I’ve just added a new VFR flight in the “flight simulation” section, under “standard virtual flights”. An Alabeo WACO takes off from Cushman Meadows, heads south-east towards the Skokomish Reservation, then flies over the Bremerton airport to the north-east and ends up landing at the Bear Gulch aerodrome, just in time for a BBQ. This was done using FSX. The first part of the cross country is for a starting virtual pilot but the last part requires a bit more experience.
Waco on short final for Bear Gulch WA38 (fsx)
WACO landing in Bear Gulch WA38 (FSX)
It is a more demanding experience than what is normally found in the “standard flights” section, since it involves a final landing at Bear Gulch. The runway at that airport is only 1411 ft long, and quite narrow. So you have to plan your approach carefully. A little wooden bridge is part of the runway! Since the flight is done in nice VFR conditions and does not involve engine failures or using a really fast aircraft arriving on a short runway, I decided that the “standard virtual flights” section was more appropriate. Still, it is not an easy approach.
A Texaco WACO aircraft is taxiing on a wooden bridge at Bear Gulch, WA38
A Waco aircraft belonging to Texaco is taxiing in Bear Gulch, WA38
Cushman Meadows (KCMW) and the Bear Gulch (WA38) runways do not exist in real life but am I ever glad Bill Womack took the time to create them. His site can be found under Iblueyonder. The screen captures show both airports and the PNW region sold by ORBX. If you want nice shadows on the ground while not using P3D, just get CumulusX and set the season to summer, with scattered clouds in mid afternoon.
A Waco aircraft with a tractor in the foreground is parked at Bear Gulch, WA38
Some guests have already arrived in Bear Gulch. You will see the smoke rising from the BBQ being prepared while you are on short final. The guests will certainly be taking pictures of your approach, as you are flying a vintage aircraft. So, if there was ever a time to do things correctly, now it is!
For more articles on flight simulation on my web site, click on the following link : Flight simulation
(Precedent story: the UFO invented in Inukjuak in 1983)
Inukjuak during a blizzard that forbid landings for days.
The winter 1982-1983 was fierce in Inukjuak (CYPH), in the Nunavik. There was a period when the winds were strong enough and the visibility reduced to the point that a rope had to be attached between the staff house and the flight service station. A Transport Canada flight service specialist (FSS) had to hold a rope to guide himself from one building to the other. And good luck to the FSS who would try to carry his meal on a tray between both buildings. A hand held the rope while the other one took care of the tray which was going in all directions. On one occasion, tray and food found their way in the snowbank.
Due to strong sustained winds, snow sometimes reached the roof top of the Inukjuak flight service station.
After a storm which seemed endless, I remember that the employees had to dig steps in the hardened snow in order to reach the flight service station door.
We sometimes had to dig in the snow to free the door and enter in the Inukjuak flight service station
This blizzard, which lasted twelve days, had prevented any takeoff and landing. There was no more milk for sale in the Inuit village, as it was now reserved for children. Hardly one hundred feet over us, there was a perfectly blue sky, according to the pilots who had tried to land on multiple occasions. But one morning, an Austin Airways pilot decided to risk an approach.
A red square was useful to help the employees find a building during a blizzard in Inukjuak.
The pilot could not benefit from any precise navigation aid during his approach, as the airport was only equipped with an NDB. So he trusted his local knowledge and what was left of his judgment. He knew that the staff house was painted green and situated just beside the runway. I guess that he prepared himself to aim for the colored staff house then make a sharp turn at the last minute. He dived into the storm, estimating the wind drift as much as he could.
At that same moment, our cook was working in the staff house’s kitchen. He was facing a huge bay window and was stunned to suddenly see the nose of a Twin Otter appear a few meters away from the window at the same time as a steep turn was being made to avoid the building. Reverse thrust was immediately applied to immobilize the plane as fast as possible. The cook repeated what he witnessed to every employee. I guess that helped him to unwind a bit.
As this was not enough surprise for the day, the plane’s doors opened and, instead of the much needed milk cargo expected by the villagers, we witnessed about ten passengers stepping out the plane and chitchatting like nothing ever happened. This unorthodox approach to the Inukjuak airport would now be one more story added on top of all the others told by pilots offering daily air service to northern Quebec villages along Hudson Bay and Ungava Bay coasts.
(Next story: the cockpit of a KLM Boeing 747 during a night flight over the Atlantic)
The Bell Canada Twin Otter in the background during a nice winter day in Inukjuak. In the foreground, an old ski-doo model.
One winter evening, in 1983, the Transport Canada flight service station (FSS) in Inukjuak (CYPH) received a radio call from a Bell Canada Twin Otter that was in trouble. The fog had invaded the Hudson Bay coast in several places, and landing at the planned alternate airports was now impossible. Weather conditions still being acceptable in Inukjuak, our airport became the last option for the pilot. Unfortunately, our runway lights were out of service and a solution had to be found quickly.
Phone calls were made. Several Inuits arrived in snowmobile and installed their machine on each side of the runway, in more or less regular intervals, so as to light the outside limits of the landing surface. The pilot made a normal approach and the aircraft landed without problem. This kind of service provided by the Inuit was not something new. The pilots were always happy to be able to rely on this emergency auxiliary lighting supplied by the inhabitants of northern Quebec villages when there was a sudden problem.
(Next story: acquisition of an Inuit sculpture in Inukjuak in 1982)
(Precedent story: Accidental night flying…without night rating.)
The night flying rating was completed during the following weeks. I then had to accumulate hours of night flying, so I took advantage of a cold winter evening without clouds or wind to do a round robin trip from St-Jean-sur-Richelieu. I brought along three passengers in a Grumman Cheetah and headed towards the Eastern Townships.
The St-Jean-sur-Richelieu control tower was closed at the time of our departure. Runway maintenance followed an irregular schedule as the work was being done by civil servants from the municipality who were also responsible for street maintenance in the city. In cases where freezing rain fell, followed within hours by a significant cooling in the temperature, the runway condition would deteriorate rapidly. We sometimes had to wait until the next morning before a team came in and tried to bring the braking conditions on the runways to an acceptable level.
This is what I realized as I was taxiing towards the threshold of runway 29. The landing light illuminated what appeared to be a smooth and icy surface rather than a paved one. The braking index of the three runways provided by the city was useless. I still had the option to cancel the flight because there was no emergency. We could also accelerate slowly and use the rudder smoothly. The airplane would take off in seconds in the cold air.
I chose the second option, the winds being calm and the plane took off easily. Soon, we could see the lights of the surrounding towns. It was a smooth night ride for the passengers. After an hour of flight, we returned to the airport. The controls had to be dealt with carefully, in order to avoid any skidding. Aware that I was landing on an ice rink, and that there must not be any swerve to one side or the other of the runway, the approach was made as slowly as possible and the brakes were not applied after touch down. I let the aircraft gradually lose its momentum while rolling down the entire length of the runway.
I am convinced today that those passengers remember that night flight positively, if just for the beauty of the city lights and the absence of turbulence. It was also an interesting experience for me, as I was having the feeling of controlling a boat rather than a plane on a runway.
(Next story: The Commercial Pilot License – A flat on landing)
Note: For this real story, since I did not have a camera with me in the aircraft in the 1980 flight, I reproduced the flight on a simulator using a Piper Cherokee (which is the closest I could find that looks like the Grumman Cheetah).
Shortly after obtaining my private pilot license, in 1980, I was asked to pick up a plane parked in Earlton, Ontario, three hundred nautical miles northwest of St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, and bring it back to St-Jean. To get to Earlton, I was in the company of an experienced pilot and we left together on a single-engine Grumman Cheetah. For the return flight, each pilot would fly his own plane, following one another. My companion would lead in his aircraft because he had all the necessary navigational charts to get us back to St-Jean.
Along the way we had to deal with a cold front which delayed our arrival to St-Jean. Before the journey started, I was assured that we would arrive before darkness. It now seemed a bit tight.
A nice evening light over the parc de la Vérendrye.
My companion had accelerated the pace. Two facts became obvious: first, the sunset was beautiful. Second, I did not have my night flying rating. This sunset meant that there was about thirty minutes left before total darkness.
I called him on the radio to enquire if he still believed that we would reach St-Jean on time. He answered that we were at the limit.
I then enquire about the possible existence of a button that would illuminate the instruments at night. The button was found and soon the instruments took on a pinkish color. Then came the questions about the essential tools for a night flight. He named the few.
Réserve du parc de La Vérendrye at night time.
With minutes passing by very quickly it now seemed impossible to arrive before the official night time as we had not yet crossed the Montreal Pierre-Elliott-Trudeau control zone.
Approaching Montreal, I tried to communicate with my companion but there was no more reply. The only navigational fix available for this improvised night flight was the small red rotating beacon on the tail of his aircraft. Strangely, its intensity was gradually weakening. My companion was getting away, his plane being a faster one.
Montréal in sight. It is the first time that I see Montréal from high above during the night. I did not expect I would do so while flying a plane without holding a night rating.
I increased the power and adjusted the mixture to gain a few knots, while focusing on the little red dot that could direct me to St- Jean-sur-Richelieu. I was not too happy with my performance. I should have insisted from the beginning, to have a copy of all the documents. But this flight seemed so simple. Lesson learned.
We flew through the Montreal international airport control zone. In the night, the strobe lights of big airliners were visible on the approaches to landings or during take-offs. Abusing the engine a little bit, I gradually decreased the distance from my companion’s aircraft. Unable to hear anything due to the lack of documents that would provide the local frequencies being used, I simply followed the aircraft ahead of me.
Suddenly, the distant red beacon started going down in the night. I supposed we were getting close to St-Jean-sur-Richelieu. My companion was certainly communicating with the airport control tower to announce his intentions. This was a frequency I knew by heart. I ran the risk of calling him on the tower frequency to ask for tips to land at night. The answer was short and uncertain, because he knew that radio communications were recorded. The only advice he could find was: “I do not know what information to give you, take your time.” The air traffic controller heard this and offered me the presence of emergency vehicles, an offer I politely declined.
A Lake Buccaneer seaplane pilot flying in the area heard the communication and told the controller: “Advise him to turn his landing light on!” I replied that it was not functional. It had been observed during the pre-flight checks at St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, but it was not supposed to be a problem since we were flying during daytime only.
The first step towards a landing is to know the relative position of the plane from the airport and its three runways. When you have never flown at night, the view is different and requires an adjustment. Once the runway in use was identified (runway 11), the next step was to imagine that the flight instructor who trained me was sitting next to me. He would require good positions in the circuit, exact altitude according to each leg of the circuit pattern, appropriate speed and flap degrees, and finally an approach with a suitable angle.
At the time, all I knew about night flying boiled down to one eminently practical aspect: there was a wooded area at the beginning of runway 11 and I did not want to descend too much and hit the top of those trees, invisible in the night. However, being too high above the runway threshold would mean that the wheels would touch too far away past the threshold and the remaining runway length would be insufficient to stop the aircraft the ideal way, that is to say in one piece.
During the final leg of the approach, although my attention was fully dedicated to the procedures, I could feel that the rhythm of my heart had accelerated. On short final, everything happened quickly. The plane flew above the wooded area, the runway approached rapidly and the two wheels of the main gear touched the runway gently. The brakes were applied immediately and everything was over.
The main issue was now solved. I requested guidance from the air traffic controller to taxi down to the flying club. He jumped on the opportunity to ask me, a smile in his voice: “Are you going to take your night flying rating now?“!
