Valley, only a few miles away, will typically be CAVU at the same time.

I understood that my aircraft had the bare minimum for instrument flight - steam gauges, dual VORs and a VFR GPS. There is no backup alternator and no autopilot. I also understood that my financial situation and other interests limit just how much flying I can do every month. For these reasons I realized I would probably never be a "hard core" IFR pilot. I just wanted to have the rating to be able to climb through this pesky marine layer, not actually fly for an extended periods of time in clouds.

My disappointment came when, after three years of training and over $8000 spent, I learned that my original plan for my rating was fatally flawed.

My first solo IMC flight flight taught me some very important aspects of IFR flight.

First, there is no such thing as "just being good enough to get through a marine layer". Expecting that a minimal level of IFR proficiency will be adequate fails to recognize the first rule of weather - weather changes.

In addition, pilot reports may be wrong or weather briefings may have little to do with the actual weather conditions you may encounter. Unexpected conditions WILL occur.

The moment you launch on every IFR flight you must be mentally prepared to fly for an extended period of time in IMC. If you are not fully proficient, and mentally prepared for this occurrence, then you are only a few chain links away from an NTSB statistic.  

Inside a broiling, bouncing world where the view outside the windscreen offers nothing to the senses gives you an appreciation for system redundancy, capable navigation equipment.and the benefits of a three axis autopilot. Single pilot IFR in, IMC conditions and coupled with a complex airspace, requires skill, mental agility and recency of experience.  

My first solo marine layer penetration ended with me stuck in the middle of a very thick layer of building cumulus. ATC began giving me frequent heading an altitude changes that were not part of my flight plan. The turbulence, though light, allowed little time to take my eyes off of the gauges.  Within a very few minutes I learned that I was not mentally prepared for this environment. I was at the very limit of my ability to handle the conditions.

Then it struck me - what if I had a system failure of some type right now? What would happen if I lost the electrical system or one of the VORs? What if my attitude indicator went tango uniform? I asked myself, would I be able to manage such a failure?

The harsh realization came to me that I would not. Such a failure, if occurred at that exact time, would probably result in a loss of control of the aircraft in a short period of time.

When I finally managed to get the plane back on the ground and the hangar door closed, an honest truth came to the forefront of my thoughts.

The idea that you can just maintain a minimal level of IFR competency will absolutely get you, and your loved ones,  killed.

After further consideration I also realized that flying an aircraft with the bare minimum of IFR equipment is not good enough for me and my precious copilot wife.

I truly wished someone would have said to me at the beginning of my training that "being just good enough to fly through a marine layer" will never be good enough to fly IFR safely. I may not have listened, but I wish an instructor or other pilot had raised the idea. If I knew then what I know now, I would not have spent the time, money and effort to get my IFR ticket.

I don't' mean to say that I did not learn a lot about flying, and my aircraft, in the process. My flying skills, knowledge and decision making have progressed tremendously because of my IFR training. In some ways I feel I flew for twenty years without really understanding what I was doing. My IFR training truly opened my eyes and made me feel, at long last that, yes, I am a real pilot.