Pictures can be viewed in my gallery... eventually.

*** DISCLAIMER ***
This report is based on events as according to Craig. I reserve the
right of artistic license to enhance, embellish, and outright lie if I
think it will make for a cheap laugh. Anyone using this report for
actual flight planning or picking up dates in the pilots lounge should
expect to spend the night out shivering in the cold.
******************


It's clear but windy with gusts up to 28 knots coming out of the Columbia river gorge. Trying to stay out of Portland's airspace, I hug the ground at 1500 feet, passing through Troutdale's airspace. The little Cessna 150 is getting bounced around as the winds gust and blow across the ridges surrounding the gorge. Once I know I'm well clear of Portland, I start climbing up to 7500 feet. Around 5000 feet it starts smoothing out. By 7500 feet the turbulence has completely dissipated.

I'm flying into headwinds the entire way to Burns, averaging about 75 mph ground speed as I'm flying along. The visibility is pretty good in spite of the smoky haze that seems to be permeating the air as far as the eye can see. Is this blowing all the way up from the fires California or is pollution really getting that bad? At some point, I accidentally hit the black and white button on my camera. This goes unnoticed until the following morning. I need a better camera.

After three hours of flying, I touch down in Burns to refuel. Traffic around the airfield is sparse yet there is a lineup at the pump. Every pump credit card reader is different. The fellow ahead of me is having trouble getting it to accept his card. Fortunately, I had used one of these just recently and enter the magic key combination, chant the ancient language of mercantile exchange, and invoke the secret handshake. My new friend, Joe, is a 76 year old Hungarian immigrant Pacer pilot base out of Hood River with 30 years of flying experience, a windsurfer, and former climber. As I poke my nose around Joe's Piper Pacer, I notice a bunch of camping gear in the back. Joe's heading off to meet friends at Mann lake, near the Alvord Desert. He's not sure where Mann lake is and it's not on his chart. Joe offers to fly with me to the Alvord, show me where the springs are, and the good landing spots while looking for his friends. This is great since I've haven't been to the Alvord before, let alone, landed on something other than an approved airstrip. I fill my airplane while Joe wipes the nose prints off his windows.

Joe departs first then circles the airfield while I'm getting off the ground. I power up about as fast as I can comfortably cruise while Joe powers back to near stall speeds. Together we head out over Mahleur lake to the north end of the Steens Mountain range. I keep about 500 feet above and at Joe's 8 o'clock position. This gives me pretty comfortable separation but makes for some uninspiring photo's of his airplane with my old point and shoot digital, now in black and white mode. "There's his plane", I say later looking at the pictures, "no, maybe it's a bug splat... no I'm sure that's his plane."

We fly over the north hills of the Steens and head southward down the east side through a valley. At a thousand feet or so above the ground, we're not seeing any wildlife. Joe quips that the hunters must have scared it all away. Eventually we see a large herd of slow deer. Generally considered a protected yet tasty species, hunters shy away from them for fear of raising the wrath of local ranchers.

We pass over a pond. There are a few RV's nearby. Joe doesn't recognize them as belonging to his friends, besides, they're camped near a lake, not a watering hole. Suddenly my engine sputters and drops several RPM. Thinking it could be carb ice, I immediately throw on the carburetor heat and let it sit for a few seconds. I don't see the normal continue drop of RPM then slow rise indicative of carb ice. After about a minute I push the carb heat back in. The engine sounds normal. The gauges read all is well. Considering how dry it is, icing seems unlikely. Possibly a bit of water crept out from the crevasses of the tanks into lines. Nothing like a nice shot of adrenalin to be awake for the upcoming landing.

Joe spots the hot springs and asks if I see the cabin next to them. I
see a couple RV's and a humongous tent. But don't spot the springs. I see Joe flying back north then turning south again. He's using his GPS to get a rough gauge of wind direction and speed then makes his approach to land. Pilots are contrarians. They always want to know which way the winds are blowing so they can go against it.

I lose site of him so I continue on south staying high and well out of his way. I eventually turn in time to see him taxing towards the camping area. The landing area is HUGE!!! Even I am going to have trouble missing it. I set up a good 60 mph final with full flaps and settle gently down onto the Playa (Indian word for "dry, baked cracked mud... get used to it son". It's also an Indian word for "home"). I let the nose down a bit later. The only obstacle in the area is a large mound of grass and I'm heading right for it. I gently turn to the right, passing the mound stopping just past then taxi to the camping area, a grassy patch near the edge of the flats. "Nice landing," says Joe. I don't tell him that I normally have to shovel the tires out of the asphalt after a landing. He later adds a helpful suggestion to hold the nose off longer next time. It's best to be going as slow as possible before setting it down. "It diminishes the spray of dirt from the nose wheel burrowing through the ground. You won't have to clean your windows as often".

There's an old fence I can tie one wing to. The slope of the land puts the right wing slightly higher than the left. After tying off, staking down the other wing and tail, then and getting out my tent. I notice that the fuel vent, which is on the left wing, is dripping fuel. Drat! I untie everything, wheel the plane around 180 degrees and retie everything on the flat. Joe, looking at me then at the puddle of fuel on the ground, mentions that the town of Andrews and at Burns Junction, a nearby crossroads, one can land on a road and taxi up to some gas pumps. Joe shakes his head and wanders back to camp mumbling to himself, "Never in thirty years... license to anyone these days..."

It's a 15 minute walk from our camp to the hot springs. There are two concrete pools side by side. One is partially surrounded by a decrepit tin shack with two and a half walls still standing. Pipes channel the 176 degree water from a flowing spring into the pools. We test the water in the more open pool only to find it extremely hot. Someone has left the pipe flow running. The second pool is invitingly warm. It occurs to me to lift the pipe on pool 1 to stop the flow of hot water and let it cool down.

A short bit later, three other gentlemen show up carrying a couple jugs of beer and half full cups. They're camped in the tent above and were watching us come in. If we'd been looking we would have seen the Olympic style scorecards being held up as we landed. The newcomers come to the springs, at least, once a year. One from Bend, one from Boise, and the other from the Vancouver area. It's an 8 hour plus drive from the 'couv. We chat about airplanes and Joe regales us with stories of life in other countries before heading back. I stick around long enough to watch the moon come up. The water in pool 1 has almost cooled down to sub-boiling temperatures.

The Alvord, free from light pollution and as open as... well, as open as the all outdoors, is a fantastic place for viewing celestial objects. Fantastic while wrapped in a warm sleeping bag, that is. Temperatures drop quickly.

I awake in the middle of the night by headlights shining in the tent and the sound of a truck. "Great, some yahoo's are going to be racing through the desert, probably blaring their horns and yelling: WAAAAHHOOOO!!! Honk honk honk". But, to my pleasant surprise, they turn around and head back to the road. Joe is, apparently, woken up as well.

The night is cold but my bag is warm. It drops down into the 20's and there is frost on the wings when I get up. I make some tea, take some pictures of the sunrise then hike out onto the expanse of the playa to see if there are any rocks or dips that could cause trouble on take off. I'm also interested in seeing my touchdown point. By the time I return, Joe has gotten up, has gathered a bunch of dead juniper, and has a nice fire going for warmth. Joe was having zipper problems with his bag and didn't sleep so well. After looking at it, I discover it's one of these two zipper style contraptions and am able to get it functioning again. What I lack in piloting skills I manage to pull my weight with other more technical knowledge. Joe's cell phone rings. It's his buddies. They came looking for him last night and discovered the planes and our tents. They left because they didn't want to wake us up.

Joe wonders how firm the ground is northward, more in the direction of the springs and if it would be okay to taxi closer to save some walking time. Feeling ambitious, I walk the along "the shore", just off the grass, towards the hot springs seeing if one could safely taxi closer. It's a bit softer and sandier on top in parts. Silt from stream runoff, perhaps? Probably firm enough to taxi across but Landing would be pretty dubious. Staying 200 - 300 feet from grass line would be better, particularly since some cattle hoof prints sink in a few inches here and there closer in. Farther out the firm mud of the playa makes travel a safe option.

It's time for me to go. With the plane defrosted and packed up, I Depart around 10:30, zipping out eastward, nose held off the ground until while the mains rumble along. The ground gently drops away while I climb to a safe altitude to make a turn. I circle back over the camp, wave goodbye, then turn south toward Alvord lake. I pass through south side of Steens then back up the west side to complete the circuit. The West side is not as dramatic or impressive as the east side. I refuel in Burns and have lunch.

The trip back has me fighting headwinds. Again I'm only able to average 75mph. I'm greeted with a little light turbulence through gorge. By 4:00 I'm back on the ground refueling for the next adventure.

GroundLooper,

Thanks for the story! I enjoyed reading it. I gotta saddle up the old pony and go west someday for a couple of months of flying around.

Groundlooper,

Dag nabit. I saw you fly over the house Saturday, I'm sure. The Piper was White with Red accent? Did a couple of take offs. I walked out into the yard when you flew over and headed southeast, then the Piper came over and headed up to catch you. I was just headed back up to Elk camp. I went brain dead on the color of your bird. I thought it was a 172 when you went over?

Next time give me a PM, I'm good for at least coffee.

Glad you had a good time, yes it does get a bit nippy around here, even in the summer. We had frost kill our garden mid July one year. Pi**ed the old lady off. Haven't done one since.

See ya, Bub

Skylane wrote:

Dag nabit. I saw you fly over the house Saturday, I'm sure. The Piper was White with Red accent? Did a couple of take offs. I walked out into the yard when you flew over and headed southeast, then the Piper came over and headed up to catch you. I was just headed back up to Elk camp. I went brain dead on the color of your bird. I thought it was a 172 when you went over?

Next time give me a PM, I'm good for at least coffee.

Glad you had a good time, yes it does get a bit nippy around here, even in the summer. We had frost kill our garden mid July one year. Pi**ed the old lady off. Haven't done one since.

Around 2ish, I think. The Piper was white and red, as you say. My 150 is white with blue and red stripes.

I didn't realize you were so close to the airport, not that I felt I had a lot of time to spare since I poked along at 75mph but I'll let you know next time I'm heading out that way. I discovered I don't have cell service at the airport.

My grandparents had a farm near Dayton, Wa that sits at 1800'. I always thought that was high country for farming. Burns is more than double that. It looked like the major crop out that way has four legs.

I had a great time. I highly recommend heading out there to those who are interested in this sort of thing. I'm definitely going to put in on my list of places to return to.

The photos are up now.

Yep, that was you and the Piper that flew over. It's been so long since I've seen a 150, I thought it was a 172. Either that or I need to put on my glasses? Not. When you depart 30 look out your window, I'll be the one waving

Great pictures! Sometimes folks will go down there and the water will be cool, at the hot springs. So they turn the hot water in, drink wine and forget to take it out. Then it's to darn hot. For the most part it's been taken care of and not a lot of vandelism. The Hot Springs actully belongs to the Alvord Ranch, so it sits on private property. Been there for years.

Yes agriculture is king here, Beef and alfalfa hay are our big commodity.

See ya, Bub