Alaska 2008

14. Fishing for Rainbows

2008-06-16T20:33:00.000-07:00

June 16, 2009

The rivers in southwest Alaska are famous for their rainbow trout which can grow to well over 24" in length. They are highly protected game fish. Guides are required to attend certification classes and all anglers are required to use only single barbless hooks on lures when fishing for rainbows. It's practically a capital offense to keep or kill a rainbow - only catch and release is allowed in Alaska.

It was early in the season at the Royal Wolf Lodge and we were graciously offered a small cabin where we could stay and visit with Kate and Kev for a few days and go fishing for rainbows if we liked. This was more than we'd expected and we were touched by Chris & Linda's hospitality.

In the morning we suited up with hip waders, felt-soled boots and warm jackets and were paired up with Tyler for a day of dry fly fishing. We met Kevin by the lake and he flew us out to a little river about 10 miles to the east where Chris owned the land and kept a few boats onshore.

Loading up for a ride to the river

Despite our layers of warm clothes the water was frigid. This early in the season, the rivers and lakes had only recently cleared of ice and the water was running cold. This also meant that the fish were just warming up and they were hungry.

That being said, these are also Alaskan Rainbows we're talking about. These are fish that have been around for some time. They've seen plenty of anglers come and go, they've been caught and released for years. Which means they've had the time to develop discerning tastes. Not just any ol' cast with a tasty lookin lure will do for these fish. No, they want to be convinced. So the first hour or so was taken up with a little instruction on casting the 2" dry flies that we'd be using throughout the day.

Trying not to get tangled in the line

I'd never cast a fly in my life. Growing up, the bulk of my fishing was with nightcrawlers and bobbers. I had a couple of spinners and wasn't averse to spearing a minnow on a hook if I could find one, but for the most part I used low tech wiggly worms. Fly fishing was brand new to me. With Tyler's help I moved fairly quickly from completely hopeless (tangled up in floating line) to moderately ok. And then I got lucky and caught the biggest rainbow trout I'd ever seen!

Mark pulled in a respectable 18" rainbow shortly after...

And then he fell in the river. To clarify: he was already in the river, we'd moved upstream to a bend and were casting from a gravel shelf into the waters as they sped up rounding the bend. Mark stepped off the shelf and found himself drifting downstream, near-freezing water pouring into his waders. Thankfully Tyler got the boat fired up and was able to fish him out before he turned completely blue and we rushed upstream to get him warmed up immediately.

At the cabin on Big Ku the guys found some dry clothes and put on hot coffee while Mark thawed out in a hot shower. It took a little while but he finally stopped shivering and the color came back to his lips. We settled in to a good lunch that Kate had packed up for us, had some warm drinks and relaxed enough to decide to head back out for some more fishing.

Staying warm and dry in the boat.

A fish on the line

The afternoon was a little more like fishing than catching. We reeled in a few rainbows but nothing to equal the morning's catch. Even so, they were far larger than any we'd seen in the Lower 48 (even at Pike Place).

Late in the day Kevin tracked us down on the river and we loaded up to head back to the lodge. Kate had been working on a couple pike the boys had caught. After she got over the teeth and through the slime (we all know that pike are scary ferocious, but on top of that once landed they emit a coat of eely slime - eewwwww!) Kate sliced 'em and diced 'em and fried 'em up. After all that trouble they were amazingly delicious appetizers piping hot upon our return.

Kevin offers us a ride

After dinner, while Mark spent time tending to one drowned camera I spent some time with Chris Branham going over the charts. Chris gave me excellent tips on navigating across the taiga where there are few distinct landmarks and few good landings. He also gave us resources that might help us if we were to run into trouble (radio frequencies, lodge locations, owner's names, potential fuel stops). Chris has been flying this terrain for ages and following his recommendations I plotted a course to intersect the Aniak River at its headwaters in the Kuskowin Mountains the next day.

Chris Branham points out 525 hill

As the sun faded towards the horizon we hiked out to Kate and Kevin's cabin for a little wine, a bonfire, and of course s'mores. Kevin's folks were also up that week, and we traded tales of flying and fishing as the sun settled into it's golden nightime glow.

Kate and Kevin's summer home

Kate and Kevin

Golden light around 11:00pm

13. Looking For The K-Team

2008-06-15T20:33:00.000-07:00

Route of flight: PAAQ - PAIG via Lake Clark Pass

June 15, 2008

Lake Clark Pass - the entrance is blocked by a prow of rock that you've got to wind around and the exit is forked by another island of rock. The pass itself is a steep sloped narrow gap that twists and turns with few options for a decent landing if the engine quit. It also has a few box canyons off the side that are very alluring - enough to draw you in and trap you. The day we flew it, clouds obscured the peaks and pinched our airspace as the terrain rose. Even so, with sheer slopes on either side coated with blue glaciers tumbling down there's plenty to look at and distract you from your route.

We'd checked the weather cams before leaving Palmer, they showed low clouds at both ends of the pass, opening up on the northwest side towards Lake Clark. The FSS reported lifting skies on the other side and Lake Iliamna was forecast to be high overcast.

Chakochatna River, on the way to Lake Clark Pass

We flew along the northwest shore of the Cook Inlet. Past the Sustina River, there were no roads, and just a few airstrips used mostly to get people and supplies to the oil derricks out in the water. Just past the last of the oil derricks a prow of rock guarded the entrance to the pass. That rock was really the remains of the foothills that hadn't been washed away by the river pouring out of the mountains. It was lush, and at it's base was a small lake - just large enough for a floatplane to land in and with just enough shoreline for a lodge perched on its edge. There was a Beaver at the dock and red Cessna180 on approach as we threaded our way past and into the pass.

The terrrain rose steeply to either side and below us the riverbed climbed fast to meet the glaciers. Fresh snow climbed up into the cloud cover. We kept an eye out for Dall Sheep and bears but to be honest, we kept a brighter eye out on the sectional and the terrain map.

Steep terrain in Lake Clark Pass

Hard to say whether we'd have wanted a perfectly clear day to run Lake Clark Pass. To have done so only would have added to the distraction. Halfway through, we jogged to the south to follow a the higher fork out to the lake. I spotted a bear trundling along the riverbank and we had just enough room to circle for a closer look. This proved to be mildly disorienting. Mark had no problem flying the tight maneuver, but it didn't leave him much bandwith to spot the bear. Figuring there'd be more bears in the Katmai, we headed out the pass.

Approaching Lake Clark

As we flew west from Lake Clark the land opened up, the pines thinned out and we entered the tundra. The Katmai Preserve is found at the eastern end of the Alaska Peninsula. It's most famous for its brown bears, king salmon and rainbow trout. Iliamna Lake is the largest of the many lakes dotting the region (it's about the same size as Great Salt Lake) and it was thereabouts that we hoped to connect with our friends Kate and Kevin who were out on their own Alaskan adventure.

Looking for the K-Team.

Kate and Kev are friends of ours from Seattle. Kate is a chef with CIA credentials and Kevin is a floatplane pilot. Together they got a sweet little summer gig at the Royal Wolf Lodge in the Katmai Preserve and we decided to drop in and say hi.

We had a rough idea of where to find them. They were near Nonvianuk Lake, south of Iliamna and not far from Igiaguig (the closest landing strip). When we crossed Lake Iliamna, we realized that the terrain was more complex than we'd imagined from the charts. The taiga was freckled with numerous small lakes, streams, rivers and very few hills with which to triangulate our position.

Taiga south of Iliamna Lake

Luckily, we'd been in touch via e-mail the week before and had the frequency for the lodge radio. As we flew over one of the lakes around where we thought they might be, we spotted a floatplane on the water and gave a call. The lodge radio was right by the kitchen and Kate picked up right away. After a quick chat, we headed back to Igiuguig to await a pickup from Chris in his Helio.

We landed at Igiugig in a stiff quartering breeze as a DC-3 was running up with a load of passengers. Mark made a sweet short landing and made the first turnoff just to be polite (earning him some friendly compliments from the DC-3 crew). As we tied off on the tarmac we were treated to the rare sight (well, rare for us in the lower 48) of a gleaming DC-3 taking off from a short dirt strip.

DC-3 taxis to the runway at Igiugig

Tail up on takeoff

Chris Branham pulled up in his pickup and took us out to the river where he'd drawn up his Helio.

We took off down stream and climbed out in a few hundred feet heading west flying low over the taiga. 20 miles away we circled over the Royal Wolf Lodge, a collection of buildings that Chris and his wife Linda have built over the last 10 years, stick by stick, all of it imported in that Helio and two other planes that Chris keeps on Little Ku.

Royal Wolf Lodge

It was pretty cool to have tracked down Kate and Kevin way out here. We were just in time for dinner and spent the evening catching up with all their adventures.

We all ate very well thanks to Kate.

12. Separate Ways

2008-06-14T20:33:00.000-07:00

Route of flight: PATK-MRI-PAAQ

N322MX and N1669 on the ground at Talkeetna

June 14, 2008

We woke to overcast skies and a slight drizzle, packed our camp and headed to town to find some food. We ate at a small inn filled with all sorts of tourists and climbers and folks just passing through on the only road from Fairbanks to Anchorage. The shelves were full of books and old National Geo’s. We picked through and pulled a few from the 60’s and 70’s and spent the better part of breakfast thumbing through stories and photos of Alaska and trading tales with the other half-dozen or so folks with whom we shared the table.

It was still a little drizzly and we weren’t in any hurry to go fly in the rain so we made our way to the airport and stopped in at the Flight Service Station (FSS) for a weather briefing. Flight Service Stations are located throughout Alaska and the lower 48 and their function is to provide detailed weather information for all pilots - commercial and private. In fact, it’s an FAA requirement that every pilot, prior to taking off on any flight must obtain an official weather briefing for their route of flight. Doesn’t matter if you’re flying a 747 full of paying passengers, a 737 full of cargo or if you’re just going to take a Cessna up for a few practice touch-n-go’s; you’re required to get a briefing first and the folks at the FSS are who you call. They’re fully fluent in all the NOAA weather data available for their area and have local knowledge of the weather trends as well. At least they do in Alaska.

In 2007, as part of a cost-savings initiative the FAA decided to outsource the weather services in the lower 48 and much of that local expertise was lost. I remember clear as a bell the day I called to get a briefing for a local flight out of Boeing Field and found myself talking to a friendly gentleman from Lockheed Services stationed in Georgia. Georgia?!?! The briefing he gave me consisted of what he could read off the computer including winds aloft, temps and dewpoints and the en-route forecast. It was a standard briefing. What I didn’t get was any tips about how the weather was likely to be expressed locally around the foothills of the Olympic Mountains and the Cascades or in the marine areas of the Puget Sound lowlands. The folks I used to talk to at FSS in Seattle had intimate knowledge of our local weather tendencies which the friendly gentleman in Georgia did not.

This fabulous new FAA initiative was not implemented in Alaska, however, and we were able to walk into the FSS at Talkeetna and get a real briefing. Looking at the radar screens, there was a low pressure system parked over southern Alaska and a corresponding marine layer along the Gulf of Alaska generating conditions similar to those we’d flown through along the coast near Cordova. There was a high pressure system to the north of the Alaska Range and the weather cams at Windy Pass showed clear passage. After talking to the FSS weather man, the decision was easy - Steve and Alan would head north through the pass and then follow the Nenana back to Northway. Since the weather was fairly stable, they decided to get on their way. We said our good-byes and watched them take off north heading out for the rest of their Alaskan adventure.

It would take Steve and Allen another four days to get home. After Northway they followed the Al-Can until just before Whitehorse where they hopped a pass to intercept the Cassiar Highway. Following the road they wove between the Cassiar and Coastal ranges south through BC to Prince George, then south to the Fraser River. They followed the river until it met the Sound and they were home by the weekend.

We decided to head back to Anchorage where we’d make a business call, visit a couple friends, and maybe even get a shower. The trip back to Merrill Field was uneventful, the overcast layer obscured the mountains and there were light showers along the way. We parked amid hundreds of light aircraft, most of which were taildraggers with big tires.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get much of a sense of Anchorage except to say that there were roads and traffic and buildings and street signs and street lights and lots of people and lots of noise and cars rushing around. It was like any other small city, though not very tall and very well insulated. I suppose it’s a measure of how easily we’d become accustomed to the lack of civilization that we found Anchorage so jarring.

After taking a little time to visit with some customers there, we took off again to find another friend who lives in the neighborhood. Mark lives out in Palmer, at the far eastern end of Cook Inlet up the Matanuska River a few bends. We had the GPS coordinates for his house so we flew out to look for him. We spotted his house and circled around a few times before joining the pattern to land at Palmer. Mark met us at the airport and took us home to a warm house, a warm meal, a few games of squash, showers, clean laundry and a comfy bed for the night. It was a nice break from our travels and the next day we woke clean, refreshed and ready for the second half of our adventures.

Palmer NOTAM: caution - moose on runway

Oh, one other thing... remember that Citabria from the Trench Route? Well, as we were tossing our gear into Mark's truck a car drove up and there was the friendly Citabria pilot we'd met Mackenzie. He'd managed to avoid all that weather that held us up in Teslin and Whitehorse and made it back to Palmer safe and sound. Small world, even in Alaska.

11. Flightseeing Denali

2008-06-13T20:00:00.000-07:00

June 13, 2008

For the last flight of the day, we let someone else fly. We hired a Hudson Air C195 on skis to take us up to the Ruth Glacier on Mt. McKinley. Jock was our pilot and guide and he was happy to have a plane full of pilots that he could show around. It didn't take long before we were flying up glaciers amid the crags. The photos speak for themselves...

Jock landed lightly on the Ruth Glacier just below Don Sheldon's cabin. We got out, took photos went for a little walk and then spent a good while enjoying the deep silence before flying off again.

We claimed the last camping spot in the park and slept very well through a night of light rain.

10. Homer to Talkeetna

2008-06-13T17:00:00.000-07:00

Route of flight: SOV-HOM-MRI-TKA

June 13, 2008

By the time we woke up in Seldovia the clouds had moved in and formed a solid overcast layer up around 8,000’ and the skies were gray. We packed up camp and took a walk to town for a latte. Ah, a latte. The perfect fixer-upper on a cloudy morning. We moseyed back to the airport and decided to head to Homer for some breakfast.

Homer’s a quick hop across Kachemak Bay, not quite 15 miles. On the ground, the guys wandered around the tarmack looking at all the cool airplanes and I chatted up a couple mechanics and got us a cab to town. The cab dropped us off at the Duncan House Diner and we were just in time for brunch.

Like most of the places we’d wandered into on this trip, there was a lot of art on display - pint sized panoramic paintings of mountains, moose, bear and fish, scenes of glaciers, forests and rivers, boats and airplanes. There were antlers hanging on the walls and carvings of various creatures in various styles. Napkins were checkered cotton, drinks were served in jelly jars and the food was super tasty. Folks of all kinds lined the counter and filled the booths. Lots of denim and flannel. Hair of all lengths from well coifed to scruffy to just plain unkempt. I’d say that one of the more consistent aspects of Alaskan society is the variety of people you come across at any given juncture. We fit right in.

As we made our way through heaps of yummy breakfasts and plates were slowly cleared away, we pulled out our charts and plotted our next course. Steve and Allen would be turning south soon and we figured we had another day to explore northwards. From Homer it was a hundred miles to Anchorage and from there two routes led out of the state. The main one goes northwest between the Talkeetna and Chugach Mountains, through Yahetna Pass and back to Gulkana, then back the way we came through Mentasta Pass to Northway. A longer route goes along the north side of the Alaskan Range to the Tenana River and then on upstream (southeast) to Northway. To get to this route would require crossing through the mountains following the Nenana river through Denali National Park. As long as the weather was good on the north side of the range this would be a gorgeous flight.

After a long walk back to the airport we fired up and headed north following the coastline of the Kenai Peninsula. The cloud layer had lifted some, but still obscured the peaks of the Kenai Mountains to the east. It was clearer across the Cook Inlet, though still hazy, and we could make out Augustine Island and volcanic peaks in the Chigmit Mountains.

Chigmit mountains on the north side of Cook Inlet

Crossing the Turnagain Arm, Anchorage unfolded in front of us. It’s the the home to 40% of the people in Alaska making it by far the largest urban area in the state. In comparison to the lower 48, it’s about the size of Buffalo. Similar weather too. But better scenery.

Over Anchorage on a hazy afternoon

Geograpically, Anchorage occupies a flat plain 7 miles wide scrunched between the Cook Inlet and the west end of the Chugach Mountains. With only two roads in and out of town most people who come to the city do so by air. There are three main airports that handle the traffic: Stevens International for commercial flights, Lake Hood for those on floats, and Merrill Field for everyone else on wheels and skis. On top of that there’s Elmendorf Air Force Base and an adjacent Restricted Airspace. All that airspace stacked together over a narrow strip of land leaves just a small channel at the foothills for through traffic to circumnavigate the comings and goings from the city.

We stayed on flight following with Anchorage ATC as we passed around town and saw more planes in the air than we‘d seen since leaving Seattle. They routed us up as far as the north end of the Knick Arm before letting us go at Birchwood. We turned northwest to intersect the Sustina River which we’d follow to Talkeetna.

It was getting onto late afternoon and as we moved north the overcast layer became broken and thunderstorms were starting to develop. There was one very big and heavy cell dumping out over the western half of the river valley between Willow and Talkeetna. It was close to Talkeetna but with little wind to move the mass we were able to skirt around it and a couple smaller squalls and duck into the airport.

slow moving cell at the Sustina River

Talkeetna airport

Talkeetna is the jumping-off point for expeditions up the peaks of the Alaskan Range. It’s also the home of some of the most extreme bush pilots in the country - those guys who fly up among the crags and land on glaciers to take mountaineers and climbers up to base camps. We had to see what that was all about so we booked ourselves on a late evening flight with Hudson Air before walking to town for a bite to eat.

Plenty of taildraggers on skis at Talkeetna

The airfield is filled with 180’s, Beavers, and Otters on skis. The town is filled with bush pilots, mountaineers, and cruise trip tourists passing through. At a grill packed with climbers we sat out on the deck next to two tables of pilots. We traded stories some but mostly just sat back and listened to theirs ‘cause they were all brand new.

We had cold beers and caribou chili. Mmmmmm.
Talkeetna is my kind of place.

9. Seldovia

2008-06-12T20:00:00.000-07:00

Route of flight: SXQ-HOM-SOV

Seldovia is about 15 miles SSW of Homer across Kachemak Bay. It is a picture-postcard town of log cabins and homes perched on stilts above the lagoon.

Seldovia, AK

We landed in light and fluky winds and took a look around for a place to tie down for the night. After a quick scout of the airfield, we took a walk to town - optimistic about finding a meal.

There's one dirt road alongside the airport and we walked down it in the direction that led to the little town we'd seen from the air. Past the airport, the road runs alongside a slough with water so clear it magnified every pebble and blade of grass.

Fishing the slough at the end of the runway

There were a few kids fishing up by the bridge and one happy dog splashing around and scaring away all the fish. The bridge is supported by wooden trestles and is up about 20 feet above the water. From there you can look straight through the water to the bottom. You can also see the fish - chum salmon, making their way upstream.

Steve scouting the chum from the bridge

Houses perch on poles above the water on both banks. There's a coffee shop and bookstore with a porch overhanging the water. A bed-n-breakfast on the far side of the bridge.

the B&B on the other side of the bridge

We crossed and continued to the harbor and Main street passing an impressive chainsaw carving of a lantern fish - ornamented with glass floats. Seldovia has a good sized harbor and a large landing for the car ferry that runs from Homer. It's the only way to get a car out to these parts as there's no road that you can drive this far down the Kenai peninsula.

Seldovia harbor

The harbormaster's office has a commanding view of the harbor and main street. You get the sense that she sees and knows all from her perch. And this being a fairly small town, well, the harbormaster probably keeps an eye on the place. Across the street is the only restaurant in town, and lucky us it was open. It was probably 7pm and the sunlight streamed in through the windows with that golden evening light that really does last forever in Alaska.

We ate well - fresh grilled salmon and fresh broiled halibut pulled from the water just beyond the harbor. We even had a beer. We read the local paper. We kindly interrogated our waitress about life in Seldovia. We made plans for the next day. I nodded off.

Mark & I headed back to the plane to set up a tent so I could go to sleep for real. We pitched our tent under the windsock at the end of the runway as Cessna 206 landed. Out poured a few adults, a couple teenagers and a bunch of fishing tackle. They pulled on waders and headed for the slough. It was after 9pm and that golden evening light was still glowing. I fell asleep.

parked for the night (around 10pm)

Steve & Allen stopped to hang out on the bridge where they met most of the town. The tide was turning and fish were coming in. Chum salmon were running, kings weren't in yet - they were running late this year. Eventually they wandered back and set up their camp.

And then, since it was still light out, they went fishing.

8. Prince William Sound

2008-06-12T17:00:00.000-07:00

June 12, 2008

Route of flight: CKU-PAVD-PASX

After fueling ourselves (Italian in Cordova) and the planes (AvGas at the float dock) we took off from Cordova under clear skies and followed the coastline north and through a narrow inlet to Valdez. Port Valdez is a spectacular mountain-rimmed cove, and it's the northernmost port which remains free of ice throughout the winter.

Valdez

Oil tanker terminal at Port of Valdez

The tanker port is on the south side of the inlet. Oil storage tanks are perched up on the slope marking the southern terminus of the Trans Alaska Pipeline. It looked pretty quiet down there, just a couple smaller ships in the harbor.

On the other side of the bay is the town of Valdez. Apart from oil, wildlife and the enduring lesson that the two don't mix, Valdez is also well known for the annual STOL contest where bush pilots vie for the greatest accuracy and shortest takeoff and landing distances. It's held the first week of May every year and winning pilots will take off within one hundred feet and land within two. That's shorter than a lot of driveways, when you think about it...

Anyhow, we decided to stop in and set down (using about 500' of runway) and happened to pull up right next to another GlasAir. The owner/builder was tweaking the electronics in his plane and was happy to see us drop in. It’s nice to catch up with other pilots on the ground, there’s always a lot to talk about, and all the more so between pilots who’ve built airplanes. We traded stories with the GlasAir pilot for a while: winter conditions, snow and plowing, mountain flying, building, breaking and re-building airplanes… until we got antsy and had to get back in the air again.

The low coastal layer that had nearly socked us out yesterday had completely burned off. This afternoon was clear, blue and sunny - visibility unlimited. The air was cool and stable (no turbulence) a perfect day for exploring.

As we flew back out of Port Valdez, we got distracted by a glacier. We veered off into Shoup Bay for a closer look and some photos.

Shoup Bay

A quick tour and we popped out heading SW into Prince William Sound. The islands and inlets of the sound are just beautiful. In many ways we were reminded of the islands in northern Puget Sound. Little moss-covered islets with a tree or two on them. Larger islands with a cabin or a small settlement. The occasional airstrip. Rocky shores with a very occasional beach. The water very deep and clear - like Prussian Blue straight out of the tube.

Little icebergs bobbing in the water led us to the Columbia Glacier – a vast expanse of blue ice falling into the Sound. Of course we had to go check it out.

Columbia Glacier as it meets Prince William Sound

The glacier is so huge that there wasn’t much rising terrain to worry about – we weren’t likely to get pinched in a narrow valley – the ice was a broad sheet that climbed up and looked to overwhelm the mountains behind it. It topped out at 8,000ft and ran clear down to the sea.

flying up the Columbia Glacier

We spent a half hour flying over the ice fields. The crevasses we so big they could have easily swallowed us up without a trace. Seriously.

following the 180 over the glacier

not a good place for an emergency, especially in a white aircraft

We chased the 180 around for awhile, maneuvering and snapping photos. They chased us around. This was good challenging flying. And the fact that the 180 is a white aircraft with a blue stripe made keeping it in our sights even tougher. We got some amazing photos, though. And our minds were thoroughly blown by the scale and the raw beauty of the place.

At the foot of the glacier icebergs collected in the Sound. They looked like jewels. Clear turquoise, emerald green, and deep blue ice lit up by the sun. They were enormous. We have one photo that captured a group of kayakers threading their way around the chum ice near a big berg. The camera caught what we were to high up to see, and we love this photo for reminding us of the unimaginable scale of that landscape.

icebergs from the Columbia Glacier

kayakers exploring the ice

200 photos later we were winding our way across Prince William Sound again, west towards Portage Pass at Whittier. The Kenai mountains tumbled away to the southwest. The Chugach range was on our right to the north. Down below there was a pretty active fishing fleet working the sound from Wells Passage to Eaglek Bay. Port Wells was another astounding bay leading to College Fiord. Narrower and steeper than the Columbia, here glaciers tumbled down steep slopes lining both sides of the fiord. Were it not for fuel, we could spend all day flying here.

Portage Pass is a narrow cut between two mountains and leads directly to the Turnagain Arm of Cook Inlet. The high-speed ferry from Cordova brings passengers here where they can then drive north to Anchorage or south down the Kenai Peninsula.

approaching Portage Pass

Portage pass is high, narrow and winding. The road below runs through the narrow valley until it's forced to tunnel through the mountains. Up above, winds were tossing spindriff off the peaks of the Kenai mountains.

On the other side we were suddenly in a wide protected bay. The Turnagain Arm is relatively shallow and tides are pretty extreme – the tidal range has a mean of 30’ and spring incoming tides can create a tidal bore up to 6’ high traveling at 15 mph. The only road between Anchorage and the Kenai Peninsula runs along the north side of the bay. On the south side the road cuts through the mountains rather than across the mudflats and swamps that characterize the lowlands.

Turnagain Arm of the Cook Inlet

We were flying over those swamps now, having turned southwest for Soldatna. This was new terrain for us. Lots of little lakes, glistening puddles, few trees where it was really wet, forests where it had dried out some. Apparently they’ve got some great fishing down there. The Kenai range followed us on our left. It was overcast on this side of the mountains and the light was pretty flat. It didn’t do much for the mountains, but it brought out the textures of the rivers and marshes.

low tide at the Turnagain arm

After 3 hours in the air we landed at Soldatna for fuel and fit right in. The tarmac is filled with taildraggers. Cessna 180’s and Supercubs dominate, with a few Beavers, Maules and Citabria rounding out the population. We'd hoped to meet up with another friend of a friend here but Gary was out flying for a few days. So we took a tip from one of the folks on the field on a place to spend the night. We took off and headed to Seldovia, south of Homer on the southern arm of the peninsula.

7. Childs Glacier

2008-06-11T17:00:00.000-07:00

June 11, 2008

We looked up some friends of some friends in Cordova and John was kind enough to pick us up from the airport and give us a ride to town. We stopped off at his place near the docks before lunch and dropped in on the local art group in the middle of a work session. I felt completely at home. Around a half-dozen women had spread their paints out and were all working on various projects: still lifes, portraits, landscapes. Ahhh, the smell of art in progress. Before long they had me sitting down with a glass of red wine and we were trading tips over brushes and paints and pretty much just chatting up a storm about life in Cordova and our adventures to date while the guys got a tour of the hangar and shop. It was a nice way to decompress after that last bit of scud-running over the coast.

John and his wife were headed off to Anchorage via the high-speed ferry and would be back in a few days. They were happy to loan us their truck for the night. After lunch we packed up our gear and headed out along 50 miles of dirt road back to Childs Glacier. The road wound through the Copper River delta and from this altitude we could see the river was swollen with rain and runoff from the snowfields and glaciers we’d passed earlier.

There were a few places where the road had been recently repaired and gravel levees had been built up to keep the river from washing it out again. Driving in a truck back across the river delta that afternoon the view was soooo much slower and soooo much flatter than where we’d been that morning. It took a while to adjust to the scale. The mountains seemed smaller and the view was limited by bushes and trees. But the water was right there rushing by the road. Eagles perched in trees and soared overhead. We passed an aerie in a tree that looked to be about the size of the truck we were driving. And the smell was completely different – salty coastal air mixed with mud and wet trees.

Eventually we reached a point of land just before the Million Dollar Bridge and turned off into a relatively new park at the base of the Childs Glacier.

The Childs is the fastest moving glacier in the US traveling around 500’ per year. As a result, it’s also the most actively calving glacier and folks have been visiting it for years to watch great slabs of ice crash into the river below.

After flying over and past the glaciers earlier today it was a treat to stand just a few hundred feet across the river from one. The ice was aquamarine blue – just like the pictures we grew up looking at in National Geographic – and studded with rocks and other debris pulled down off the mountains.

There was also a constant low frequency cracking and groaning coming from the ice. Every now and then a chunk would break off and tumble down a crevasse, crashing and rattling.

Once we saw a chunk hit the water, but nothing like what had been described to us by folks who’d seen some real action. Apparently when a slab of ice calves off it’ll create a little tsunami, driving water 30-50’ up the banks on the other side of the river – where we were standing – and crashing over everything in its path.

We cooked up an early dinner and packed our food in the bear-proof bins at the campground and settled down for the night. We slept lightly. There were black bear in the area, the night didn’t get quite dark, and periodically there was an earth-shuddering kaboom as giant hunks of ice calved off the glacier.

We woke early and cooked up a hot breakfast (it was chilly down here around all this ice) and sat around watching little icebergs float down the river. By little I mean about the size of the picnic table. After breakfast we packed up and headed across the Million Dollar Bridge and turned off on a track that took us down to the river. We pulled out our spinning gear and dropped a line in, hoping for a fresh Copper River salmon.

No such luck for us. Between the constant flow of ice and the density of the silt they probably couldn’t see our lures. I mean, the river’s so choked up it’s a wonder their lungs can find the oxygen.

So we fished and pondered these sorts of things and kept our eyes peeled for bears until we got cold. Then we packed back into the truck, cranked the heat up and headed back across the bridge and down the 50 miles of dirt road back to Cordova.

Our eyes had adjusted to the landscape somewhat, and on the way back we spotted lots of beavers swimming in their lagoons and working on their lodges, we also saw heron, swan and moose. We stopped to watch a moose and calf as they walked along the road. As we were debating the relative dangers of moose in general, the observed moose and calf leery of us, left the road and headed across a pond. They got a little too close to a pair of nesting swan, and what ensued was a scene straight our of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. The swans started hollering at the moose, which made the moose pick up speed bringing it even closer still to the nest whereupon the swan lept up and began seriously attacking the moose. The swan beat the moose with its huge wings and that moose fled the pond at an extremely high rate of speed, little calf trailing along after.

6. The Copper River

2008-06-10T17:00:00.001-07:00

Route of flight: PAOR-TSG-PAGK , PAGK-CKU

June 10, 2008

From Northway we headed towards Gulkana. This route wound up through Mentasta Pass between the east end of the Alaska Range and the north end of the Wrangell Mountains. Throughout the day cumulonimbus clouds had been building and as evening wore on they were starting to mature into storm cells busting loose all around us. The FSS had pilot reports of low visibility and scattered storm cells in some areas of the pass, but clearing on the other side. All we had to do was get there.

We were pretty happy with following the road – sure made navigation easy – and planned to head north to Tok and then turn south west into the pass. Unfortunately there was a big cell just dumping out over Tok and we had to divert around to the north. The cell was slow moving (actually it was pretty much stationary) and it appeared to be blocking our path to the pass, so we put down in Tanacross to consider our options.

Our options were limited. We had just enough fuel to get to Gulkana, and that was cutting into our reserve. The airport fuel pump was broken in Northway and we weren’t set up to strain fuel out of 5-gallon jugs. That storm cell parked over Tok wasn’t letting us in anytime soon. We decided to take the time on the ground to let our fuel pumps crank every last drop of fuel from our tip tanks to our mains. We took a walk around the airport in the drizzle and checked out what appeared to be the base for firefighting operations. As we thought and rethought our options, the skies gradually lightened in the pass and we got a favorable pilot’s report of the
conditions there. We decided to go to Gulkana.

Mentasta Pass

In the air, we caught up with the cub guys – they’d taken a shortcut to the south of that cell at Tok, cutting across Tetlin Lake and beat us into the pass while we were on the ground at Tanacross. We climbed and wound our way into the pass – the Alaskan and Wrangell ranges unfolding on both sides and climbing into the clouds. Storm cells continued to break out here and there leaving rainbows in their wake. The pass widened into a wide plain dominated by Mt. Wrangell to the south east. The headwaters of the Copper River were out there somewhere and we followed the road until it intercepted the river.

Mt. Wrangel towers above the Copper River

It was a mildly puckery flight, given our low fuel, the low clouds and the windy pass, so even though it was stunningly beautiful we didn't really have the wherewithal to take photos to share. We made it to Gulkana with 6 gallons of fuel remaining – less than 30 minutes, and well below our usual reserve.

After fueling up, we tried to figure out where to camp for the night and thought we’d head down the Copper towards Chitina. Cordova was on our list of places to see, so we thought we’d head in that direction.

Chitina airstrip on the Copper River

From the air it looked like fog was forming along the river. It wasn't until we were descending that we realized that it wasn't fog, it was dust that was clouding the air. The wind was howling 40mph up river carrying silt from the river, lowering visibility, creating turbulence and generally making for an interesting landing at Chitina. It was around 9:00pm when we pulled off the gravel strip. We had a snack and looked around and finally determined that this was not going to be a good night’s sleep for anyone. So, despite the hour we headed back to Gulkana and pitched tents by the tarmac for the night.

It was 11:00pm when we got back – though none of us had any idea it had gotten so late – it looked barely evening in the sky. I stayed awake just long enough to eat some dinner, but the guys were up until the wee hours seemingly not needing to sleep.

dinner at 11:00 pm - not dark yet

The Copper River

The next morning we headed down the Copper River through the Chugach range to Cordova. Cordova was 240 miles and no fuel stops along the way.

The weather sounded stable where we were; high overcast with cumulus clouds developing throughout the afternoon. It sounded like coastal conditions might be a bit wetter – lower ceilings and some rain showers.

We topped off the tanks and headed down river. The Copper River has carved a canyon about 200’ deep through the soft soil. It’s fed from the glaciers in the Wrangell, St. Elias and Chugach ranges and is one of the siltiest rivers on earth.

Copper River cuts between the Chugach and St. Elias Ranges

This river is one of the best marketed wild salmon fisheries in Alaska. Every year folks shell out serious cash for fillets from the first run of Copper River King Salmon. Looking at the river, I couldn’t figure out how fish could even swim up that thing – much less taste as good as they do. Seriously, those fish have to swim up river in water you can’t see your own toes in.

glacial silt clouds the Copper River

Periodically, they have to rest in clearwater tributaries in order to clean the gunk from their gills. They continue on upstream repeating the process again and again for hundreds of miles.

As the Copper River turned into the Chugach, the last of the dirt roads came to an end. At this point the terrain became too steep for a road as the mountains just dropped into the river.

Chugach range

The ceiling started to fill in above us too as we started to make our way towards the coast. In the middle of the mountain range, we came to the confluence of the Copper, the Tasnuna and Bremner rivers, and the whole world seemed to open up below us. Here was a great valley of braided rivers, filled with sand bars, and fed by a dozen glaciers falling down out of the mountains.

Confluence of Copper, Tasnuna and Bremner rivers

Had we not been flying the sight would have stopped us dead in our tracks. Where moments before we’d been winding through a tight river valley, now the land spread out for miles in every direction corralled by mountains on every side.

The water became sea green reflecting light bouncing off of the icebergs. If we’d had endless fuel, we could have circled for hours. If we’d had endless time, we could have landed and camped, hiked and fished for days.

Allen Glacier

icebergs from the Allen Glacier

As it was, we had neither of those things and so we continued on to the coast. We passed the Million Dollar Bridge and the Childs Glacier as we exited the mountains and entered the river delta.

Million Dollar Bridge and Childs Glacier

A marine layer stretched from the Gulf of Alaska lowering the skies over the river delta. We were pushed down to around 1500' AGL and the visibility deteriorated to 5 miles amidst rain and mist.

Low ceilings at the Copper River delta

Tidal plains at the Gulf of Alaska

We’d originally planned to find the road from the million-dollar bridge and follow it into Cordova. The road disappeared into rain-induced fog. So that idea was out. Sure, we could have maybe found our way there through 3-mile visibility using those fancy GPS displays, but we wouldn’t have enjoyed doing it.

We picked our way across the delta, looking for options. Toward the open water the visibility improved. We quickly came up with a couple back up plans. We could see Montague Island and we knew there were three landing strips there – so that was our first backup. We decided to fly out along the coastline and see if we could work our way up into Prince William Sound along the shoreline. If that worked, we might be able to land at the little strip in town at Cordova. There may or may not be fuel there, but at least we could have lunch and figure out our next move.

Here’s Cordova and the little gravel strip next to the lake that was such a welcome sight.

Cordova, Alaska

Steve on short final at Cordova's airstrip (land between the cones)

happy to be out of the mist and back on the ground

5. Back to the USA

2008-06-10T17:00:00.000-07:00

Route of flight: CYXY-CYDB-CYXQ-KORT

June 10, 2008

After a few days out I’d finally come to my senses about food and remembered how much good food I could cook in one or two pots if I had a few more basic ingredients. We went shopping. From the little journal I kept, here's the Whitehorse shopping list:

red wine/white wine
Limes
Sugar, salt
Tomato paste
Vinegar
Butter
Tea w/ caffeine or coffee
Milkman (powdered milk)
Muselix/granola w/oats and rasins
Crackers
Cheese
Nuts & berries (gorp)
Corkscrew
Gum
Eggs
Jar/can of pasta sauce
Rubbing alcohol
Mepps spinner (black with red spots)
White gas
Mac & cheese with non-powdered cheese pack
Dried cranberries
Fresh green peppers
Tomato
Scallion

We found most of what we needed in the grocery, except for wine, spinners and the white gas for the camp stoves. Had to go to Canadian Tyre for gas. Actually, we sent Alan while we picked up the food. He wasn’t back yet when we were done shopping. So we got in a cab with our stuff and told the driver to find a tall skinny guy with a white beard and a baseball cap somewhere between here and there. It worked. We found him a couple blocks away, scooped him up and headed to the airport.

The weather was looking a lot like it looked yesterday. The Whitehorse Flight Service Station and the tarmac below were packed with pilots and airplanes waiting on favorable weather through the next set of passes along the route (including our buddies from the Teslin fly-in). Among the folks we met were a pair of pilots who were on the last third of their trip around the world. They were flying a DA-40 and had left their home in Germany headed east in the beginning of May. The account of their trip can be found at their website: Flugzeug-weltumrundung. Among their amazing stories they recounted numerous difficulties dealing with airspace in India, Japan and Russia. Let's just say it's not like flying here. So much of their trip had to do with borders and bureaucracies... but then, they were on a mission to fly around the world.

We also ran into a friend of a friend from Seattle. Herb's from DC - he and his copilot are part of a flying club in NYC. The club had undertook to fly to Alaska and back and these two were on the second leg: Seattle to Anchorage. Once in Anchorage, they'd fly home commercially and another pair from the club would continue the trek. They'd just flown up from BC yesterday, IFR over a similar route we'd taken. I have to admit, I didn't know what to make of their trip. A large part of the sprirt of our trip was to experience the landscape. This pair just flew right over it, with their view shielded by a cloud layer the entire time. But then, different folks fly with different missions. Herb's mission was to get the club plane to Alaska from Seattle, to that's what they were doing.

We hung around the Flight Service Station until early afternoon as the weather slowly cleared. We watched a float plane take off from the field with a GMC assist. This cleared up a little mystery for us. At a few airports along the way, we'd seen a few different configurations of trailers connected to pickup-trucks, or more commonly, half-pickup-trucks where the bed of the truck is sawed off and a long trailer is attached. We couldn't figure out why such a contraption would be hanging around on an airfield. Well, as it turns out - and it makes a lot of sense in an oh, duh sort of way - up north, planes are really useful on skis and on floats and a lot of pilots swap between the two. You can land a plane on skis at an airport if it's got snow, but taking off on floats requires a little assistance.

After the airport fire crews mobilized and set up their trucks at the mid-field intersection, we watched this plane fire up the prop and get towed by the pickup until rotation speed (about 50mph) then the pilot lifted off the trailer...

...and off he went.

Eventually, eastbound planes took off, then westbound. I got on the phone with US customs and notified them of our time of arrival. It's 300 miles to Northway via Haines Junction, Silver City, Burwash, Beaver Creek. None of which are reported to have fuel. Northway has fuel. 3 hours en-route, expect another hour of fuel before our hour of reserve. Gain an hour for crossing back into PST, and we should arrive to meet customs at 4:15pm.

Actually, I got in line behind several other pilots at the payphone and attempted to place a toll-free call to US Customs. About half-way through the line, I realized that I'd need a lot of Canadian Coinage to make the call, which I didn't have. So I went to the main terminal and got some at the gift shop. then I made the call and only had enough coins to get halfway through the information I had to provide to customs, whereupon the operator interrupted and started hassling the customs guy for more coins. That got nowhere and I was on the verge of beating up the payphone when I remembered seeing another payphone in the terminal that might actually take a credit card. I hung up on the customs guy and the operator and trekked back to the terminal (in the meantime the guys were pre-flighting the planes and wondering where the heck I'd gotten off to...) Back in the terminal, I did finally find a payphone that would take my credit card, and I finally managed to complete the flightplan with US Customs.

We were wheels up and westbound at around 2:00pm.

Low ceilings over the Al-Can

West to Northway We flew through low clouds and rising landscape following the AlCan west out of Whitehorse. We squeezed through low 500' gap between the mountains and the clouds. The world opened up on the other side.

Somewhere around Kluane Lake we caught up with a pair from the Teslin fly-in who were flying their Supercub approx 1000' below us. AJ was flying his cub back up from Florida for the summer. He and Benny had been dodging thunder, lightning, hail and tornados up through the great plains. I don't know if you remember, but early June saw some serious storms throughout the midwest. They'd spent days waiting on weather. Now they were pretty happy to be flying over Kluane Lake - it was their first feeling of homecoming after thousands of miles. We continued north along a long valley, crossed braided rivers streaming off the north side of the St. Elias range. The sun sparkled in the waters. We wove between a few late-day showers and took in the view.

At long last we made the border and landed at Northway.

Welcome to the USA!

Northway is an impressively decrepit place. Ancient single-wide trailers set up to form the Customs office and weather station, but seldom used as it isn't where the Al-Can crosses the border. Along with t he other planes arriving from Whitehorse, we waited for the customs agent to arrive and then waited our turn to clear customs.

the friendly customs agent questions Steve & Allen

- Are you carrying a firearm?
- Yes.
- Do you have the paperwork?
- Yes.
- Did you buy any food in Canada?
- Yes. Dried goods.
- Any produce?
- Um, No.

Then she walked around the plane with a geiger counter. Yes, a geiger counter. To ensure we weren't carrying any radioactive materials in our airplanes. And even though we weren't actually carrying depleted uranium for those alaskan rebels planning to disrupt the upcoming statehood celebrations (they were out of stock at Cabellas), the geiger counter happily clicked and twittered away. Apparently this isn't unusual since there's radioactive elements in the mountains around the area. Anyway, we refrained from the usual jokes becuase you just don't mess with customs. Especially if you've just realized that you're smuggling a tomato, an onion, a green pepper and a couple limes in from Canada.

Thankfully our contraband produce was not detected by the geiger counter and we were officially cleared to re-enter the USA. We'd made it to Alaska. It felt pretty good.

4. Al-Can Highway

2008-06-09T17:00:00.000-07:00

Route of flight: CYQH-CYZW-CYXY

Loon on Watson Lake, Yukon

June 9, 2008

We headed northwest out of Watson Lake with the goal of making Whitehorse or even Northway if the weather allowed. After spending the day in the trench, flying the AlCan felt a little like cheating. Just follow that road down there and if you have any engine trouble, just land on the road, or maybe even on the back of one of those massive RV’s or semi rigs down there. Between the road and the pull-offs and parking areas there seemed to be plenty of options.

Al-Can highway

The landscape in this area is rolling mountains, nothing particularly spectacular from Watson Lake to Pine Lake – and to be honest, my brain was OK with not being blown away by the scenery for a change because it was just starting to process the significance of the AlCan highway.

The Al-Can was originally built in 1942 as a supply route from the US to Alaska. It is over 1500 miles long running from Dawson Creek, BC to Delta Junction, AK and runs over mountains, through forests, across rivers, over permafrost, and through bogs. It was constructed in under a year – which is pretty mind-boggling to someone who gets how things are built and who has just overflown a lot of that same terrain in its virgin state.

Given the terrain and the climate, repairing and maintaining the AlCan is a year-round effort. It has only recently been paved. This is one road that is not to be taken for granted.

While the navigation over the terrain was simple, navigating through the air was a little less so. There was a stationary trough that had formed roughly over the Yukon River running from Dawson to Whitehorse and it was creating low clouds and rain along our route. The ceilings were low, pushing us down around 1500’ above ground level (AGL), but with that great big road under us, we didn’t sweat it too much.

Reports from other pilots and the weather service indicated that we might have trouble getting to Whitehorse. One pass in particular, west of Teslin had been reporting marginal conditions today and yesterday. As we reached Teslin Lake, we saw lowering clouds and precip ahead, and fresh snow on the mountains around us. We called in to the airport at Teslin to see if we could get a weather update and learned that a pilot had just reported that the pass was socked in and he was turning around. Since there was no point in going further into those conditions, we landed in Teslin.

We were shortly followed by the pilot who’d returned from the pass, and over the course of the next hour another half dozen planes landed to wait for the pass to clear.

Teslin fly-in

Eventually, after a walk into town, lunch, a walk to the library and checking our e-mail… eventually we heard a plane go by overhead from west to east. The pilot called in and reported that the weather was more or less clearing out and that ceilings in the pass had lifted to 500’ AGL. And so ended the impromptu Teslin fly-in as all pilots packed up, filed flight plans and took off following the AlCan west to Whitehorse.

Low clouds in the pass over Summit Lake

The pass was narrow and full of clouds. We had a little more than 500’AGL clearance as we wove between them. Sunlight broke through highlighting peaks and alpine lakes in some places and creating chasms of shadow in others. It was spectacular.

As the land fell away and opened up into the next valley we gained more clearance and finally the skies opened up a bit over Whitehorse. It was late in the evening, so we decided to call it a night and headed to town for a hotel, a hot shower and beer.

On approach to Whitehorse, Yukon

Whitehorse is a capital of the frontier. It’s a hub for travelers and commerce along the AlCan and a crossroads for folks heading to the Yukon via Dawson, to Alaska via Northway and Southern Alaska via Skagway. It’s retained a lot of its original frontier feel largely because it’s still a frontier town. Sure, they have wireless internet and a Starbucks but they are still pretty isolated and rely on travel along the AlCan route for most of their economic sustenance.

The heart of downtown was first built during the Klondike Gold Rush at the end of the 19th century. It’s not big, but it’s worth taking a walk and looking around. And while you’re wandering around Whitehorse, take a look at the murals on the buildings. There are a bunch of them, they’re very large, and some are quite beautiful.

Of course, so beautiful that I neglected to take any photos.
But here's a link to one I especially liked here.

3. The Trench

2008-06-08T17:00:00.000-07:00

Route of flight: CYZY-CAP6-CAJ9-CYQH

June 8, 2008

Mackenzie is the decision point for the route north to the Yukon. There are three options: the AlCan, the Cassiar, and the Trench.

The Canadian Rockies

The AlCan route is 540 miles long following the AlCan highway along the east side of the Canadian Rockies. There are sizable towns with fuel along the way. The Alcan is mostly paved nowadays and traffic is still relatively light. The weather on this route is said to be relatively reliable, and when it isn't at least there's a decent place to land below you the whole way.

The Cassiar route is 530 miles long from Prince George to Watson Lake through the Cassiar Range between the Canadian Rockies and the Coast Range. Much of the route follows the Cassiar Highway. It is said to be very scenic route with a couple nice towns to stop for fuel and a bite to eat along the way. Weather can be an issue, but like the AlCan, there's a road below you the whole way which can provide emergency landing options if it came to that. (It’s worth noting that from where we were in Mackenzie, it would be an 80mile backtrack to get to the Cassiar.)

The Trench route is a 340 mile valley running straight NNW between the Canadian Rockies and the Cassiar range. It can be done in one shot on a single load of fuel. However, it's a one way trip. There are no fuel stops between Mackenzie and Watson Lake. There are also very few options for landing. The logging roads end approx 50 miles North of Mackenzie, the last airstrip is at Fort Ware 150 miles north, and the pass is at 190 miles. On this route it's possible to run into poor or deteriorating weather conditions at a point where it’s too far to turn back.

Kechica River and the Cassiar Range

Of the three routes, the AlCan is considered the safest. The Trench is known as most direct, but also the one which leaves you fewest options if you run into trouble. The Cassiar is somewhere in between.

The weather was forecasted to be stable and improving later in the day. The wind was from the WSW; slightly favoring our route but likely to be turbulent as it rolled over the mountains. There was an overcast layer at 6000-8000' which put ceilings along the route at around 4000' and down to 2500' in the pass. This isn't a ton of room in an airplane (where altitude = options) but doable as long as things were trending for the better. Which they were, so we opted for the trench and after a late breakfast we headed north for Watson Lake.

Up the Trench

The first 100 miles of the route is directly over Williston Lake. The lake was low with wide beaches on either side. There was some logging and few dirt roads but they petered out pretty quick. There were a few back-country strips along the shores, and a few cabins out there too. We passed over the orange Citabria parked at the end of one of the last airstrips on the route. We figured he stopped for lunch, or maybe a little fishing. Soon after, all signs of people just petered out. Just past Fort Ware the roads stopped, the river became a winding braid through the forest and even the occasional cabins petered out.

Hidden valley off the Trench

Tributaries flowing into the Finlay River offered glimpses of wild green valleys tucked behind the mountain ranges on both sides. I wished we had more fuel so we could go exploring. As we moved farther up the trench, the mountains closed in on either side. Mountain tops were obscured by the low ceiling of clouds and the terrain rose below us. There was a fresh dusting of snow on the Rockies. It was beautiful. It was the most scenic and remote terrain we'd ever flown.

Fresh snow in the Trench

And it was bumpy. As we cleared the pass and the way started to open up ahead of us, we also began to physically feel the strain of the flying. The wind coming over the Cassiar Range burbled into the trench and up the other side. We ran up the east side, catching lift wherever we could, but still getting tossed around a bit. Between the constant motion and the altitude (though not all that high, it still had an effect on us sea-level dwellers) we were starting to feel a little rough.

At the pass in the Trench

We passed more stunning terrain; large cornices of rock at the confluence of the Kechika & Gataga rivers (marking the entrance to a dangerously inviting box canyon on the south-bound route).

Sheer cliffs marking the fork to the Gataga River

North of the pass there were mineral lakes glowing emerald and turquoise, some surrounded by areas blackened by wildfire. It was honestly more than we could take in.

Mineral lakes

At long last the valley opened up to a vast wooded plain and finally there was a road. We reached the AlCan Highway and turned NE to Watson Lake. We landed, happy to be on the ground and not moving for a change. We fueled up and then parked at the north end of the airport where there was a gazebo with a wood stove, running water and a lake full of fish. What a welcome to the Yukon.

Watson Lake

Yes, the fishing was great. The air was calm. The fish were cold and hungry. We caught a grayling, two lake trout and a big old pike in the afternoon. The trout made for a tasty dinner along with fresh dandelion greens sautéed in butter.

The Citabria arrived. He'd started out a few hours before us but had to put down on his way up the trench due to low ceilings and fog. Not wanting to fly the pass at 500' he'd set down to wait for the clouds to lift. After he saw us go by overhead, he decided to wait an hour. If we didn't come back by then, he'd follow north. Now, since the skies had cleared out and there was still light, he took off again heading west. It was a good evening for flying, but we'd had enough of that for the day so we went fishing instead.

Watson Lake

It seemed like the sun set forever. Rosy tones for hours. In the evening we caught a couple more trout and more pike. We used spinners and the medium sized black one with the yellow spots seemed to be the one everyone wanted to eat for dinner.

the dinner spinner

2. Hope to Mackenzie

2008-06-07T17:00:00.000-07:00

Route of flight: CYHE-CAZ5-CYWL-CYXS-CYZY

June 7, 2008

The weather on Saturday was a lot like the weather on Friday – low ceilings and some rain. Added to that was a big wind out of the west. It wasn't looking all that flyable so we took our time getting started with our day, hoping for some clearer skies later in the afternoon.

Low clouds and green grass in Hope, British Columbia

It turns out all that lovely grass at Hope is kept trim and manicured by the Vancouver Soaring Association. They're a friendly club of glider pilots who soar in the ridge lift off the mountains. We spent the morning talking to a few of the pilots there who were, like us, waiting on the clouds to lift so they could get up in the sky. They toured us around their aircraft and we toured them around ours.

Glider hangar at Hope, BC

We also spent some time studying up on the Canadian flight rules and studying the charts for the next couple legs of the trip.

In the middle of the afternoon we saw a small plane pass over Hope headed east. We got on the phone to the weather briefers and found that conditions were finally starting to improve. So we packed up, fueled up, had some lunch and got ready to go. The glider pilots went up to take a look and they also came back with a report of improving conditions. They were already soaring the ridgelift by the time we took off.

Catching a tow in Hope, British Columbia

North up the Fraser River

We left Hope heading east and turned north with the Fraser River, following it through a tight canyon up to Lytton and continued north past 100 Mile House, stopped for fuel in Prince George and finished up at Mackenzie. This was our first longish day of cross-country flying and we spent much of our time trying to establish a routine of formation flying. It can be pretty stressful flying in close proximity with another aircraft, so we tried to stay in predictable locations with regards to each other. Now, this is pretty challenging as both aircraft and pilots tend to fly at different rates and at a hundred miles an hour, things can change pretty quickly. It's important to try to maintain a steady rate of speed and keep a consistent distance between aircraft. Too far away and it gets difficult to see each other. Too close together and it can get a little scary.

Formation flying up the Fraser River Canyon, BC

Adding to our challenge was the wind which was honkin' from the west creating a lot of turbulence in the lee of the Coast Range. We were getting tossed around pretty good coming up that canyon making it even more difficult for the two planes to fly in a coordinated manner.

For the most part, we led in the yellow Sportsman and managed most of the navagation and communication for our flight of two. This left all the work of formation flight to the guys in the white C180. I have to hand it to them – they got proficient very quickly at formation flight. It takes keen piloting skills to maintain a consistent position to another craft moving through 3D space. It really is a lot harder than it looks.

Formation flying

Eventually the land rose to high plains and broadened below us. The skies cleared out above us as well. We began to relax a little and look around at the landscape. All around us were hillsides covered with fir trees and a surprising number of those trees were dying.

Pine Bark Beetle infestation, British Columbia

Pine Bark Beetles had infested enormous swaths of forest leaving whole hillsides covered with sick brown trees. Winters simply haven't been cold enough in recent years to keep the beetle population in check. From our vantage we could trace the paths they took through the forest below. In some areas the trees are sick in straight lines as though the insects were a rake across sand. In other areas they spread out in big brown pools. Well over 50% of the forests were brown. It made us wonder what the land would look like in another 20 years after fires sweep through the dead timber.

Fraser River north of Quesnel

Over the course of this flight we became a little more proficient with our Canadian communications protocols, and we finally figured out where to find the airport identifiers to plug into the GPS (they're not on the NavCanada charts, they're in the Canadian Flight Supplement). By the time we reached Prince George for fuel, we were starting to feel pretty comfortable in the airspace.

We reached Mackenzie at 7:55pm and the sun was only just starting to get low and golden. We secured the planes in a field of dandelions and pitched our tents for the night.

Dinner in Mackenzie

There were mosquitos in Mackenzie. A bunch of them.

1. Leaving The Lower 48

2008-06-06T17:00:00.000-07:00

Route of flight: PAE-CZBB-CYHE

June 6, 2008

It was a pretty crummy Friday morning – low clouds and rain throughout Puget Sound – and it looked like more of the same for the next week. We had a final few items to check off our list so we headed up to the airport as planned. I'll admit right here that I wasn't optimistic about our chances of flying north that day, or any other in the next week, or possibly all of June for that matter if this weather kept up.

N1669 and N322MX at Paine Field in Everett, WA

June 6, 2008

We arrived at Paine Field in Everett, WA and sure enough, the beacon was lit: IFR conditions prevailed. So we took our time tweaking the idle on the engine, checking the oil, packing our gear and snugging up the cargo net. The beacon was still on in the afternoon when we took a break for a late lunch. And yes, it was still going when we were done with that. But there is one saving grace about June in the Northwest – the sun stays up a long time – and on this particular Friday the sun stayed up long enough to outlast the rain.

It was approaching evening when the beacon finally turned off and we filed our flight plan to British Columbia. We headed north through clearing skies, running between cumulus clouds.

Over the San Juan Islands

We overflew the San Juans and landed in golden evening light at Boundary Bay, British Columbia. Clearing Canadian Customs was simple since we'd already downloaded and filled out the necessary forms, and within a half hour we were ready to move on. And this is when it first hit us that we didn't really have a plan.

Boundary Bay, British Columbia

Well, that's not exactly true. We did have a plan. Our plan was to fly to Alaska. And we knew about how long it would take, and we'd scoped out the routes we could fly to get there and we knew how far we could get between fuel stops. But as far as where Exactly we would go, and when? We didn't actually plan that out.

See, there's weather involved and as you've already seen the weather can pretty much dictate when and where you can fly. That's as good an excuse as any to postpone planning. So here we were in Boundary Bay without a plan, and with just a few more hours of light, and we had to figure out how far we could get and where we would camp for the night. That took a bit of thinking.

We decided to head for Hope, BC where we'd heard we could camp for the night. We filed our flight plan and took off headed east, up the Fraser River and into lowering skies. We tried our best to avoid the various airspaces along the way as we were still fairly unsure of the proper communication protocols in Canada (that's another one of those things we figured on figuring out when we got there).

Fraser River Valley, British Columbia

The Fraser River valley is really beautiful. It's a patchwork quilt of small farms on both sides of the river with mountains rising straight up out of the valley to heights beyond the base of the clouds. We flew at a couple thousand feet and wound our way through the mountains as the valley narrowed.

Hope, BC

Hope airport is a long grass strip in the middle of a narrow valley west of where the Fraser River makes an abrupt left turn to the north. We arrived just in time to pitch tents before dark. We camped that first night under the wings of our planes on the grass tarmac. We hadn't really gotten all that far from home, and we didn't really know where we were going to be the next day or the next night, but at least we were finally on our way.

Oh and by the way - we cooked lentils for dinner. They were really bad.