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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
