My friend, Doug, is a member of the SCA which is a medieval recreation society. Primarily, for him, he puts on heavy sheets of metal and gets beaten by people wielding sticks. Having been beaten numerous times about the head, his helm was in need of repair. Having some difficulty rewelding the stainless steel, he wanted to take a trip to Cashmere, WA to visit his father-in-law, Bruce, and get a hand with the welding. Bruce, also being an avid pilot, has a house right along the airport. Doug suggested taking a trip up to Cashmere with airplane. All we needed was good weather for a day to enjoy the romance of aviation.
Friday I send Doug an message that the weather for the weekend is looking great.
"How much do you weigh, I query", to which, Doug replies, "180lbs". Great. We can't carry much extra but should be able to bring overnight gear for a stay if we run a little late, plus Doug's 10lb helm.
Doug arrives at my house on his motorcycle with a pack on. "Man that was a bit cold getting here this morning." I have my scale out to weigh some of the items. "I weigh 180lbs wearing nothing but a towel", Doug tells me. "Dude, you're going to have to put on more than a towel or we're not going." No wonder it was cold. With Kevlar bike jacket, heavy pants, and extra thick riding boots, Doug's weight bumps up to 195lbs. Doug denies he wears a kevlar cod piece. With my weight ballooning up to 130lbs lately, I think we may be a little squeezed on limits but should be okay. I do a weight and balance calculation. We're 35lbs under gross weight but the balance is too far aft. We ditch practically everything but our toothbrushes and, for good measure, Doug tucks the helm behind his legs. That brings us into balance. It's a tight squeeze, but that's to be expected in a little two seater cessna 150. Doug fits, barely. He has to crouch to see out the side window.
It's a beautiful sunny, clear, and calm day as we depart the Green Mountain airstrip at just before 10:00. I add 10 degrees of flaps to insure a comfortable departure from the 2000' strip. The airplane climbs much slower than normal with the additional hefty passenger weight. I turn to the northeast and make a beeline towards Ellensburg where I'll stop to refuel. We climb to 7500 feet as we cross over the rugged terrain. St. Helens moves to our west, Adams moves slowly to our south. Just northwest of Adams, amidst the checkerboard of clear cuts, someone has left circles of trees in two of the squares. They look like a pair of dice, a two and a five. The goat rocks jut out ahead with their craggy peaks and spires. The haze is pretty thick. Rainier never really clears of it.
Ellensburg comes into view. I make the necessary calls. The wind is blowing 7 knots from the east and the turbulance picks up as we get closer to the ground. In spite of the somewhat rough air I plant it nicely down on Runway 7 then head over to the pumps for more petrol. It's just after 11:00. The price isn't too terrible given how things are going up, only $4.63 a gallon. Of course there's the Fuel Federal Excise Tax, the WA Aviation Tax, the County Flowage tax, the Federal Oil Spill tax, and sales tax bringing the total to $5.36 per gallon. They say that every time you fill up, Osama rides with you. I look at Doug. "Osama could stand to lose a few pounds".
By noon, we're on our way again. I head north towards Blewett pass, climbing slowly to 6500 feet. Mt Stuart and the Enchantments loom to the west. A little turbulance buffets the plane now and then, particularly when passing over the ridges. The highway below snakes it's way through the valley heading far to the east then back to the west. Cashmere is located in a relatively narrow valley. The floor around 850'. While I start descending once I'm over the pass I still need to circle around the airport before I'm low enough to being able to land. This gives me time to check out the conditions and the airfield. Turbulance picks up as I descend. The airstrip is 1800 feet long and runs east to west, rising slightly from the east end to the west end. Normally the winds blow from the west and pilots will land on runway 25 (250 degrees magnetic). This gives them the benefit of both a headwind and an upslope to slow the airplane. Today the winds are blowing about 7 knots from the east. This makes runway 7 (70 degrees magnetic) the more favorable runway. A hill and the valley wall make manouvering through a normal pattern entry a bit tight so I opt to head farther up the valley then swing around, flying through the gap between the hill and the valley wall. A little slip to the side and I'm lined up on final with the runway. Long finals sure make it easier to hit a target on the runway. Coming in I apply full flaps. 1800 feet is relatively short, particularly for this airplane, the weight, and it being 1:00 in the afternoon. It's warming up, though not too hot. A cessna with full flaps makes for a fairly steep approach. Doug isn't quite sure I know what the heck I'm doing, with his nose pressed against the glass, until we grease it down on the runway. Sweet! With the Ellensburg landing I have Doug completely fooled that I DO know what the heck I'm doing.
I taxi around to the transient airplane parking area. It looks like there's enough room for one airplane. A sign reads there's a nominal fee for a nights stay. "They sure don't make their money on volume", I'm thinking. In fact, they don't seem to be able to afford tiedown chains either and I left my tiedown ropes back at home because of the weight and balance issues. Small airports, ya gotta bring your own tiedowns. Bruce saw us come in. He has a set of ropes available for us to secure the craft. Being the great host he is, Bruce takes us to a local diner for our $100.00 hamburgers. That's $5.00 for the burger and $95.00 for the gas to get there. Bruce regails us with flying stories then picks up the tab, bringing the cost down to a mere $95.00. Well worth it. This is partucularly fortunate since the restaurant does not take credit cards. Doug and I realize we only have $4.00 each in our wallets.
Back at the house, Bruce descends into his shop, then proceeds to weld the the helm. The welding isn't going very well until Bruce realizes that his welder is set to aluminum (what airplanes are made of), not steel. Once he changes the setting the repairs proceed remarkably better. Meanwhile, I plan the return trip then sit to rest my eyes for a while. Once Bruce has finished, Doug is sent down to grind out the welds. Bruce regails me with more flying stories then proceeds to show me some of his projects, when he's not building airplane parts for other pilots, and some of his son's projects. There's enough projects to last several generations. One is an old Howard aircraft Bruce is restoring to museum condition. "Never buy an aircraft with a single (mono) wing", he advises, (most have two that attach to the body on each side). "It takes 4 burley people just to lift it!".
Four o-clock rolls around and Doug has finished the work on his helmet. If we leave right away, we can still make it back to Vancouver at a reasonable hour. There is no fuel on site, but Bruce has a stash of alcohol free "mogas" that he generously gives to me to top off the tanks. Free gas! I'm so excited I splash some all over my body for good measure. "Hey, that stuff may be free but it's not cheap, you know." Filled, ready to go, and reaking of fuel, Doug and I load up. The wind is still from the east, which is good, as the runway slope down to the east. It's always better to take off downhill whenever possible. I set the altimeter to the field elevation. I add 10 degrees of flap to shorten the ground run and off we go. I circle around west as I climb. I end up doing another 360 degree climbing turn just to gain more altitude before turning towards Blewett pass.
I climb back up to 7500 feet to get over the pass and lean out the mixture for optimal performance. Once the pass is reached I slowly descend down to 6500 feet. Ellensburg is off to our left as I cross over I-90. Suddenly, the engine starts losing power. "Uh oh, carb ice," I think. I quickly pull on the carb heat. The engine regains power. "Whew." That's always good for a shot of adrenalin. I push the carb heat back in and the engine immediately starts to lose power again. "Wow," I comment to Doug while pulling out the carb heat again, "I didn't think carb ice would come on that quickly." I glance over at the clue meter which is flashing "Out to Lunch" on it's monochrome LCD display. "Hmmm...," I think, perhaps the mixture is off. So I re-lean fuel/air ratio. After a few more minutes, I figure that if it is carb ice it must be clear by now. I push in the carb heat and the engine dies. "ACK!", I quickly push in the carb heat. The engine springs back to life. "Darn that Bruce and his free gas!," I accuse desperatly looking for a scapegoat. I glance over at the clue meter to see it flashing, "Gone Fishing."
"I'll pay for the Hotel," offers Doug as I start my turn towards Ellensburg. We both know that once we land we're not going to make it back to Vancouver before it gets too late and that's okay with both of us. We'll get this on the ground while we have an airport nearby and sort things out.
I tune into the Ellensburg AWOS station to get an update on onditions. Winds 7 knots from the east and the altimeter is... "What the heck?, That can't be right." I say. As I tune the pressure setting, the altimeter drops a good 1300 feet. "Okay, something is definitely not right here... not only is the engine having problems, the altimeter is having problems. We've only gone 30 miles." I glance back at the clue meter. The display is flashing "Lights on, nobody home" in the most brilliant technicolor. "Now that's broken too," I think. If a guage could show emotion, I swear the CM gave me a look of appalled disbelief.
I drop into pattern altitude. Gas (on), Undercarriage (still there), Mixture (full rich), Flaps (set where I want them), Seatbelts (on and tight), I run through my pre-landing checklist. Another beautiful landing. Geeze, three in one day. As we exit the runway, I raise the flaps and push in the carb heat. "Hey, the engine is still running... must be warmer and drier down here." We could see sun dogs building which did indicate moisture up higher. The clue meter disconnects itself from the panel and hops out as I pull into the Tiedown area. "The altimeter is reading correctly too," I notice. "Hey, there's no tiedown chains or ropes," I see as we pull up to the tiedown area. "What's up with that? It's not like this is a remote airstrip." I guess more airports are not supplying ropes out of liability concerns. Doug wanders off to find some ropes. Fortunately a worker for the local FBO is busy filling airplanes for the following day. He finds us some ropes and offers some suggestions on our engine problems.
Doug calls Bruce while I call another pilot friend, Rob, for any hints on what might be going on. After a while of discussion this with several people. Carb ice doesn't make sense. The gas wouldn't likely have caused that much trouble, as it wasn't a tremendous amount relatively speaking and mixed with good fuel. Didn't explain why it would run with the carb heat out either. Blocked air intake was suggested but the engine ran fine on the ground with the carb heat in... Bruce calls back after talking to his mechanic who gives us the needed clue. The mixture got too lean... "Of course," I say slapping my hand to my head. "Duh." It all fell into place. I descended a 1000 feet (or so I thought) without enriching the mixture, except, that with the rapid and dramatic pressure change, I had descended 2300 feet. Adding carb heat thins the air, which brought the mixture back into balance. Then... probably the dumbest move, I re-leaned the mixture. Normally this would be a good thing except I leaned it with the carb heat ON! I was smart enough to richen the mixture as we descended to the airport and made sure it was rich for the landing so by the time we got onto the ground everything was back in balance and running fine.
I look over in time to see the clue meter has flagged down a car and heads off into the encroaching night.
Doug asks at the FBO where a good hotel is for the night. He calls the number given then hangs up.
"I think they said $29 per night".
"Sounds pretty low, are you sure?", I reply.
"Maybe they said $129 per night".
"Maybe it was the hourly rate," I respond. Eeeewww!
Doug calls Mary, his wife, to let her know what's up and that we'll be heading out in the morning. She accuses us that this is just an excuse to sit in the room watching dirty movies. I look at Doug. Doug looks at me. We assure her THAT is definitely not on the agenda, in spite of the low low hourly rate. It turns out the hotel is full anyway. The locals must be busy tonight. We call a cab and have him take us to another nearby hotel, which runs about $90 per night.
Ellensburg taxis. We began to wonder if a rough running single engine airplane was actually that bad. The driver talks continuously on his cell phone while driving with his other hand. The only clue he's actually paying attention to anything is when we pass through the college district. He nearly gives himself whiplash as we drive past some young co-eds which he describes in detail to whomever he is talking to on the phone. On the other hand, it's only 10 bucks for a trip across town (plus a stop at an ATM). They have an eight dollar special to the $29/hour motel.
Ellensburg waitresses. Both of us are pretty hungry and walk over to the local RoadKill restaurant, maybe it was RoadHouse, whatever. I have a salad. The waitress somehow determines we are from Oregon (well doug anyway). Her eyes get big and distant as she tells us that, "Someday, I'm going to move to the far away land of Oregon." We assure her that it is true that the commodes are actually inside the house, odd as it may seem. She complements us on our english skills. "It must be hard learning two languages," she says as she finishes taking our orders.
We wake up early the next morning and head to the local Starbucks for breakfast, then catch a cab back to the airport. This driver is a little better only in that the co-ed's are too busy nursing their hangovers to be out this early.
The air is cool. I decide to take a quick trip around the pattern, just to make sure everything is functioning properly. When skiing, if there's a nice layer of dry, fluffy powder on top of a nice firm, smooth base one can ski down a slope with the style of an olympic pro. This is called "Hero Snow". This morning I had "Hero Air". Without the added poundage of Doug, The plane climbed like it actually had horsepower and floated wonderfully through the silky smooth air followed by a landing with the tires gently kissing the pavement.
I tell Doug all is well and get an updated weather report. Mixed reports about the west side of the Cascades. Well, we can make it to Hood River, at least. From there, we can check conditions and proceed or, worst case, Mary can come and pick us up. The rest of the trip back turns out to be uneventful. The predictions of low clouds never materialize. Sometimes life is good. With Doug back on board, we climb like an ox bloated from a diet of refried bean burritoes. Doug warns me that if I make too many comments about his weight, he'll put on the towel he "borrowed" from the hotel.
I don't know what it is about Grove Field. Maybe it's the hills to the east with the turbulance that always seems to be associated with the changing terrain and wind. Maybe it's the tight pattern just outside of Troutdale's airspace, but I have some of my worst landings here. After my first go around, I line up with runway 7. There are trees on both sides during the approach, I'm getting bounced a bit then shoved to the left. I'm now in a cross wind in spite of the winds, generally, coming from the east. I land on the very left edge of the runway, almost ending up in the grass.
After refueling, the departure isn't much better. The wind sock on the east end is pointing west. I call out to a plane in the pattern that the winds seem to be favoring an eastward approach. As we taxi down I notice the wind sock in the middle is flat. We continue to taxi to the west end. The windsock shows a clear wind out of the west. We wait as the airplane, now on final, makes his landing.
"You'd think an airplane like that would land shorter," I comment to Doug.
Now, departures at Grove from runway 7, one does a 30 degree turnout to avoid overflying the trailerpark located directly off the end of the runway. "Hey, Bob, lets build housing right off the end of a runway. People will enjoy the view of departing aircraft!" NOT!
I start my run. The windsock in the middle is showing a nice crosswind again. The plane lifts off and I pull out of ground effect too quickly causing the plane to settle back down "CR@P!!!!!". Up again I let the speed pick up then make my turnout, getting a whole 10 to 15 degrees of turnout as we cross the threshhold a solid 100 feet above the ground. People throw their sandwiches and dive under the kitchen table as we pass overhead. "Sorry," I shout, ".... ummm... enjoy the romance ..."
That must have been the Thunderbird!?! You didn't eat there to did you? If that ever happens again I recommend The Tav, foods good, beer is cheap, and the sceenery is nice. The beer garden in back is great when it gets warm.
