Glad I Had a Trike

By Trim Tab


I did not know it could be so damned cold in June. The smell of wood smoke hung in the cold morning air as I walked to the airport. On the road through town there was the movement of early morning delivery trucks, and the sound of occasional lumber trucks pushing hard to get started on their daily quotas. It was still rather dark and quiet as I walked across the airport to the plane I would be flying that day. The only animal I saw moving under the streetlights that morning was a scraggly coyote, also headed out of town for the day.

The stars were fading as the sky began turning pale with the pastel colors of dawn high over the valley that surrounds McCall Idaho. There were a few others moving about like darker shadows. You could locate them by the flashlights they were using to do their preflight inspections and cargo loading. Most of them would be charter pilots who were getting their planes ready for another grueling day of work. The charter pilots would be hauling hunters, fishermen, hikers, and other outdoor enthusiasts, guides, outfitters, and their employees to their various trailhead destinations. Today they would be hauling mostly white water enthusiasts. These backcountry pilots always started early. First they wanted to get in all the runs they could in a day. Most of all, they wanted to get the people delivered before the usual turbulence that would develop as the day heated up.

While the whitewater customers came to enjoy a turbulent river ride, they generally did not care much for any turbulence during the plane ride to get them to the start of their preferred form of turbulent adventure.

If you were familiar with the McCall Idaho airport and it’s operations you could recognize the faint sounds and movements that signaled the beginning of the days operations. You might hear the sounds of hangar doors being opened, or baggage doors being closed on their first load of the day. You would see someone’s anti collision light come on, and then a set of bright strobe lights cutting through the thin morning mist warning other pilots that someone was about to start their engine. You might hear a pilot call out, “Hey Mike, ya got a quart of oil to spare till I get back from Indian Crick,” “Sure,” was the usual distant reply. Soon you would hear the familiar pre start warning call of “CLEAR PROP” just before an engine is started. Then there would be the coughing and sputtering as the engine struggled to clear its’ cylinders of excess fuel from the priming process and settle into a smooth rumble. While you could not see it, there would be a pilot’s slight smile of confidence in the healthy sound of the engine along with the relief that he had managed another cold weather start on the first try. A missed start could lead to problems like a flooded engine from over priming, run down battery from trying to start the engine with an overdose of hopeium. At worst one could have a fuel fire with some engines. The real “pits” though would be the humiliation of failure to start your own plane and having to interrupt some other busy pilot to ask for help.

Soon you could hear the Doppler effect from the engine of the first plane that taxis out in a large arc past the old Pioneer building to the run up area. Next there would be relative quite from that plane as the engine idles while the pilot goes through his pre run up checklist with a flashlight in his mouth. The more experienced pilots could do this check with a tactile familiarity of a sensitive lover. It is a process developed from years of experience. Then there would come the slow increase in engine sound as the pilot brings the engine up to speed for the magneto checks. There would be a several changes in engine speed as the mags are checked. If the plane had a constant speed prop then the RPM would then increase slightly for a few seconds and then make a dramatic drop as the prop is cycled to insure it’s proper operation. It is almost impossible for a pilot to hear this process and not listen for: left, both, right, both, as the mags are checked or count one, two, three, as the prop is cycled to insure it is working properly prior to his take off.

As I take off I can see the morning mist meandering just above the Payette River. The mist has also settled into a scattering of low swales on down the valley. The cows are still sleeping all curled up like giant pill bugs in the pastures to the south.

The sun is not yet shining on the tops of the mountains to the west of McCall. The mountains to the east are black against the backlight of the slow rising sun. For a while I will be flying directly into this blackness. Then, as I gain altitude, I will be flying directly into that blinding morning sun as I head easterly towards the check points of the Pinnacles, Warm Lake, and the Landmark air strip. I will then begin my decent into the canyon where the sand and gravel strip of Sulphur Creek Resort will reflect the overhead morning light and show up like a phosphorescent glow in the bottom of the still mostly dark canyon.

I was flying from McCall to Sulphur Creek to meet up with some friends for breakfast.
My friend was already there with his Cessna 180, which I occasionally flew. My plane was in the shop getting several modifications done to it so I had rented a Cessna 172 from McCall Air. The Cessna 172 is known in aviation parlance as a “trike” since it has the steerable third wheel up front, like a child’s trike, as opposed to a taildragger, where the steerable third wheel is still in the back where they were originally designed to be. The trikes are the more popular design these days since they are easier to land and a lot easier to handle on the ground.

Still, there is that bumper sticker, “REAL Pilots Fly Taildraggers”

I had planned to get there close to seven thirty. That is when the pack animals would allegedly be back in the corrals and the herd dogs would be resting and quiet. There is no room on the narrow gravel strip to weave ones way through any wandering animals.

As is usual in the backcountry I circled the landing strip area twice to look for any signs of a multitude of hindrances to a safe landing. It is still a quite dark on the lower approach end of the runway so I decide to circle for a third time to check out the landing strip as best I could in the dim light. I know that deer usually come from the fishpond side that time of the day. Geese are known to wander out from the other side. I had heard stories of more than one goose dinner being provided by an unfortunate early morning pilot. Then there is the occasional elk herd, wandering coyotes, meandering bears, or a brain dead moose. I was doing everything I had learned to check that there were no visible obstacles to a safe landing. After all, this time, the plane was not mine. I was a new rental customer at McCall Air. The owner had stated that he was not real comfortable with me flying around solo in the backcountry of Idaho with over a hundred thousand dollars worth of his money. It did not help that I was doing this in what is recognized as one of the more difficult and demanding flying environments. A lot of these strips are “make it or break it” places with little to no options to do a go around. But, he admitted that I had come with good references, and passed his check ride.

There were a few resort customers already outside working to restart last night’s campfire while waiting for the sun to melt the frost off of the wings of their planes. I decided to try and land short on the first part of the runway. That way I would be slowed down enough to not blow dust all over their morning coffee. Also, there are some trees between the touch down area and the lodge that would keep the crowd from seeing if I messed up the landing and razzing me about it all through breakfast, and lunch, and dinner. At least it was too early for them to have the scorecards out. Yes, scorecards, this is a hard bunch.

I finish my third pre landing inspection circuit around the strip and settled into the initial downwind portion of the approach. I make my habitual last glance towards the windsock. It is still too dark to see their puny little windsock. The rising smoke from the lodge tells me that there is no surface wind to be concerned about. The sun is beginning to shine on the roof of the main lodge at the other upper west end of the runway. I was now headed back into the blinding morning sun. I know there is a ridge ahead in the blackness below the sun. I have two options: Either I fly the usual option of skimming just over the top of the ridge for a more convoluted and slightly longer, but safer, approach, or land “inside the bowl” as it is referred to. This is a process for the more proficient and comfortable pilots. It is usually done only when the walls of the bowl are clearly visible without dark shadows to raise the risk of flying into the “Snag Zone.” Because I cannot see the face of the ridge that formed the east end of the “bowl” due to the sun in my face I decide on the longer approach as the safer option this morning.

I already have the flaps set to twenty degrees and the airspeed steady on seventy indicated. As soon as I can see the ridge pass under me I will make a descending left turn tight against the backside of the ridge. I will then reduce the throttle, set the flaps to thirty degrees, and adjust the trim for sixty knots indicated as I drop down behind the ridge and closely follow it’s contour to the end where I will make another left turn in order to get back in line with the end of the runway. I continue to slowly reduce power and airspeed as I get lined up.

Every thing looks good on final. I have two sand bags in the back to help with the short field landing characteristics of the plane, only half tanks of fuel, so I am light enough to approach slower than the book states with a delicately controlled airspeed of forty five knots indicated, (plus two, minus zero). Actual touchdown will be closer to forty with some power still being applied.

My aim point on the runway is steady in the windshield. I will soon adjust the power to let my touchdown point move up the windshield slightly, then add just enough power to stop the descent just a fraction before raising the nose for the flare out and touchdown.

I flared, touched down, cut the power to idle, lightly lowered the nose, and shouted, “Oh Shit” as I slammed on the breaks throwing dirt and gravel all over the place in a cloud of dust. The plane went down hard on its’ nose wheel stop, the plane tipped a bit to one side. I eased off the brakes a bit and the plane settled back down as it came to a halt in the cloud of dust. The dust settles, my nerves settle, sort of. The deer just stood there staring at me like where the hell did you come from? That’s what I was wondering.

The folks who were outside sipping their hot drinks and soaking up the first of the sun quickly put down their drinks and started running down the runway towards me pumping out frosty clouds of breath as they ran. I suspected that these people running towards me were laboring under the influence of ulterior motives.

I asked them, “What’s ya hurry? I would be up to the lodge shortly.”

The group had two predictable answers, “We did not want the meat to get oil soaked and spoiled.” Or, “If it was badly wounded we wanted to make sure it did not suffer.”

But, the deer, the plane, and the pilot all came away with no painful or costly damage. I took a deep breath as the adrenaline began to kick in.

I still got razzed all during breakfast. This time it was for my bad timing and poor aim at letting such a delicious dinner get away.

I was later told that the deer that had been bedded down out of sight underneath the clump of trees few yards from the runway. I was also informed that the animals often do not hear a plane coming in with reduced power because of the noise from the resort’s Pelton wheel power generator. It was the last burst of power, to arrest the decent, that made them stop and stare in my direction.

Now, if I had come in with the heavier 180 taildragger, which would have landed faster and longer, with its nose higher in the air all the way down to the touchdown and roll out, I would have never seen the deer directly in front of me. There, most likely, would have been fresh venison for dinner.

For the first time since I was a child, I was glad I had a trike.

Trike weenies RULE!

Hopeium really describes my cold starts too!

My god that's a long story, have you been sipping mint juleps? I once saw a raccoon take the gear off a Mooney I think it was a Mooney...ah I hate it when I cant remember.

GroundLooper wrote:Trike weenies RULE!

Hopeium really describes my cold starts too!

Of course much less hopeium needed when one primes the combustion chamber(s) instead of the carb bowl

Great story.

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Hey Trim Tab, I liked your story. I thought it was very well written and fun to read.

That hopeium sounds like some good shit man, where can I get some?

Gump, you are one sick puppy dude, where do you get these pictures from?

Gotta go, off to feed the dragon again,