My Year as an Alaskan Bush Pilot

By Robert M. Brantner

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 8, 2003
• ISBN: 9781465333698

Book preview

A Long Way To Go

THE WEATHER WASN’T nearly as bad as it could have been. It was true that the ceiling (that is, the bottom of the clouds) was around a thousand feet and ragged, but it was more than I needed. I was flying at eight hundred feet and the visibility was great. But then again, that was the real problem. The great visibility was caused by winds.

I was flying from Bethel to an island on the extreme west of the Yukon-Kuskokwim delta to a village called Scammon Bay. Scammon Bay was a good assignment because it involved about an hour’s flight time each way, making it one of the more profitable runs a pilot could get. I was fairly experienced by this point in my bush-flying career, so it should not have been a big deal. Of course, in rural Alaska, should not, means little.

I had four passengers with me on this trip, and all were Native Alaskans. The Natives Alaskans are similar to the Native American in many respects. They both tend to be on the shorter side, and both have always seemed rather quite to me. Although the natives can be a bit tight lipped, that isn’t to say that one doesn’t learn to read them. One of the tricks a new pilot is told about when lost and trying to find a village is to use the native navigation. This is when you are following a river, looking for a small, tucked away village, you would want to keep an eye on your passengers because if they are looking forward, the village is probably still ahead. However, if they all start looking down in the same direction out of the side window, you should look down as well. You are probably passing over the village, and this would be a good time to start your decent.

Another trait of the natives is they are very used to traveling by air, especially in the Cessna 207. A plane that was so small, that one of my passengers on this trip was sitting directly next to me. Even if I didn’t want him there (which I didn’t, I don’t like having a passenger that close to the controls), I had little choice. Moving him back a row would put the plane in a situation where it would be dangerously out of balance.

The flight had been very rough from the winds that were blowing across the delta, and we were getting shaken pretty badly as we made our way across the flat plains between Bethel and Scammon Bay. While uncomfortable, the rough air didn’t scare me, however, in the back of my mind, I was worried. When we took off out of Bethel the winds were blowing at thirty-five knots. Although the winds were strong, as a headwind they were within the limits of the plane. The 207, however, was limited to a 29 knot crosswind. As I was flying across the vast open land, looking at the endless lakes below me, I was paying particularly close attention to the water. The lakes are a great indication of the direction the wind is blowing. By looking at the wind shadow, you can easily determine the direction. The wind shadow is when you look down on the water, you can see the ripples from the wind. On the shore from the direction the wind is coming from, there will be a crescent where the water is calm and glassy. On a particularly windy day, white lines will also form in the water showing the direction of the wind, but these only form on days you don’t want to be out there flying around. The white lines present that day were telling me that not only would it be a strong wind, but it would be a direct crosswind as well.

As I continued fighting my way through the bumps to Scammon, the hills rising in the distance told me I was getting close. My experience was telling me that the ride was going to get considerably worse. The wind was blowing straight across the thousand-foot hills, making for a wild ride at the small gravel and dirt landing strip.

I glanced over at my passengers to make sure that they were holding up all right. There was no problem there. These people were veteran travelers and have spent more time in small, single-engine planes than they have in cars. I could tell that they were uncomfortable, but they didn’t appear scared. That was only fair; I was uncomfortable too. Not only because the ride had been bad to this point, and not because I knew it was about to get a lot worse, but my real concern at this point was whether I was going to be able to make it in or not. My plane was limited to 29 knots of crosswind, and although that number can be increased the more the wind angles over to a headwind, it didn’t look like that was going to be much of a help. The wind was blowing directly perpendicular to the runway.

As I rounded the mountain, and the ride started to get really exciting, I keyed my microphone. Scammon, Scammon, this is Speedmark Six-Five Uniform.

Six-Five Uniform, this is Scammon, go ahead. This was a good sign. Since Scammon was answering me, I was now talking to someone who could give me a weather report. More importantly a wind reading. Now it was do or die, if I had 30 knots the flight would be a bust and I would have to head back to Bethel. This would be upsetting for a number of reasons, not the least of which is its not in my nature to start something and not finish it. There was also the consideration of having four people on board who wanted to go home, and in a couple of minutes they would be looking at their destination. I didn’t know if they would understand looking down through the clear sky at their (small) village, and have me turn back, stranding them for another day in Bethel.

Scammon, I should be there in about five minutes. I have four pax and a couple of bags of mail. Do you have anything for me?

Six-Five Uniform, I only have a little mail. No pax. The agent answered.

Copy, copy. I will be there in five. How is your wind looking today? It’s a little rough up here. I sometimes did have a knack for understatements.

Six-Five Uniform, it’s a little windy, but you should be OK. How much wind do you need? I was starting to relax a bit at his description of a little windy but I was still concerned.

I am limited to two-niner knots. What are you showing Scammon?

Well, I am showing about twenty-nine knots, you should be OK. At this point, I’m not sure if I relaxed or not. I was glad to hear that the winds would allow me to complete my mission, but on the other hand, I am now duty bound to face the winds. Winds that I know will not only be strong and straight across the runway, but rough as a cob as well.

Roger, roger Scammon. I will be there in five.

Roger, roger Speedmark, see you then. The transmission ended, and I started my approach.

The tops of the hills around Scammon were covered with clouds, but you could see the wind as the wisps of the clouds followed the crest of the hill down the slope, dissipating after a few yards. I turned to look at a small lake I was flying over, and noticed that the wind direction was just as bad as it could be; the white lines were very pronounced. To top it all off, the ride had gone from bad to Our Father who art in heaven …

I eased the throttle back slightly, and lowered the nose. As I was bleeding off my airspeed, I figured the best approach would be straight in. There were several reasons for this, but the main one was that it would be the fastest way to get out of the air and onto Terra Firma. I really knew that the conditions were bad when I stole a quick glance at my passengers. They looked concerned. Not something you see everyday in the bush. But the agent said that the wind was only 29 knots. If I didn’t like it, I could just go around.

After a couple more minutes, the runway came into sight. The village of Scammon Bay was at the base of a hill, which looked more like a small mountain, and on the far side of the village was the runway. Scammon was actually a good airport to land at, because the landing strip there was one of the longer one’s in the area at about 2200 feet.

Once I was set up on my final approach, I keyed the mike again. Scammon traffic, Speedmark Six-Five Uniform is on two mile final, landing Scammon.

The final approach in a strong crosswind takes a little getting used to if you have never seen one from the cockpit before. It is particularly pronounced if you are in a light plane, like the

207. You make the approach at an angle we call a crab. We call it that, because you are flying over a line on the ground, but your nose is facing several degrees into the direction of the wind. The result is flying at a sideways angle, like a crab making his way across a beach. This is like being on a boat traveling across a river with a strong current. If you want to get onto the shore directly across from you, you are going to have to point the bow of the boat upstream enough to compensate for the water flowing downstream.

Once you are on short final and about to land, you then kick the rudder over and drop the wing into the wind. This is called cross controlling, and the effect is you are flying straight but one wing is lower. This compensates for the crosswind. After you touchdown and the plane slows down, you incrementally put more rudder and aileron in proportionately to your speed. The amount of rudder that is required is dependant on how strong the wind is. With a light crosswind, you might not even notice there is any rudder in at all. On a strong crosswind, you may have to put a significant amount of rudder in. I could tell that this day was going to call for a significant amount of rudder.

I had the plane on as stable an approach as one could expect in the conditions I was in, and I made my last radio call. Scammon traffic, Six-Five Uniform short final, Scammon. I then eased the propeller full forward, and pulled the throttle back. I was ready to land.

I couldn’t have been more than 50 feet up when I started to cross my controls for the crosswind landing. Very quickly, I had a significant amount of aileron in, banking the plane into the wind, and full left rudder. Now all that I needed to do was keep the plane tracking down the centerline of the runway, and land. It was seconds later that the problem developed. I was loosing the centerline of the runway! I was slowly drifting off into the tundra!

I instinctively added full power and fought my way into the sky. The 207 was very responsive and only feet above the ground, the small plane started climbing quickly back into the turbulent air.

I keyed my mike once more to let any other planes that might be in the area know what was I was doing. Scammon traffic, Speedmark Six Five Uniform, going around.

As I passed the center of the field, I got a good look at the windsock. Sure enough, it was showing a direct crosswind. Another thing a pilot looks for when looking at a windsock is how full it is. Most of the windsocks in the area were 20-knot windsocks, as was the one at Scammon. This means that is if it is only half full, that is, bent down at a forty-five degree angle, you have a 10-knot wind. If it is almost pointing straight out, the wind is most likely 18 or 19 knots. This day the windsock was rigid, pointing like a solid arrow, scoffing me with the direct crosswind.

As I passed mid field, I started a turn to the right to enter an approach from the other end of the runway. If the left crosswind was too much for the plane to handle, perhaps I would have better luck with the right crosswind.

I set myself up once more for a landing, now on the opposite runway, and made my radio call. Scammon traffic, Speedmark Six-Five Uniform, short final, landing Scammon.

Again I eased the prop full forward, and pulled the power back. The crab was still substantial, and I didn’t know how much difference the new runway would make.

I was a little higher, around 100 feet, when I crossed the controls to straighten out the plane, this time opposite from the correction before since now I was fighting a right crosswind instead of a left one. My hands were sweating when I slowed the plane on final, and to my great concern and frustration, the plane