"N2804C, after takeoff, climb and maintain 8000', runway heading, contact departure on 118.8". Advancing the throttle of the 182RG, we began a slow taxi to the departure end of 17R and went through our final cockpit check before departure. This flight had been on my mind since the last time we'd visited Colorado and I was brimming with excitement at finally being able to learn about mountain flying by getting out there and doing it.
My friend Mark Kolber, whose acquaintance I made on the studentpilot.com web forum, would act as my instructor. He has done this orientation before and has a whole curriculum, approved by the Colorado Pilot's Association, for the day's flight. We would depart Colorado Springs and head west, into the Rocky Mountains, for an introduction to mountain operations in light aircraft. The weather was absolutely perfect clear skies, warm temperatures and light winds; even up high. I say 'up high' referencing winds aloft, truth is we'd be 'up high' throughout the duration of the day. With our lowest airport of operation being around 6000' MSL, I would spend the entire trip out west at or above the altitudes that I normally cruise at back home in the southeast.
The airplane was a worn but reliable 182RG rented from Flights Inc., one of the larger flight schools at Centennial Airport just outside of Denver. Mark had made an exception to his normal routine to come and meet me at COS for our flight.
As we entered the run-up area and got ready to go through the pre-takeoff checklist, it became apparent that the day's operations would be in a very different environment. I engaged the parking brake and started going through the pre-takeoff checklist. When I got to the runup, Mark stopped me. We talked about how to lean the mixture for best power before takeoff, which at 6000' on a warm day is significantly leaner than the 'full rich' called for by the checklist. We studied the tachometer and leaned the mixture, looking for the slight rise in RPM that would signal peak, then enriched a twist and a half on the mixture knob. Ready to go, I took the controls and positioned us for takeoff.
The first indicator you really have that flying out of mountain airports is different, is how long it takes for the airplane to accelerate to rotation speed. At home, even on warm days, the airplane wants to accelerate and climb. Full power produces acceleration and that acceleration quickly produces flying speed. Up at altitude, things are a little different. Full power produces a lot of noise and a lumbering, slow roll down the runway centerline, but not what one would think of as acceleration to flying speed. You sit there on the pedals, tracking the runway centerline for what seems like a really long time before the airspeed indicator shows liftoff speed. If you're like me and don't like that feeling of building speed while close to the runway (during takeoff or landing) it will be a little unnerving and take some getting used to.
Once airborne, performance is best described as sluggish. The airplane feels like it's about 20% over max gross, barely climbing toward cruise altitude. Climbing out of Colorado Springs in the 182RG we were getting about 500fpm at 90kts. That same climb speed and loading at home in the same make and model plane will yield about 1000fpm, even on hot summer days. That's a pretty big performance hit that should immediately get the attention of the mountain aviator.
We climbed toward the mountains, accepting vectors that would route us clear of the Class C and over the pass at Pikes Peak. Red soil and plump, healthy pines rose up to meet us as we made our way up the front range and into the mountains. The scenery was nothing short of spectacular! Almost at once, we gained enough altitude to clear the ridge ahead and were greeted with a wonderful view of a high mountain valley; dotted with turquoise alpine lakes and surrounded by towering, majestic peaks. It was awesome and humbling.
I once attended a bible study with a man who, while having certain talents and gifts, was not exactly the sharpest pencil in the can. He vociferously maintained that the earth and galaxy had to be around 5000 years old or else the whole of scripture was unreliable. I never understood why he demanded such a literal explanation for creation. My own understanding of the Word is that what is written allows for plenty of room for God to have done it in His way, in His time. I always wanted that man to go and see the Great Divide; to see stone mountains with roots clearly to the bottom of the earth, stretching skyward for miles. The ancient splendor of these mountains is unmistakable and speaks clearly of a patient, almighty God whose hand stretches from the beginning of time to the end. Those mysterious attributes of God are clearly seen in the majesty of creation.
We could relax a little, crossing this wide valley. At 11,000', the ground beneath us was a lot closer than I am used to. The fields below offered plenty of emergency landing options, though it was clear that such a landing would be sudden and scary. At home the airplane can slow way, way down, gliding through the thick, viscous air. Up here in the thin air, the same airspeed used for gliding to safety leaves the airplane zooming like a rocket across the terrain. I could make out plenty of long, straight seemingly flat spaces in the valley that would serve as an emergency runway for us; but shuddered at the thought of careening across the dry, rock strewn valley floor, going impossibly fast for our best glide airspeed. It's nice to have options, but nicer still to have plenty of altitude and an engine.
Our first airport of landing would be Buena Vista, field elevation 7946' MSL. We approached the airport from the valley on the east and talked about the approach, we noted that terrain rising on one side of the airport would force the traffic pattern for both runways onto the lower terrain side of the airport. Overflying the airport about 500' above pattern altitude I couldn't help but notice how fast we were going. Even as the gear came out and the 182 slowed to approach airspeed, the ground seemed to be zooming by underneath. In no time we were on the downwind leg of the approach and moving very fast away from the airport. The turns in the pattern all seemed to just be really, really fast and in a few seconds we were a little fast, a little high and established on final. Full flaps got us descending pretty good and allowed me to slow the airplane down a little. Given that the airplane we were in had the STOL kit installed on the wings, my airspeeds were probably a bit higher than were called for. We crossed the numbers fast and I started to flare as the power gradually came out. With the nose high, we careened down the runway about 4-6' above the ground, looking for that speed where the wings would quit flying. About halfway down the long, long runway the stall horn started to squawk a little and the plane plopped roughly onto the asphalt. I recall that I was sweating a little and that my first thought after touchdown was something along the lines of, 'dear God I can't believe these people land airplanes here as a matter of routine!'.
Buena Vista UNICOM sounded very friendly and offered us parking and fuel, but we were off to experience more of the Rockies and just taxied back to the departure end of the same runway we'd used for landing. Up here, the takeoff roll and acceleration to flying speed was even longer and slower than at COS.
Lifting off, we turned back toward the northwest and started our climb toward Leadville. As we flew up the valley, the ground rose to meet us. Soon we were above 12000' MSL and still uncomfortably close to the valley floor. Slowly we gained more altitude and at Leadville turned west toward Hagerman Pass to jump over the ridge. The scenery was spectacular, flying over Twin Lakes up a valley toward the pass. Mt. Elbert reached toward the sky just south of us, snow gleaming in the sun on it's lee side. Even at 13000', the mountain peaks were clearly higher than we were.
On approaching the pass, we got a chance to see one of the main rules of flying in the mountains come into clear focus. Always, always give yourself an 'out' to lower terrain. On crossing passes, this means cross the pass at an angle, with lower terrain off one of the wingtips. This will allow a turn back to lower terrain (and safety) with only a 90° turn instead of 180°. Up at this high altitude, at higher airspeeds, turning 180° would take a long, long time; time in which the airplane could be severely buffeted by any lee side turbulence or driven toward the ground in strong lee side downdrafts. Planning ahead is absolutely essential in this environment. The narrow range of conditions between rising terrain and the airplanes effective ceiling mean that you have to do everything just right in order to succeed here. It is no place for complacency.
We crossed the pass into a beautiful sunlit valley with only several hundred feet between us and the craggy, windblown peaks below. Fortunately the wind was light, and even though there was a .08" pressure differential between Leadville and the valley on the other side of the ridge, air movement across the top of the ridge was gentle and smooth. Even in these mild, easy conditions it was easy to see why this environment is host to so many general aviation accidents. It is a terribly unforgiving environment.
From our vantage point above the ridgeline, we could clearly see I-70 winding into the valley below from the mountains. Aspen and it's ski area were visible to the south and Glenwood Springs lay ahead. Our navigation amounted to following I-70 up the valley to our next destination, Glenwood Springs. Down we go, into the valley in preparation to land. I guess our first landing at Buena Vista was sort of a test for Mark to gauge the ability of his students to hold precise airspeeds on approach. Good thing he does it that way, because at Glenwood Springs density altitude would be above 8000' and the landing runway is just over 3000'. In case you're thinking a poor approach would mean you just go around and try again, you should know that Glenwood Springs is back in a canyon, with rising terrain on 3 sides. There is no going around. If you were to botch an approach there your best bet would be to climb straight ahead and fly back into the canyon, hoping you gained the altitude necessary to get over the canyon rim before you got too far back.
Mark pointed at a couple of large, rocks jutting out into the canyon we were descending into and said, 'you have to be slowed to approach airspeed and at pattern altitude at this rock or else you can't make the landing, you'll see why in just a second'. We were at pattern altitude and inbound at about 90kts as crossed the rock outcropping. Immediately, we came around the corner to find ourselves on short final for runway 32. Mark dropped full flaps and pitched for 'slow' as we started our final approach descent into the canyon. It occurred to me to be thankful that no departing traffic happened to be coming right at us.
The ground rushed by beneath us at an alarming pace. I looked up in time to see the threshold of RWY 32 leaping up to meet us. How do these guys get used to landing so fast? How scary must it be for pilots of heavier, faster equipment? We loitered in ground effect for a few seconds, bleeding off whatever excessive airspeed we'd carried across the numbers, before plopping down unceremoniously onto the asphalt. I looked over at Mark, he was focused. Eventually we came to a halt and back taxied down the runway to parking.
Glenwood Springs' airport is a national treasure. 2 Piper Cherokee 235s sat gleaming on the ramp, adorned with new paint and cockpit/window covers. Someone here takes good care of their airplanes. We strolled around a little bit after parking and securing the airplane. The small airport office had a vintage GE refrigerator filled with cold sodas and water. A can with a slot in the top sat on top of the fridge. I dropped a few bucks in the can and Mark and I each grabbed a soda. A small sign above the desk advertised 2 Cherokee 235s for rent at the amazingly low price of $68/hour…wet!
Here's this nice little community out in the middle of absolutely nowhere. I guess it's a 30 minute drive to Aspen and whatever jobs are available there. Like everywhere in America these days, I'm sure the realtors and homebuilders are doing alright. Other than that, I didn't see a whole lot of commercial activity or business opportunity. This little airport we were at, right beside the river, has the potential to serve as a link to the rest of Colorado and, as a result, the rest of the country. How many little airports like this one can be found in America's more remote lands? I know from my own experience as a commercial pilot in training that there are a great number of wonderfully inaccessible places, with little airports like this one linking them by plane to the rest of the world. How many more people could enjoy Glenwood Springs, bringing money and energy into that small community in the mountains, if as a people we treasured, promoted and protected the awesome freedom that comes with general aviation? Reader, I challenge you, pilot or not, discover somewhere wonderful in America; somewhere accessible to you by small plane, but otherwise out of reach.
It is one of the freest, most privileged feelings I have known, to stand on the ramp at a tiny airport nestled in the middle of nowhere, knowing that were it not for the ability to fly light aircraft, I'd never have been able to come here to this place. Maybe it's my insatiable hunger for freedom, for liberty, that has driven me and continues to compel me toward aviation as an interest, a career, a platform, an obsession. There is nothing else I have experienced that more completely represents the incredible freedom we have as Americans, than to climb into a personal aircraft and pilot it myself, through our nation's system of controlled airspace, to some distant, remote destination that I have some purpose for visiting. General aviation takes 'freedom of travel' to insanely greater heights than travel by car, train or airliner can ever hope to.
For the last several months, I have logged about 70 hours of flight time and hardly looked out the windows at all. The great bulk of those hours, I have been either under the hood or in the clouds, staring at the instrument panel and interpreting its information to discern my exact location above the earth. Rewarding as it's been, that training did exactly nothing to prepare me for this outing in the Rockies. Our airplane doesn't even go up to the MEAs published for flight through this area of the country. Our adventure in the mountains, however, would hardly be complete without an instrument approach procedure.
We took off from Glenwood Springs the same direction we'd entered, flying out of the canyon, and headed south. Climbing out of the canyon we picked up the Aspen ATIS and called Aspen Approach on the radio and announced our intentions for a full stop landing at Aspen with information Uniform. We used the Roaring Fork Visual RWY 15 approach plate as a guide to our VFR approach to Aspen and paid close attention to the instructions from Aspen Approach. From the small town of Carbondale, we followed radar vectors up the river and toward a high ridgeline to the south of Hagerman Pass, which we'd used to enter this valley an hour or so before. Cleared to land #2 at Aspen, we were given instructions to stay on the west side of the final approach course to give way to departing traffic. I looked up to see a small, white jet blast off out of the runway environment and climb rapidly toward the stratosphere. Once clear of the traffic, we got on the final approach course well away from the runway and configured the plane for landing: power back, gear out, slow down, drop flaps and start coming down.
The straight in approach and long, wide runway at Aspen gave me a little more confidence and a little more time to get stabilized and slow on final approach. Consequently, my landing here was prettier than the one at Buena Vista. On the rollout though, Mark helped some with the brakes, which prompted me to brake a little heavier, which was too much, which earned a slight rebuke. It was a good reminder to me that as an instructor I am to always, always communicate very clearly with the student what it is I am doing, why I am doing it and what I expect of them. Undoubtedly, my students will add control inputs that scare me too. Good job of keeping us on the runway Mark.
Windows down, we taxied past a long, glistening row of Gulfstreams, Lears and Citations toward the departure end of 33. One could do worse than to be paid to fly equipment like that into airports like this. In the ample runup area at Aspen, we were able to run the engine up and adjust the mixture for best takeoff power. Momentarily we were cleared onto the runway and given our takeoff clearance. We accelerated down the runway and slowly gained airspeed to start a gradual climb away from the final approach course and toward the ridge ahead. Mark demonstrated how, operating at high density altitudes in low powered (yes, 230hp is low powered up here…believe it or not) airplanes, we can S-turn our way up a ridge, gaining a little altitude on each turn, until we're high enough to cross. We made gradual turns back and forth on our way up the mountain, climbing out Aspen and as we crossed the ridge just north of Hagerman Pass we were rewarded with a stunning view of twin lakes and Leadville on the other side of the valley.
Leadville, Co. is the highest airport in the United States. It sits on a plateau at the base of mountains, 9927' above sea level. At 13000', crossing the pass toward Leadville, we were only about 1500' above traffic pattern altitude. We tuned the automated weather reporting station on the field and exchanged an incredulous look when the computer generated voice reported the field density altitude as an unbelievable 12,100'! That's higher than I've ever even been in a single engine airplane!
I was determined to enjoy a respectable landing at Leadville and set myself up with a good approach. I may have extended my downwind a little long, darn these high groundspeeds, but other than that it looked good. As we approached the numbers with a little power on to make up for being slightly low, I looked down to read a nice, slow 60 knots indicated airspeed. Rather than fixate on our ridiculous groundspeed, I focused on the end of the runway several thousand feet ahead. As the nose came up and power came out in the flare, the stall horn started to squawk and a few smooth seconds later we were rolling out on the ground. It was my best landing of the day!
As we taxied up to the parking area, Wes ran out to greet us. Wes is a local. He earned his private pilot license here at Leadville. Wes has my respect. Wes is also one of the friendliest people I've ever met, in the hour and a half that we shared his company I never saw the smile leave his face. As if meeting us at the airport weren't enough, Wes drove us into the small town of Leadville and gave us the tour. Silver put Leadville on the map. When silver bottomed out, so did Leadville, only to have it's boom years restored years later with the discovery of Molybdenum…which also bottomed out. Mining looks like a rough way to make a living. We rolled up into a dusty parking lot and walked up the steps to a homey little Mexican restaurant where we enjoyed lots of liquids and a hearty, filling lunch. The chili rellenos were out of this world. True to form and in spite of my insistence that I should treat my hosts, Wes bought lunch. Thanks Wes, looking forward to taking you out to BBQ when you make it down to Georgia.
After the very short drive back to the airport, we took some photos and generally appreciated the awesome scenery. The airport manager had a 'Certificate of Pilotage' for me which will undoubtedly earn a place of honor among my certificates of merit. In my short career I have enjoyed some incredible opportunities of flight, among them now a landing at America's highest airport. The certificate features sketches of 2 nearby 14000'+ peaks: Mt. Elbert and Mt. Massive. What an amazing day. It was humbling and awesome to stand there on the ramp; several thousand feet above the minimum en route altitudes of airways I have been flying back home. Our mountains don't even have MEAs as high as the ramp here!
After saying bye to Wes and promising to get together when he comes to visit family in the southeast again, we climbed aboard N2804C for the flight back to Colorado Springs. At this high density altitude, it's not sufficient to lean the engine's fuel/air mixture to an approximate best power setting, you have to be sure you can climb. During our run up, we advanced the throttle to full power and leaned for peak power at that power setting. Mark explained that we would use a modified soft field takeoff to depart. On taking the runway, we announced our departure and accelerated the throttle to full, confident that we were getting max power after our full power runup. The airplane slowly began to move, propeller screaming in the thin, mountain air. There is a rule of thumb up here: you should have accelerated to 70% of takeoff airspeed by the time you reach the 50% point on the runway. If at halfway down the runway you do not have 70% of rotation airspeed, the takeoff must be aborted. That's the only way you'll have enough runway remaining on which to stop.
That rule of thumb doesn't work on a warm day at Leadville. We passed the halfway point at about 45 knots. The propeller desperately tried to find air to bite at in its effort to turn reduced engine horsepower into thrust. We were going to use more runway than we could stop from to accelerate to flying speed. This is not the place to lose power on takeoff.
At 50 knots I gently brought the nose up. As soon as the wheels left the ground I leveled off and let the airplane settle back into ground effect to accelerate, with the runway racing by beneath us and the departure end rapidly approaching. We probably crossed the departure end of the runway at 100' and barely 60 knots and raised the gear. The little airplane struggled to climb: wings, propeller and engine all looking for air that simply wasn't there. We slowly started to climb at about 200-300fpm up to our pattern altitude of 11000'. As we progressed toward the south and home base, the terrain slowly and gently began to fall away from us, giving us gradually more absolute altitude.
Pike's Peak loomed large ahead of us as we progressed across the valley toward the front range. What an amazing experience. Often throughout the day, I had been unable to learn or even focus on tasks at hand, awed at the majestic scenery of the Rockies. During the flight I'd had several chances to confront and absorb new concepts, under the watchful eye of my instructor. Perhaps the greatest lesson of the day was that the high country is no place for the inexperienced. I was able to see that there is an enormous amount to learn in order to safely command an aircraft, especially a light aircraft, in these mountains. I was able to experience enough of high altitude operations this day, to see clearly how easy it is for private pilots to make deadly mistakes up here.
After it all, I'm convinced, this is where I ultimately want to live and work. These towering mountains serve as ancient guardians to places of unrivaled beauty and splendor. The people are thankful here, clearly seeing with their own eyes, everyday, how good we have it in this life, how majestic is our God and maker.
I'm sure on some level that the risk and sense of adventure appeal to my inner man too, but I'm unable to really clearly see that yet. Is flying here really risky? I guess so, but certainly not outside of the limits that we all set for ourselves. In time too, I'm sure that we gain the kind of experience that allows us to safely and competently fly and make PIC decisions in whatever environment we operate in. One might argue that given the higher concentrations of traffic on the east coast, that's the riskier environment, requiring us all to remain ever vigilant in order to avoid midair collisions.
Nobody gets into flying because they are drawn down the safest, easiest path.
Crossing the ridge north of Pikes Peak, I looked way down ahead to see Colorado Springs stretching out onto the plains. We got weather information and called Springs Approach to announce our arrival and receive vectors to the airport. We had a long descent ahead and reduced power accordingly. Indirect vectors to final gave us plenty of room to lose some 5000' of extra altitude and we set up for a nice long final to 17R at COS. The relatively low altitude, long final approach and wide runways all worked together to give us a smooth touchdown to end the day.
Under the afternoon sun, at the base of Cheyenne Mountain we ended our adventure with an annotation to my logbook. Mark would return the plane to Denver and I would continue on my journey toward becoming an airman, with a much greater appreciation of what it means to operate aircraft in the spectacular environs of America's high country.
John Corry is an instrument rated private pilot currently working toward his commercial and CFI ratings. He lives with his wife and little girl in Gainesville, Ga. and hopes to someday settle out west in the Rockies. You can reach him by email at jcorry@gmail.com Posted by johnpeace at August 8, 2005 08:36 AMJust a comment test, back online?
Posted by: John Corry at August 9, 2005 07:59 AM