AircraftOwner Online

Again, but this time with video.

The initial call about the January photo gig at Lake Powell came in December through one of my Russian connections. Apparently, two Russian businessmen who were attending the Consumer Electronics Show (CES) in Las Vegas wanted to photograph the Lake Powell area from the air. They were willing to pay me to fly up to Lake Powell from Phoenix and make at least two flights totaling 3 to 5 hours.

Trips like this are extremely costly -- after all, the client has to pay for 4 hours of flight time just to get me up there and back -- and I honestly didn't expect it to happen. But a week before the chosen dates -- January 12-13 -- I got the green light and the all-important credit card number I needed to get paid for that 4 hour repositioning flight plus a standard overnight fee to cover my expenses and compensate me for my time away from home.

The Gig

I admit I wasn't looking forward to the gig. The two photographers claimed to weigh 242 pounds (converted from kilos) and I knew they likely weighed more fully dressed and carrying camera equipment. I calculated the weight and balance as soon as I had this information and discovered that I'd have to strip all non-essential equipment out of the helicopter to lighten it up so we could take enough fuel for 2 hour flight segments (plus FAA-required reserves). Anything that was left on board would have to be shifted from under my seat to under the seat behind me, just to shift weight backwards. Having two fatties -- yes, including me -- up front would make us front-heavy. Having two fatties on the left side would make us heavy on that side. But even after adding 15 pounds of weight for each of them, I confirmed that'd be in balance with 2/3 fuel or less on board.

The other thing that bothered me was weather. Page, AZ was having unseasonably cold weather with daytime highs barely getting above freezing. Flying a helicopter with two doors off guarantees plenty of outside air inside the cabin and no amount of heat is going to win against 30°F outside air. So not only did I have a bit of a challenge ahead of me with a listing (but still within acceptable CG) aircraft to fly, I'd likely be freezing my ass off.

As far as the helicopter goes, I wasn't worried about the cold weather affecting operations. My R44 Raven II is fuel injected, so carburetor ice is not an issue. I'd flown it in cold weather before and it was always peppy -- once I got it started. In fact, that was my only real concern: Lake Powell photographers usually want to get off the ground at dawn for morning flights and with overnight temperatures under 20°F, I worried a bit about getting the helicopter started for its morning flight.

But the gig did have one big thing going for it: at least 4 hours of revenue time. And if there's one thing I'm interested in, it's getting paid to fly.

The Flight Up

Lake Powell is about 200 nautical miles north of the Phoenix area. Since my clients were paying for a 2-hour flight, my goal was to make it there in two hours. That meant flying as close to a straight line as I could.

Using Sky Vector, I plotted a course from Phoenix Deer Valley Airport (KDVT) to Page Municipal Airport (KPGA) with only one waypoint in between: the Little Colorado River Gorge (LCRG) on the east side of Grand Canyon's Special Use Airspace. I wrote down the coordinates for the LCRG to punch them into my GPS -- a recent GPS battery change had wiped my user waypoint list clean. The flight path would take me north along the east side of I-17, crossing it just before it dips down to Camp Verde. I'd cut across the Verde Valley between Sedona and Cottonwood, then climb the Mogollon Rim west of Sedona, pass east of the restricted area for the Navajo Army Depot, west of Flagstaff, and west of the San Francisco Peaks, the tallest mountain in Arizona. From there, I'd drop back down into the Navajo Reservation, flying over its western edge, hop the Echo Cliffs, and drop back down to Page, AZ.

And that's mostly how it all came off.

I departed Deer Valley at about 8:45 AM under partly cloudy skies with little or no wind. It was a cool morning, with temperatures just climbing through the 50s. I crossed Deer Valley's runways at 2000 feet MSL as required by the Tower there and got right on course, aiming for the LCRG waypoint I'd added to my GPS.

It was interesting and different to fly a straight line route through an area I knew so well. After all, I've been flying from the Phoenix area to Sedona, the Grand Canyon, Flagstaff, and Lake Powell for years, so it's not as if the area I'd be flying over was new to me. But I usually fly with passengers on board and, to make the flight more interesting, I fly over or past various points of interest, such as towns, highways, mine sites, and canyons. On this flight, speed was the goal -- I wasn't interested in scenery. But I got scenery anyway -- how can you fly a helicopter through Arizona without seeing something spectacular every mile?

As I flew, my GoPro Hero camera recorded a 720p widescreen video of the flight. Mounted up front, it offered an unobstructed view of everything ahead of me. The wide angle lens brought in details of what was close while pushing back distant points. Later that night, I'd watch much of the 2 hours of video and remember the various points of the flight.

What fascinated me was the way the light changed throughout the flight. At first, it was partly cloudy. Then the sun slipped behind the clouds and it was cloudy. Then the sun began to break through, speckling the mountainsides with light. This still image, captured from the video, gives you an idea of what I mean. The light changed numerous times over the two-hour period of the flight -- at one point, clouding over completely only 1,000 feet above me -- giving the illusion that the flight was conducted over multiple days.

It wasn't just the light that changed, of course. It was also the terrain. Flat desert in the Phoenix area, soft mountains studded with saguaro cacti as I headed north, flat mesas with steep basalt sides, deeply carved canyons, wide valleys, red rock cliffs and hoodoos, alpine forests blanketed with snow, tall mountains, ancient cinder cones, flat "painted" desert, deep gorges, buttes, uplifted cliff faces, slot canyons. I saw it all over the course of my two hour flight -- all without trying to see it. My nearly straight line course simply put me over the top of all these things. I sat comfortable and warm in my seat, admiring the view as I glided over it.

Glided is definitely a good word. There was hardly a breath of wind during the entire flight so it was amazingly smooth. A pilot's dream. And although outside temperatures dipped as low as -5°C, I was cosy and warm with the heat up only about halfway.

One of the highlights of the flight was crossing the red rock cliffs west of Sedona and climbing up over the Mogollon Rim. The light was absolutely perfect, breaking through light scattered clouds to illuminate the rocks with a soft golden light. Absolutely breathtaking and the GoPro camera captured the whole thing.

Beyond that was a surprising amount of snow and a light overcast layer that shrouded the top of the San Francisco Peaks. The temperature there was around 0°C, but the Flagstaff ATIS reported -5°C -- a real thermal inversion only 10 miles east. The low cloud layer and dimly lighted snowfields made me feel claustrophobic. Ahead of me, it looked as if some precipitation could be falling from the clouds. That got me a bit worried about icing, but I continued on. By the time I got to the point I thought I'd seen rain or snow falling, it had stopped -- and so did my worries.

The only surprise on my flight was upon reaching the GPS coordinates for the LCRG. Simply said: it wasn't there. It was about 10 miles northwest of where I'd plotted it to be. I can only assume that I'd punched in a wrong digit when I entered the waypoint into my helicopter's GPS. So rather than fly over its most dramatic point, I crossed a bit to the east and kept going. I deleted that waypoint so I wouldn't depend on it again. Oddly if I'd made a serious mistake in the entry, I would have noticed it a lot sooner. But because it was only off by a little bit, it wasn't until I passed the waypoint that I realized the error. I'll definitely be more careful in the future.

When I got to the empty expanse of the Navajo Reservation, I dropped down and flew low over the ground. There were few homes in the hundreds of square miles and only a handful showed signs of life. In the video, my helicopter's shadow is clearly visible: small when I'm flying higher and larger when I'm flying lower. The video makes it seem as if I'm going much faster during this portion of the flight, but I'm not. I managed to keep a steady 100-110 ground speed for most of the flight. It's just an illusion: the closer the camera is to the ground, the faster I seem to be flying.

I crossed over the Echo Cliffs at Cedar Ridge -- at least I think that's where I was -- and sped across more of the Navajo Reservation north. In all, I think about 45 minutes of the flight was spent over the Rez. It's an amazing land of stark beauty, sprinkled with traditional homesteads, more modern yet simple homes, and, on its far western reaches, the ruins of abandoned homesites clearly visible as rock rings and corrals. The traditional Navajo home is a round or octagonal building called a hogan and they are clearly visible from the air. Also visible on most days are livestock such as cattle and sheep and wild horses.

I descended down toward the lake, flying at a low enough level that I didn't actually see its clear blue water until I was about 15 miles out. Of course, I could see other landmarks -- notably the bulk of Navajo Mountain about 50 miles to the east of Page and the Navajo Power Plant, with tall stacks belching ugly smoke into the air just outside of town. The radio frequency was silent as I descended toward the airport. I lined up with the taxiway and set down on one of the helipads.

The Video

Later, after doing 3.4 hours of photo flying around the lake and points east, I watched the video shot by my GoPro Hero. It was probably some of the best footage I'd ever captured with the camera. My only regret was that I hadn't shot in in 1080p.

Over the course of two days, I assembled a movie from seven-second clips shot during that two hour flight. Last night I added titles and music. I exported it for my iPad and uploaded it to YouTube. Here it is. Enjoy.

Although I'm based in the Phoenix, AZ area, I spend an unusual of time at Lake Powell doing aerial photo flights for amateur and professional photographers. In September of this year, I flew a total of 20 hours over the lake with at least 20 different photographers on board. I usually get as far uplake as the San Juan River confluence, which is halfway to Monument Valley. But due to the difficulty and expense of getting aerial photo permits for Monument Valley, I rarely fly there.

The one thing that does get me to Monument Valley is Flying M Air's Southwest Circle Helicopter Adventure. That's a 6-day excursion by helicopter that starts in Phoenix and spends a night at Sedona, Grand Canyon, Lake Powell (at Page), Monument Valley, and Flagstaff before returning to Phoenix. I don't do this trip often -- frankly, it's quite costly and there aren't many folks who want to spring for it -- but I happened to do one in October 2010. In fact, as I'm typing this on my laptop, I'm looking of the window of my room at Goulding's Lodge at the first light striking the famous monuments of Monument Valley.

On this particular trip, I rigged up a GoPro Hero camera on my helicopter's nose. Although I used this "nosecam" to shoot video on the first day of the trip, the mount introduced too much vibration to make the video usable. For the remaining days of the trip, I switched over to still photos. The camera automatically shoots a high resolution image every 5 seconds as I fly. With 720 photos per hour, I usually get a few good shots on each leg of the trip.

Wednesday was one of the most scenic legs of the trip. We flew from Page Airport (PGA) up Lake Powell to the San Juan confluence and then east to the airstrip at Goulding's Lodge in Monument Valley (UT25). On board with me were my two excursion guests and all of our luggage for the 6-day trip. I pack the luggage on and under the seat behind me and sit my guests in the two right seats (front and back) so they get the same view. I then fly to put the best views on their side of the aircraft.

We lifted off from Page at about 2:30 PM. The ASOS reported wind at about 8 knots out of the north, but it sure didn't feel that strong. I made my radio call and then departed right across the runway, heading uplake. A Citation jet called a downwind a few moments later; we caught sight of him high above us as we crossed the airport fence.

Our shadow as we crossed the runway at Page Municipal Airport.

It was a beautiful day, with high, thin clouds tracing lazy lines across a clear blue sky. The October afternoon sun bathed the landscape with a soft light that illuminated the red rock cliffs and buttes, cast shadows in the canyons, and accentuated the blue of the water. Sure, the light was too harsh for the aerial photographers I usually take around there, but for my passengers and me, it was great for taking snapshots of our surroundings.

The first canyon we crossed was Antelope Canyon, which is just east of the airport. Normally, I just buzz across it, but the tour boat was inside the canyon, so I made a turn to the left so my passengers could get a photo of it. I didn't circle, though. I'm extremely conservative with fuel on the fourth and fifth days of the excursion, since there's no fuel between Page, Monument Valley, and Flagstaff (or, in this case, Winslow). I need every drop of fuel I have on board to get to my Day 5 destination on Thursday with required reserves on board.

Most people see Antelope Canyon from the inside, where it's a masterpiece of sandstone swirls carved by wind and water. But this is the view I see most often.

We continued uplake, passing Antelope Point Marina and the mouth of Navajo Canyon. I made a position call a mile north of iconic Tower Butte and changed from the Page airport frequency to the uplake frequency (122.75). I repeated the call on that frequency and got into a discussion with the returning tour pilots. They'd be coming my way at 5,000 feet; I'd stay out of their way by flying at 4,500 feet.

The tour traffic is a major concern for anyone flying at Lake Powell. It's a very good idea to learn the tour routes, altitudes, and reporting points they use before exploring in your own aircraft. There's nothing scarier than flying the lake and seeing a plane flying where you don't expect it, especially if it's not on frequency or doesn't know where it is in relation to the usual reporting points. Ten minutes with a tour pilot and a chart at Page Airport is enough to get the basics.

We slipped between Dominguez and Boundary Buttes at the south end of Padre Bay and continued uplake. Winding canyons opened up on our right. I pointed out a cluster of kayaks near a powerboat in a canyon with water as smooth as glass. In the main channel, you could clearly see the wind on the water. Not enough to make whitecaps, but gusty enough to see round patterns of movement appear and disappear across the water surface.

My usual uplake route takes me between Dominguez and Boundary Buttes. In the far left of this photo, you can see Padre Butte, referred to by local pilots as "submarine." Navajo Mountain looms in the distance.

We passed the south side of Gregory Butte and Last Chance Bay as two tour planes flew by overhead. Last Chance is a long, wide canyon with steep sandstone walls. It's a long boat ride to the end where there are a few sandy spots suitable for houseboat parking. Distance to parking and the cost of fuel are part of what keeps the canyon free of traffic, even during busy summer months. On this October day, however, the whole lake was quiet; I don't think we saw more than 20 or 30 boats.

We flew over the main channel of the lake as the canyon narrowed. One of my passengers pointed out Dangling Rope Marina and asked me about it. I told her what I knew: it was a marina only accessible by water. There were no roads in or out. I then told her a story about our stop there 20 years before on a houseboating trip. How I miss cruising the lake in a houseboat!

Over the main channel of Lake Powell just uplake from Last Chance Bay. The canyon walls rise about 800-1,000 feet off the water's surface here.

We were nearing the mouth of the canyon that would take us to Rainbow Bridge. As I flew, I'd been listening to the radio and knew there was a female pilot in the area. I also knew there was another tour plane behind me, on its way to "the bridge." It's a tight squeeze in the canyon and my challenge is always to stay as low as possible to ensure my photography clients can get the shots they need. Over the years, I've perfected my approach.

The female pilot was just leaving the area when I reached the mouth of the canyon and turned in. I flew up the canyon at 5000 feet, telling my passengers what to look for as we flew: the dock, the trail, the giant stone arch of Rainbow Bridge. I was busy keeping an eye on the mesa to the right of the helicopter. On a day like that one, with occasional gusts of wind, I wouldn't get any closer than 200 feet from it's edge. I verbally pointed out Rainbow Bridge when I saw it, keeping both hands on the controls. We flew past and they snapped photos. I circled around the back, assuring the pilot behind me that I'd stay at or below 5000 feet until I was clear of the area. Then, when abeam the bridge a second time, I broke off to the left and climbed out toward the San Juan Confluence.

This wide-angle shot gives you an idea of how tricky the area around Rainbow Bridge is. I get very close to that mesa top. Can you see the bridge in the photo?

The trickiest bit of flying I'd have to do on the entire trip was behind me.

I climbed to 6500 feet to give my passengers a good view of the twists and turns of the San Juan River just upstream from the confluence. Then I punched in my user waypoint for Goulding's Lodge, adjusted course, and headed east over the eroded desert terrain south of the San Juan River.

The San Juan River twists and turns dramatically before meeting the Colorado.

We were east of Navajo Mountain now and the area was riddled with water-carved canyons, windswept rocks, and stunted trees. Below us, here and there, were two-track roads leading back toward the river. One of the roads looked very well maintained, although there was no sign of any homesteads or other reason to use it.

We flew over the top of No Man Mesa, where two or three ranches are scattered. A pickup truck drove slowly along a two-track toward one of the ranches. We saw a herd of horses and a flock of sheep tended by a dog before crossing over the top of the mesa and beginning our descent toward Monument Valley. The famous monuments started coming into view as we rounded the edge of a cliff face.

A wide canyon cuts across the desert just past No Man Mesa. While not as beautiful as the Grand Canyon, it offers a glimpse of what the Grand Canyon may have looked like before it became grand.

I switched to the Monument Valley frequency and heard several tour planes making calls. I leveled off at 5500 feet and flew directly over the first paved road we'd seen since leaving the airport. Ahead of us, at the airport, I could see three tour planes launch, one after the other. One crossed overhead in front of me, the others climbed out beside me and likely crossed behind me. All of them were returning to Page the quick way. They'd be back within 30 minutes; we'd taken 60.

Before landing at Gouldings, I always make a quick loop around the western part of the Monument Valley Tribal Park. That day was no different. I climbed to 6000 feet and followed the road into the park. Once I reached the visitor center area, I banked left toward the Mitten buttes. I flew between them, on a route the tour pilots refer to as "splitting the mittens." Then I banked left again and headed back toward Goulding's.

The two Mitten Buttes (East and West) are iconic Monument Valley images.

I restrict my quick loop around Monument Valley to the west side of the park to minimize noise impact on the ground.

As we came in for a landing, a small herd of horses, spooked by the sound of my helicopter, galloped across the desert east of the airport, kicking up fine red dust.

Monument Valley Airport has just one way in and out. Not the kind of airport where you want to overshoot the runway.

It had been a good flight with few bumps or unexpected challenges. Later, in my hotel room at Goulding's Lodge, I was pleased with the quality of the images my Hero camera had captured. What a great way to document a flight.

Note to Pilots: If you do plan a trip to Goulding's Lodge, remember that the airport there is private and for use by Goulding's guests and tour clients only. Go to Goulding's Web site at www.Gouldings.com to learn more about restrictions regarding airport use.

 A good friend of mine from Jackson, Wyoming, always closes his e-mail messages with the simple line, “Fly often!” I think that’s good advice. With winter coming, many of us, particularly those in northern climates, reduce their hours in the air. Sure, some of it is due to the weather, but is there also something of a sedentary mindset that comes with cooler air?

  
  After all, in terms of performance, winter is actually the best time to fly. In fact, I learned to fly in November and December. I remember the cold, ice, frost and snow I had to contend with – but it was fun. In particular, I remember hoping the snow would lighten up enough to make the airport VFR so I could take off and practice. Because I became accustomed to it, it did not seem to matter. I remember thinking the best crosswind landing practice was on a runway glazed over with ice. That way the airplane really slid sideways if you didn’t have your technique just right. Maybe it was impetuous youth but it was fun and I learned a lot.

 

Try Cockpit Flying in February
These days when winter comes, I promise myself to fly as much as possible: cross-country, local and just fun flying. One thing I avoid is open-cockpit flying in the winter. I will confess that, on a whim, I did take my open cockpit Fairchild (on wheels) for a flight last February and landed on a few frozen Minnesota lakes. It was pretty cold, but at least the sun was shining. It was a flight I won’t soon forget.

   One important reason to go flying is to brush up on your winter flying skills. You can start by studying winter weather patterns and behavior. Then review the winter flying considerations for your aircraft and yourself. Fortunately, these include smoother air and better performance. Sure, it’s colder, but once you get in the plane and go somewhere you will have a lot better time than you would just sitting on the couch, watching TV.

   Then there are the adventure trips you can plan. I love to take my Husky out to fly in the mountains of Wyoming and Idaho in the winter. The scenery is spectacular and completely different from what you see in the summer. Of course, if I’m going any distance from the airport, I make sure I have winter survival gear, a handheld radio, locater beacon and a SPOT satellite tracking unit. Being prepared and careful does not detract from the fun of it all.

 

Plan a Warm Weather Flying Trip

Another joy of winter flying is heading warmer weather to do some flying. Personally, I always try to get two or three trips south under my belt before Sun ‘n Fun. These include trips into Sonora and Baja Mexico as well as some Arizona and Florida flying. Once a winter I get in the Husky and fly from Wyoming to Arizona. I have a T-hangar at the Glendale (GEU) airport near Phoenix so the Southwest is my oyster! There is nothing more fun than flying around the desert in January.

   Another wonderful winter flying experience is the Caribbean. Literally hundreds of thousands of pilots fly from Florida to the Bahamas ever year. I did it with a few friends last year and we had an absolute blast. You can arrange the trip by yourself or join up with a flying adventure company like Air Journey (www.AirJourney.com).

   There is quite a bit of information out there on flying the Caribbean so if you start studying now you could be ready for your trip when cabin fever really starts to set in.