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 Previous Item - Holiday 2
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Going on Holiday 1 |
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Chris Vernon-Jarvis - Jul 26,2004
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It seems that only the Summers of our youth were the long hot Summers fit to be remembered by the toothless crones of the peanut gallery but clearly the first year we were in our Whistler house was one and this year is looking like another. It was hot last Saturday and it looked like it was going to be hot all week so I decided to take Jemima to Osoyos. Christine left with the troops (well, two of them,) at nine o’clock and by the time eldest son had driven me up to Pemberton around eleven it was already 35C on the airfield.. I did my preflight, topped off the tank and called in my flight plan. Taxying out I could see the heat rising in waves off the tarmac, the Blanik’s next to the runway were dozing dogs who thought it was just too hot too fly. This was my first proper, map reading, cross country in thirty eight years. Even taking it in sections I was nervous.<br /><br />Pemberton to Hope is an hour and twenty minutes by Searey and four and a half by car if you stop for coffee. I flew over Lillooet Lake for fifteen minutes before running the gauntlet following the river down the valley. For twenty minutes there was nowhere to put her down, not a sand bar or clearing, not even the river as it tumbles down the crevice it has worn in the rock. I breathed a sigh of relief as the mountains opened out into Harrison Lake, a lone speedboat in the North end was doing doughnuts but I resisted the temptation and droned on South wondering if I would recognize the hills around the Fraser and my heading for Hope. I need not have worried, the hills at the bottom of the lake looked just like the map contours, I did not even need the compass, just point Jemima through the gap and the town of Hope was gloriously obvious. Just a couple of minutes later I could make out the Airfield and three or four after that I could see gliders and a tug at the downwind end of the runway. I changed the frequency, called in and set up to join the circuit. I had to stretch the downwind leg to avoid a helicopter base where two big helicopters were winding up their elastics and then touched down smoothly on the grass just a few yards from the cluster of people doing a gliding seminar. Phew, <br /><br />I stopped the plane near the cafU, switched off and climbed out. Even on the grass field the heat was oppressive. I went into the cafU to get a tea or coffee but it was deserted. A chap in firefighter duds walked in his radio crackling, looked around and asked where was everybody. I told him I didn’t know and headed for the restroom. Twenty minutes later Christine turned up with the gas. I put a whole can in, five gallons, just as I was finishing one of the gliding types rolled up on one of those mini motor bikes, his big frame hunched and sweating, jiggling the handlebars to stay upright on the rough grass surface. “If you want to go you’d better go now.” He said. “Their going to issue a Notam any minute closing the field because of the fires, their supposed to be bringing in the big guns.” I looked around, the gliders were all put away, I was on my own. I called Flight Services on my cell, filed as quickly as they would let me and told them I was “Off, right now!” As if to make a point the air was filled with the rumble of heavy iron hammering off the rocky sides of the valley, Within seconds a Martin Mars appeared out of a side valley that seemed no wider than its wings, overflew the field at a couple of thousand feet toward Harrison Lake, skimmed the hills I had just crossed and disappeared. I saddled up and a minute later I was heading up the valley in the other direction following the highway to Princeton.<br /><br />The sectional has a warning “Route subject to rapid Wx change. Altitude should permit course reversal, min 5,500 ASL recommended between Hope and Princeton.” They have a point, in places the valley closes in all around, a faster plane might have a problem turning. Jemima and I climbed steadily as the road too climbed below us. It began to get bumpy, side valleys branched off in all directions causing eddies and sudden up or down drafts. One downdraft had me descending for twenty or thirty seconds even while she was pulling 5,400 revs and 65 knots. I circled a couple of 360’s before heading for the summit. Strange isn’t it how once you are over things change, now I was riding the long descent to Princeton I had 75 knots at 5,200 and I was still going up!<br /><br />It was no more difficult to find Princeton ‘Airport” than Hope but what a contrast. Belying the huge sign beside the Highway the field was just scrub and sagebrush on a shelf over the town, the runway was a narrow tarmac strip cracked and parched, the bitumen repairs themselves gaping open like sores. An open shed, its time perforated back against the prevailing wind, held a couple of peeling spam cans. I stopped and opened the canopy only to be assaulted by the desert heat. Shit, Christine, I hope you’re not going to be long. It was maybe 25 minutes before rescue came with another can of auto gas and bore me away to Princeton’s only cafU for a salad sandwich and a welcome pot of tea. How English.<br /><br />By the time we got back to the airport a small breeze had sprung up, well two probably since the windsocks appeared to be having a bit of a disagreement. Either way ‘they,’ the winds, did not help, just made the heat feel like an electric paint stripper. Five minutes from being dropped off I was on my way to Osoyos, still following the highway but now the valley was just a little wider, farms and cornfields filled the valley floor and the river had become a lazy meandering thing. I breathed a sigh of appreciation. At least a seaplane was about as safe as you could get in this environment. Once again I climbed steadily until I was about 5,000 feet, although there was really no need. The valley opened out at the US border and I turned left following the road a little North and then I could see Osoyos Lake away to my right so I cut off the corner, trimmed nose down for descent, throttled back to 5,000 and relaxed, probably for the first time all day.<br /><br />I could have left it a little later, for the relaxation, perhaps. I found the strip, I had to go round twice to make sure I was in the right place. It was gravel, about 40 ft wide, overgrown with weeds, in places it was difficult to tell where the strip began or the weeds stopped. A derelict mobile hut was perched on some crates a few yards off and from the air you could not tell where the parking was. Some days it just doesn’t stop, first cross country, first gravel strip…… Actually the landing was a good one. When the weeds were level with the cockpit side I was there. Everyone should have weeds. I found some old oil cartons marking the taxiway and even a steel hawser tie down area. I stopped the engine, Osoyos was hot but not the furnace hot of Princeton. “Are you leaving it here, do you want your gas now?” the voice of youngest son and ground crew recruit came from behind me. “ And what is the “airfield frequency” it says that is the combination for the padlock on the gate?” Apparently it doesn’t take much of a headwind to handicap a Searey level with a Yukon.<br /><br />We tied Jemima down, removed everything removeable, and went down to find our rented trailer. It was right beside the water and by the time we’d unpacked CD was suggesting that the plane would be safer on the beach. We tekked back to the field. I took a lifejacket, undid the tiedowns, started her up and bumped over the coarse gravel to the threshold. Two minutes later I was circling the campground and sizing up the lake. Speedboats and water skiers, Seadoos and people towing rubber rings with kids hanging out seemed to be everywhere. I chose a spot and made an approach but in my concern for the watercraft I did not follow my usual pattern. After a couple of bounces I went round again. This time I took my time, made the approach longer and smoother, a couple of thumps and I was down. I taxied in, pulled her as far up the beach as I could and tied off the nose ring to the bumper on the trailer. I went inside to the welcome air conditioning and put on the kettle. The ground crew would be back in a couple of minutes. I pulled the log book out of the bag and opened it. <br /><br />“7/16/04 Pemberton, Hope 11.15, 12.35, CCVJ.”<br /><br />Another day, another entry.<br />
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Dan Nickens - Jul 26,2004
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Phew! You need to come to Florida and chill out! Even with all the heat I'm guessing you saw some cool scenery. (Hint, hint). It's a good tale, Chris, and thanks for sharing.
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