Chilly Weather and Mountain Flying

Just before New Years, I decided to take one of my best friends, Brendan Korb, up into the air. After waking up and looking at nothing but a clear sky, I decided that December 30th would be the best day for such an event.

We arrived at Boeing Field and I began to pre-flight N738EP, showing Korb the various preflight checks we do to ensure that the aircraft is airworthy. After completing the checklist for the 1977 C172, we were ready to get the engine started and to be on our way: scheduled departure time of 1:30pm PST.

I completed the engine start checklist and over-primed the engine, as I had been taught by one of the check instructors for the flying club that I was renting the aircraft from. Turning the ignition switch in 35F degree weather, the propeller began to crank. After about 30 seconds, nothing. My passenger began to look frightened, but this wasn't the first time this had happened to us.

I cranked again, hoping to the good lord above that the propeller would engage so that we could be on our way. After another minute, Nothing.

Luckily, another instructor was nearby and witnessed the failed startup. Jonathan Tann came over and offered to see if he could start the engine. After him trying, no luck. He then began to ask me questions about what my startup procedure was.

"Only the list," I told him. He looked at me like I was crazy. "Only the list?! Did you spin the prop?" He asked me. "No sir," I said.

Tann walked me out to the front of the aircraft and explained to me that in weather from 32-60 degrees, the engine needs a little extra help other than the over-priming. He explained that in order for the propeller to catch in the colder weather, you want to spin the propellor a couple times to lubricate the components of the engine with the oil.

This makes perfect sense: In colder than normal weather, the viscosity of the oil within your aircraft, as it has been sitting on the line all night and morning, is very high. Therefore, the oil will not flow as easily as it will after the engine has been running. If you can heat up your engine with an industrial heater, the oil within the engine will lubricate much more quickly and your engine will startup faster. If there is no heater present, try to lubricate the engine by moving the oil throughout its components.

Korb and I decided to come back in about an hour to retry the startup, as the day was beautiful and we weren't going to pass up the opportunity to fly.

After a quick lunch, we were back at the airport. I re-pre-lighted, this time turning the propellor about 5 times to ensure that it would start up.

After getting in the plane and completing the pre-start checklist, I turned the ignition. Like magic, the propeller caught and the airplane started right up! After a bit of cheering, I began the taxi, making radio calls to KBFI ground at the same time.

After receiving clearance for a Valley Departure, we departed Runway 13L and were on our way.

After climbing up to 10000 feet and staying just below the Seattle's Class Bravo airspace, we leveled off for cruise and headed toward Mount Rainier.

"Can we fly around it?" Asked Korb.

Remembering back to Aviation Meteorology, I recalled that winds going around a mountain or peak can be dangerous news for airplanes. I looked down at the winds aloft I had taken from the Weather Briefing. Winds at 14,000 feet were just above 40 knots from the West. "As long as we don't get to close to the Eastern Face, we should be okay!" I said, beginning a slow ascent to 12,000.

Korb grabbed his camera and began to take some awesome photos of the mountain. Below are photos from each side of the Mountain.

As we passed Little Tahoma and ventured to the East side of the mountain, things began to get bumpy. I paralleled the airplane with the wind and let the wind take us east for a few minutes to get out of the turbulence that the mountain was creating.

Apparently it wasn't enough. As I began a turn to the South, a downdraft from the mountain caught my right wing. The airplane went sideways and into almost a 75 degree angle. Panicking, I set up for spin recovery with my hand on the throttle. A quick correction and ailerons to the left and we were back horizontal again. The downburst had ended as quickly as it began.

But the fun wasn't over. After setting up horizontally, things got bumpier. Fear had come and gone, and there was nothing but sheer terror in my eyes.

I put the airplane at a 45 degree angle to the wind and travelled to the Southeast. After continually looking backwards, we were finally south of the mountain: the air had become a lot smoother. I turned the airplane into the wind and headed back towards the Puget Sound.

After landing, I recalled that I hadn't opened a VFR flight plan. If we had crashed up there, it was likely that we wouldn't have been reported missing for hours, maybe even days. That was to be the last time I would ever fly in the mountains without a flight plan.

As for Mount Rainier: I don't think I'll ever go as close to that mountain as I did that day. That mountain is evil; there's a reason indian tribes have scary stories about that mountain.

--

About a week later, my friend Garrett Hackler invited me to fly him to his college in Ellensburg. We planned on a 2:30pm departure from KBFI. After getting the plane started and fixing a problem with the radios in the cockpit, we were on our way over the cascades.

My plan was to fly directly over I90 for a good 50 miles, and then turn south to meet up with Ellensburg. But not without first calling in to Seattle Radio and opening a flight plan.

We landed just before dark and tied the plane down on Bowers Field's Transient Line. I planned on spending the night with Hackler, while my plane sat outside in the 5 degree weather.

After waking up in the morning and preparing for my first solo flight across the mountains, I got back out to the airplane.

I preflighted quickly, knocking off the frost on top of the wings and hopping in the freezing aircraft, but not before turning the propeller like I had been taught. Knowing that it was going to be a tough start, I needed all the help I could get, so I over-primed the engine, too.

I turned the key. Absolutely nothing. Turned it again. The propeller turned an inch, and then went backwards two inches.

Too cold, I thought to myself. Damn. How was I going to get back to Seattle.

I walked into the nearby FBO and asked them if they had any type of engine heater. It was just my luck: they did. The maintenance crew at the FBO rolled out a humongous industrial heater similar to the one below:

After 30 minutes of waiting for my aircraft to warm up, I checked the oil, which miraculously dripped off of the dipstick, and was back in the cockpit. Turning the key, the engine started up and within the hour, I was back on the ground in Seattle.

The biggest things I learned that week were that in order to ensure that your aircraft is ready for cold weather operation, you should check the oil. If the oil doesn't drip off of the dipstick like warm honey, then you shouldn't attempt to start it. If the oil is close dripping like honey, then turn the propeller a few times, than give the start a shot. If the weather is below 40 and you physically don't want to check the oil: heat it anyway.

Oh, yeah: And always file a flight plan and be in constant communication with ATC while mountain flying. Flight following is a pilot's best friend!

--

Radio frequencies used during these two trips were the following:
KELN: 123.0
ASOS KELN: 118.375
NAV from KELN: 117.9 track 268 until signal lost.
NAV to KSEA: 116.8 track 268 until insight of Seattle.
KBFI: 118.3  121.9(GND)

Flight Following:
West of Pass: Seattle Approach 119.2
East of Pass: Seattle Center 127.05

Beaching 21 Tango

Preflighting a Seaplane is hard work. Imagine only being on one side of a land airplane and having to do the entire preflight checklist by standing on one side.

A Sea pilot has a few more things to check on, too. Not only does he check everything on the normal checklist, but he must also check to make sure that all of the cables that connect the rudders to the tail and pedals are free and untangled. But preflighting isn't the only thing that's weird about these beautiful airplanes.

A Seaplane handles slowly, almost as if it were a boat. After pushing off from the dock, running up to the cabin and starting the engine (away from the dock) the Seaplane begins to sail. It's interesting stuff, really. You expect a quick response when you begin to control the pedals, but instead, you receive a slow and large radius turn on the water. Wind plays even more of a factor, pushing the pilot to get the engine started even more quickly and getting under way sooner than possible.
--
I began my day on Christmas Eve (Dec 24) at home, waking up a little after 9 and getting picked up by Bob, my Sea instructor at 9:30. Eager to get on the water, we headed downtown to Seattle Seaplanes. (SS)

At the Port, or FBO, or what-have-you, we let out the air of the sinking dock at SS and watched N5721T, a Cessna 172 with a constant speed propeller. But not before I went for a swim in the frigid waters of Lake Union; As I was jumping on the sinking dock to untie the floats, I slipped on the wet wood and my left leg went straight into the water. Luckily, SS had an extra pair of pants that I could borrow.

The weather wasn't too bad. BKN deck at 6000, so good enough for Seaplane Flying. We moved the plane over to the passenger dock and began to preflight. After turning the plane by grabbing the tail and moving the plane in a child-like fashion, we were able to preflight both sides of the plane.

Pushing off from the dock and running up the floats and into the cabin, I started the engine with Bob in the right seat. A bit of a cold start, but the plane still started. We began our water taxi into the bay.

After talking for a few minutes and taxiing to the south side of the lake, we began our run-up. A run-up in a Seaplane is quite an unusual thing to experience. The plane has no brakes, so in order to do the run-up, you have to move. In essence, the left seat will complete the run up while the right seat steers and avoids water traffic. And then the pilots will switch and the right seat will check the left.

With the Run-up completed, I made the proper radio call on 122.8 (Lake Union CTAF) and we began our take off roll. Take-off is similar to a soft-field, except instead of hovering in ground effect, the pilot tries to get the floats "on a plane" in the water to reduce the amount of drag. The Plane, at the correct airspeed, will begin to lift off of the water. At this point, the object is to stay in ground effect until Vx, then pull back and climb.

We crossed over the Ballard Locks and headed over towards the West side of Bainbridge Island at 1300 feet. Upon crossing over the bay, I began a descent and planned a spot to land. Lowering to 1000 feet, I slowed the plane down and added flaps.

On short final, I began to round out. The idea is to create more ground effect and let the plane settle down on the water at a vertical speed of 100 fpm. When the plane touches down, the normal instinct is to let off on the back pressure and let the plane slow down, just as a land plane. In fact, that's exactly what I did. Apparently, not a good idea. The correct way to continue the landing roll is to continue the back pressure until the plane was come to a walking pace.

It seems like everything in Seaplane Flying is back pressure, at least when you're on the ground.

We decided to beach the plane. My first Seaplane Beaching. An interesting concept. I set up for the beaching, coming toward the planned beach at a 45 degree angle. While we were 25 feet out, I put the plane in idle and cut the engine. Hoping out of the plane and standing on the front of the float, the plane came up onto the beach. I hopped onto the rocky beach and pulled the plane in, pushed it out a bit, and turned the plane with the tail facing in.

After beaching, we had a quick photo op and were on our way again.

After a few more touch-and-gos on Lake Union, we called it a day. But not before figuring out how to work the Bendix-King radio.

A lot of pilots have experienced this, but I had never thought to figure it out. On these interesting radios, when turning the large knob, the numbers before the decimal point will move up or down. Therefore, you can move from 123 to 124 to 125. By using the smaller knob, the two numbers to the right of the decimals will change in intervals of 5 hundredths. Therefore, you can get the result of 123.45 to 123.50 to 123.55.

But what if the frequency needed is 127.275? How do you get to that frequency? The answer? Simple. Pull on the little knob until it pops out. Then, turn it. The result will look like 127.27. Interesting, right?

As you can see from the photo below, Com 1's radio is set to 135.17, utilizing this "pull out the smaller knob" idea. You learn something new everyday!