In 1982, Air UK ceased its charter flight operation. But five years later, the company was back in that business, under the name of Air UK Leisure. It started its operation by using three Boeing 737-200s but soon realized more aircrafts would be needed. In 1988, Air UK Leisure ordered seven new 737-400s, the first of their type in Europe.
Those 737-400s, built at Boeing Field in Seattle, had to fly to Europe by passing over northern Canada. The aircrafts could not do that long trip without stopping for fuel. They landed at the Iqaluit airport, on Baffin Island, in the Nunavut.
Air UK G-UKLB Boeing B737 arriving in Iqaluit
In the unique aviation photography above, taken from the local Transport Canada flight service station (FSS), you can see one of those new Boeings, a B737-4YO, G-UKLB.
During the same period, many companies having recently acquired some B737-400s and 500s did the same trip from Seattle to Europe by stopping in Iqaluit. Among those, Aer Lingus and Hapag-Lloyd.
Aer Lingus B-737 on final in Iqaluit in 1990
A new Hapag-LLoyd (D-AHLL) Boeing B-737 has just arrived from Boeing Field in Seattle. Next destination: Germany.
(Precedent story: Iqaluit and the old American military base (Frobisher Bay)
Two Canadian CF-18s holding short of runway in Iqaluit (1989)
In October 1989, Stacey Campbell wrote an article in News North that she titled: “Military Jets Fill the Arctic Skies”. She explained that NORAD (North American Air Defence) regularly held exercises aimed at testing the capacity of Canada’s new radar defense system to detect potential enemies approaching from the north.
The interviewed military officer told Stacey that CF-18 fighter jets, tankers and B-52 bombers, among other types, would be part of the operation. The CF-18’s would temporarily be stationed in Iqaluit, on Baffin Island, and Inuvik for the duration of the exercise. Other types of aircrafts were also involved in that annual test, like the F-15, T-33 and possibly the AWAC although the latter did not land in Iqaluit.
American F-15 landing in Iqaluit
The local Transport Canada flight service specialists (FSS) had to deal with the tight operating schedule provided by a military officer as well as integrate the daily arrivals and departures of private and commercial aircrafts.
At the time, the most useful taxiway, one which was located near the end of runway 35, could not be used since the terrain was too soft. All the aircrafts using runway 35 were forced to backtrack that runway before it could be cleared for other incoming or departing aircrafts. The additional time required for that procedure sometimes gave headaches to the military officer sitting by our side.
American F-15 Eagle airborne from IqaluitCanadian T-33s in Iqaluit (1990)American Starlifter cargo aircraft ready for take-off in Iqaluit (1989)
I remember that the military officer in charge of the mission told us: “If the jets cannot takeoff within the next minute, the mission will be aborted”. It just happened that during the tight window within which the CF-18’s had to be airborne that day, there were many commercial aircrafts like the Avro 748, Twin Otter, Boeing 727 and 737 and other executive aircrafts operating around Iqaluit. There was always a way to please everybody and the military exercise ended the way it was initially planned.
Two Canadian CF-18s in Iqaluit (1989)Two American F-15 Eagle taxiing for departure in Iqaluit (1990)
This was a period much appreciated by the flight service specialists (FSS) since, for one week during the year, our operations changed radically: we had to respect the imperative needs related to the military exercise as well as continue to provide regular air traffic services.
Six Canadian CF-18s, one Lockheed Electra Ice Patrol aircraft, a Dash-7 and a T-33 in Iqaluit
It was brought to our attention, for having discussed with many pilots involved in the exercise that military forces were kind enough to offer, through our Transport Canada manager, few posters signed by pilots of squadrons involved in the “Amalgam Chief” exercise. Although the manager never deemed necessary to show his staff even one of those posters, I appreciated the gesture from the pilots.
Canadian Armed Forces Boeing B-707 in Iqaluit, in front of the flight service station tower
(Next story: two airline captains forced to delay their departure from Iqaluit)
Tales of a Dakota Pilot – The way it was 1929 – 1937
This is a simple and charming little book retelling the life stories of the pilot Fred Max Roberts Jr when he was flying his airplanes in the Bismark region, North Dakota, between 1929 and 1937. The book was written by his son, Fred Marke Roberts, so that some of his father’s stories do not fall in oblivion. You will find here a good idea of how things were done in the early years of aviation.
An original and easy way of refueling
When came the time to refuel, the pilots would regularly land on a farmer’s field. They knew that somebody had noticed the landing and, most of the time, a fuel truck would be sent without any previous arrangements. The pilot had nonetheless the duty to make sure he landed close to an easy access for the fuel truck. Sometimes, to simplify the refueling process a bit, the pilot landed directly on the road, outside of the city.
This habit did not seem to have change fifty years later when I did a 2650 kilometers cross-country flight with a Cessna 170B, between St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, Quebec, and Edmonton, Alberta. During the trip, I had to land in a field near Lundar, Manitoba, a Canadian province which is bounded to the south by North Dakota and Minnesota. Soon after the landing, a pick-up truck carrying fuel approached the plane. I had not made any arrangements for fuel. In my case, a precautionary landing was needed as the fuel gauges had started to give false indications. Since fuel was readily available, the tanks were topped before the next takeoff.
Landing in a field with a Cessna C170B in Lundar, Manitoba in 1981.
Killing coyotes against the county bounty
Coyotes where frequently attacking farmer’s livestock. When the situation was getting out of control, the farmers would phone Fred Max. The latter would take off with his Curtiss Junior Pusher, accompanied by an experienced shooter and they would spot and kill coyotes. Winter was the best season for hunting from the air since the coyote’s dark colored fur contrasted against the white snow.
The farmers, on their horses, were following the aircraft’s manoeuvers to spot where the coyotes had been shot. They then brought the dead animals back to their farm. Few minutes later, the aircraft would land as close to the farm as possible and the pilots picked up the coyotes, bringing them back to the county’s bureau in order to receive the published bounty for each killed coyote.
Super Cub and wolves shot from the air in Northern Ontario, Canada, on an aviation postcard dating from the sixties.
The American Midwest farmer’s hospitality
When a pilot landed in a farmer’s field, as a stopover on a long cross-country flight, he would often be offered a meal with the farmer’s family. If darkness was an obstacle for the continuation of the flight, the pilot was often offered a bed for the night. The next morning, after breakfast, and as a thank you gesture, the pilot would offer the farmer a courtesy flight.
A practical way to lower the costs associated with a long cross-country flight
An easy way to reduce the costs associated with a long cross-country flight was to offer airplane rides to villagers who had come to meet the pilot once at the destination. The pilot landed, waited a bit and knew that, soon, few people would come to him to ask for a ride.
The pilot Fred Max Roberts Jr hanging to the wing of his monoplane
A major concern for any pilot landing in a field was to find a fence to tie the plane as soon as possible to protect it from the strong winds blowing over the Midwest plains. But really strong gusts would sometimes break the ropes.
The pilot tells the reader that he was once immobilized in the middle of a field while a storm was quickly approaching. He got under the wing of his monoplane and hanged to it in order to add some weight. But that was not enough. A strong gust lifted the plane, broke the two tie-downs and sent pilot and plane flying at about ten feet in the air. Fearing that his plane would continue to climb without him at the controls, the pilot let go. The plane maintained a level flight while backing until it suddenly rolled and crashed.
Pilot and passengers are caught in flight by a tornado
Flying and meteorology manuals teach every pilot the necessity to avoid thunderstorms because, among other reasons, of the extreme ascending and descending air currents that are present in a well-developed cell. The pilot Fred Max Roberts Jr not only went through a thunderstorm but survived a tornado while he was in flight. His story was published in many newspapers at the time. Some of the articles are reproduced in the book.
As the pilot tells it, meteorological forecasts and weather observations were not as easily accessible as they are today. During a flight with passengers in his Waco 90 biplane, the sky suddenly darkened and the weather degraded rapidly. The pilot tried his best to fly between two important cloud formations. He could hardly see his instruments due to the lack of light, even if the flight was made during the day. He was fighting to avoid being disoriented.
Suddenly, the plane started to gain altitude rapidly by itself. The pilot nosed his ship downward and applied full power. This was useless. The aircraft was still rapidly climbing, tail first. Then the ascent abruptly stopped and a dive ensued. He pulled on the stick to bring his Waco to a level flight, but the rapid descent continued. Having no other choice, he applied full throttle and set his plane for a normal climb. Again, the descent continued until the Waco was at about 500 feet above ground level.
Eventually, they got out of the storm and landed at White Rock. Fred Max then realized that his passengers, sitting in the open cockpit Waco during the storm, had not fasten their seat belts and were hanging for dear life to a brace running across the front of the passenger cockpit.
Those are some of the tales a reader can find in “Tales of a Dakota Pilot”, an unpretentious book but nonetheless a publication that might very well surprise many young pilots, as the 1930’s way of flying so differed from what a young pilot lives when he integrates today’s world of aviation.
(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)
De Havilland Canada DHC-7 Dash 7 over the Kokoda trail in Papua New Guinea
Steep turn made by a Dash 7 (FSX) landing in Kagi, Papua New Guinea
If you are looking for a real challenge, try a flight from Kokoda airport to Kagi, using a DHC-7. Kagi is situated along the Kokoda Trail in Papua New Guinea. The runway has a 12.5 degree slope and is approximately 447m long (1466 ft). The airstrip’s altitude is about 3900 ft msl. You will need the ORBX scenery (AYPY) Jacksons Airport made by Ken Hall and Tim Harris, as well as other Orbx products such as Global, Vector and Holgermesh to do the flight and obtain the same views as above. In order to find the airports, two maps are included in the “User documents” included with AYPY.
A Dash 7 (FSX) on final for Kagi, Papua New Guinea
I adjusted the fuel at 50% in each tank. For payload, I used 5 passengers and luggages. Obviously, the aircraft could have been loaded with many more passengers and cargo. But since it was a first trial at Kagi with a Dash 7, I thought that a lighter payload would increase my chances of a successful landing by reducing the approach speed.
A United Nations Dash 7 after landing uphill on runway 07 in Kagi, Papua New Guinea
The landing in Kagi is made on runway 07 and the takeoff on runway 25. From Kokoda airport, follow the Kokoda trail then, when appropriate, make a right turn toward Kagi. There are few airports within a small area so it can get a bit confusing. The best way is to overfly the area slowly to ensure that what you see in flight and what is on the map are both the same airport.
The two most difficult aspects of the approach are the steep turns required while flying close to the mountains in slow flight configuration, that is to say with full flaps and wheels out. The second problem to keep in mind is the sloped runway: 12.5 degrees is not negligeable. But once you are on the runway, the Dash 7 will almost stop by himself due to that slope. The takeoff on runway 25 is not a problem with that aircraft: with such a sloped runway, you will be airborne in no time.
A United Nations Dash 7 ready for takeoff on runway 25 in Kagi, Papua New Guinea
De Havilland Dash 7 airborne from Kagi
I am convinced you will enjoy this demanding flight. There are lots of plants and trees included in the scenery, so it makes for a very realistic approach. Have fun and make sure your passengers will still have a smile on their face when they get out of the airplane!
(Precedent story: the manager who lost his appetite)
Two Austin Airways Twin Otters being unloaded in Inukjuak in 1982.
During the years the Transport Canada flight service station in Inukjuak (CYPH) was in operation, there was something an Austin Airways pilot could count on: on the arrival of the aircraft, there would often be somebody from the village waiting to give a hand in unloading the cargo or provide some kind of services to shorten the stopover time. The villagers were indeed regularly calling the flight service specialists (FSS) to know if there was any aircraft inbound, and if it was the case, what was the estimated time of arrival. We were used to questions like “What time plane?”, “Is that food plane?”, “Is that mail plane?”.
Upon landing, we could see, arriving from the village, a fuel truck and other pick-ups and Honda three wheelers. The postmaster came to fetch the mail, the villagers to meet passengers and family members, and the businessmen to unload their cargo or fuel the aircraft.
There was a similar interest regarding the arrival of the first vessels of the season, in late summer. Besides the occasional icebreaker presence, we witnessed the arrival of the Shell tanker, responsible to supply the villages along the Hudson Bay and Ungava Bay coasts. Barges loaded with heavy machinery and crated material were finally reaching Northern Quebec villages after more than a week of navigation, taking advantage of the low tide to deliver their cargo. Some of those vessels were damaged by ice and sometimes had to be repaired on the spot before they could resume their journey.
A rare sight: a piano and some mattresses were left without much protection in the absence of their new owners. Inukjuak 1982
One day, an anti-submarine patrol aircraft CP140 Aurora having completed his work over Hudson Bay contacted us for air traffic services. Since its operations seemed momentarily completed and it was now moving to another area, he was asked to do a “low pass” above the station. The pilot agreed and soon enough, the airplane was zooming above our facilities disappearing moments later in the clouds. I still remember the flood of phone calls that the aircraft fly-by created. Unable to see the Aurora, now above the clouds, the villagers were asking: “Is that food plane? “,”Is that mail plane ? ” .
A low pass is sometimes requested to get a close-up of an aircraft and to allow the staff to hear the roaring engines as the aircraft zooms by the building. This also creates an opportunity to take a picture. Every pilot that I have known throughout the years would gladly accept this opportunity to add some action in his routine…
An Air Inuit Twin Otter C-GMDC is refueling in Inukjuak in 1982
(Next story: the Inuit who wanted to shoot Whites with a .303 caliber rifle)
(Precedent story: enroute toward the first posting: Inukjuak)
The Inukjuak soft sand runway, in 1982, and a balloon tires equipped Twin Otter, property of Austin Airways.
During my first working days as a flight service specialist (FSS) at the Transport Canada flight service station in Inukjuak (CYPH), in 1982, I received a radio call from a Twin Beech 200. The pilot of this aircraft registered in the United States indicated that he wished to land at Inukjuak for a short stopover. Several passengers were on board. I gave him the necessary air traffic services and followed its progress towards the airport, through subsequent radio communications.
It is assumed that a pilot wanting to land at an airport has prepared himself and knows the length and orientation of the runway, as well as its constitution (cement, asphalt, gravel, grass, sand). These are absolutely essential information, like ensuring that there is enough fuel on board the aircraft. This makes the difference between an accident and a successful landing. I doubted that Inukjuak, with its soft sand runway, was suited for an aircraft like the Beech 200.
Being a pilot myself, I was uncomfortable to ask him if he was aware of the characteristics of the Inukjuak runway, because this was such basic information. Moreover, having no experience as a flight service specialist yet, I considered unimaginable that in the early days of a new career, I had to deal with a pilot that was not adequately prepared, and would soon put his life and the lives of his passengers in danger.
I kept on thinking that if the pilot was responsible for this type of aircraft, he must have had hundreds, if not thousands of hours of flying experience. It would be like saying: “Don’t you think that the plane is too big for your abilities?“
The aircraft was now on final for the runway, a few miles away. I decided to ask the fateful question: “Are you aware that you are about to land on a 2000 feet soft sand runway?” The pilot softly said: “OK, we’ll do a missed approach and will head somewhere else. Is Kuujjuarapik acceptable for us? “I answered positively and in the following seconds, the airplane overshot the runway and headed southward for the next airport.
From that day and the following decades, I vowed to never take anything for granted. When in doubt, action is worth more than inaction…
(Next story: A visit at the Inukjuak flight service station (1982))
(Precedent story: flight service and the Transport Canada Training Institute in Cornwall)
1982 Northern Quebec view from a Nordair B737
Summer of 1982. Today is the departure from Montreal towards Inukjuak (CYPH), a northern Quebec Inuit village, part of the Nunavik. There, I will start working as a flight service specialist (FSS) for Transport Canada. Nordair’s Boeing B737 takes off and immediately heads northward. It will fly along James Bay and, upon reaching Hudson Bay, will land in Kuujjuarapik, its final destination. From there, an Austin Airways’s Twin Otter will take us over to Inukjuak , an isolated posting further to the north on the east coast of Hudson Bay.
A Boeing B737 landing on the Kuujjuarapik (CYGW) 5000 feet gravel runway uses special procedures. This is a short runway for a loaded aircraft, and braking is less effective than on asphalt. There is no significant margin for error. The wheels must touch as close as possible to the runway threshold, followed by maximum breaking. Passengers really feel the deceleration. The same calculation applies for takeoff: the pilot positions the aircraft close to the runway threshold then applies both the brakes and maximum thrust, and once the appropriate parameters are reached , releases the brakes. As usual, weight and balance, density of the air, airport altitude as well as direction and strength of the winds are all precisely calculated for the aircraft to be airborne before the end of the runway.
1982 Kuujjuarapik. A Nordair Boeing B-737 in the foreground and an Austin Airways Twin Otter in the background.
1982 A flight service specialist (FSS) working at the Kuujjuarapik station, in Québec
After a short stopover, the Twin Otter is now ready for the trip to Inukjuak. The takeoff from Kuujjuarapik goes without problems. I am sitting in the first class section, behind some cargo held by a net. For champagne, I will have to wait for the boxes to be removed from the hallway.
1982 Cargo and passengers in the Twin Otter
1982. A view of Sanikiluaq from an Austin Airways Twin Otter.
Then a slow descent is started to Inukjuak. From my window, I can see a small group of narwhals. I feel like I’m dreaming but, after a quick research in scientific documents, learn that narwhals can be found in small groups mainly in the north of Hudson Bay.
The aircraft is now getting closer to Inukjuak. The flaps are extended and it is possible to see the runway before the airplane turns on final. It is two thousand feet long and made only of sand thick enough to render its surface unstable.
1982 Austin Airways Twin Otter on base for the Inukjuak airport runway
Upon arrival, someone comes my way with a motorcycle. He offers me a ride to the staff-house, even if there is only a fifteen or twenty seconds walk. I politely declined the offer, but the personage insists. Not wanting to give a bad impression just as I arrive, I finally accept and try to find a small place on the seat of his tiny motorcycle. Hardly have we started to move into the soft sand that the driver loses control of the vehicle. We fall (what a surprise!), but there is no serious consequence. Welcome to Inukjuak!
1982 Inukjuak inhabitant and canoes used for traditional activities
After a proficiency check, I soon find myself flying a Cessna 170B (tail wheel) on a flight across Canada, from St -Jean-sur- Richelieu, Quebec, to Edmonton, Alberta. I am accompanied by the aircraft’s owner who has not yet completed his private pilot course. The 1952 Cessna flies well, but has absolutely no instruments for air navigation, not even a VOR nor ADF. And the era of the portable GPS is not yet upon us.
Fourteen 1:500,000 VFR charts, covering the planned flight, are folded, glued and numbered. I trace the expected flight path on each chart, with 10 miles landmarks. This will facilitate the monitoring of our progress, considering the absence of navigation equipment. The preparation now completed, the take off is done on a beautiful summer day of 1981.
1:500,000 VFR charts used for a flight toward Edmonton, Canada, in 1981
We do stopovers at Gatineau, North Bay, Sudbury and then fly along Lake Superior to Wawa.
Small break in Sudbury on a VFR flight to Edmonton in 1981
We fly around Lake Superior to our next stopovers, Thunder Bay and Fort Frances. Over large forested areas, with no major landmarks, the gyroscopic precession must be corrected frequently so as not to stray too far from the intended track. Sometimes when it facilitates navigation, we either follow a railway or main roads. There are some instances where the westerly winds are so strong that our ground speed is slower than a car on a highway.
From Fort Frances to Kenora in 1981, with a Cessna C170B
Our flight path follows a line that keeps us away from areas of high air traffic. I choose to fly north of Winnipeg terminal control area, thus avoiding frequent radio exchanges with air traffic control in a language I do not master. The underperforming radio would not be of any help at any rate. This option eventually means that we must fly over Lake Winnipeg, in its southern portion. We have enough altitude to be able to glide to the other side in case of an engine failure. Nonetheless, we realize that we are gradually loosing several thousand feet due to the cold air mass above the lake. This with maximum power applied. The unexpected descent eventually ends, but it is now impossible to have an engine failure without ditching in the lake…
The crossing of Lake Winnipeg with a Cessna C170B in 1981
Near Lundar, Manitoba, the aircraft’s old gauges indicate a significant loss of fuel. It is surprising since we refueled an hour ago. We must land the plane on the nearest runway, but the strong crosswinds exceed the capabilities of the aircraft. Nonetheless, an attempt is made with the result that only the left wheel accepts the contact with the runway. As soon as the right wheel also touches the ground, the aircraft becomes airborne again. A nearby field is selected to make a precautionary landing so that the fuel status can be verified. We fly at low altitude over the electrical wires and the cows in the adjacent field, and touch smoothly at a ground speed not exceeding 15 knots. A farmer witnesses the landing and arrives in his red pick-up to offer some help. The tanks are almost full, so the plane only needs few liters of gasoline. Once this is done, we take off westward. It appears that the old fuel gauges of this 1952 Cessna are now totally unreliable…
Landing in a field with a Cessna C170B in Lundar, Manitoba in 1981.
We leave Manitoba through Dauphin and enter Saskatchewan. If we were to experience an engine failure above such uniform fields, the risk of serious problems at landing would be virtually nonexistent.
Near Yorkton, Saskatchewan, in flight with a Cessna C170B in 1981
The weather is slowly deteriorating. We choose to land in Watson, Saskatchewan, on the nearest runway.
The runway surface consists of muddy earth and grass, and it’s delimited by small red wooden panels. As we touch the ground, the tires splash mud everywhere, including under the wings.
The Watson runway, Saskatchewan, in 1981
The King George motel in Watson, Saskatchewan in 1981
Finally, the weather improves and a takeoff is made toward North Battleford, the last stop before Edmonton. The sloping terrain forces us to fly lower and lower near Edmonton, under an overcast stratocumulus, limiting our ability to see a long time in advance the correct airport from the three available (international, civil , military ). Luckily, everything goes well in choosing the right airport and approach, but we cannot say the same with radio communications. The sound quality coming from the old speaker is awful and the English spoken by the air traffic controller too fast for us. The combination of these two factors causes the controller to repeat more than once his instructions until he finally decides to slow down and we can officially say: « Roger! »
After spending few days in Edmonton it is now time for the return flight to St-Jean. This proves to be much easier and faster because the westerly winds push the aircraft. Our ground speed is sometimes double what we had managed to get on our trip to Edmonton. The journey took us twenty-five hours to go and eighteen hours to come back.
Cessna C170B in flight over Canada, summer 1981.
Climbing to 9,500 feet on the return leg to St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, in 1981.
VFR “on top” with a Cessna C170B in 1981 over Canada
Over North Bay, Ontario, the weather is ideal. But we will have to land in Ottawa while waiting for thunderstorms to move away from Montreal and St-Jean-sur-Richelieu. After a total of forty- three-hours of flying time, the old Cessna 170B is landing back to St- Jean -sur- Richelieu.
