We’d flown the southern end of Lake Hartwell for a full day on Saturday, and thought we’d work the northern end to see what the boat traffic was like there. Prior to landing at KCEU, we’d done a recon of the north end of the lake. Like the southern end, there were a few bridges (with wires) and multiple islands and dead-end coves. There were also lots of small campgrounds along the forested shorelines; given the close quarters, we wouldn’t be staying long in any one place lest we disturb the campers. The one difference was that it was narrower and lacked the wide open areas of the southern end. On the one hand, working a narrow area like that requires more planning so that you can maneuver for the photo shot with plenty of clearance from shoreline obstructions and other boat traffic. On the other hand, the boats pretty much line up for you, and they’re either coming or going. That’s what this track pretty much shows. Not much was happening near the Clemson campus (upper right corner), so we crossed over the bridge and shot a few boats as we worked south away from the campers. From there on we could fly long south-bound passes, weaving around boats headed the same direction, and then turn around and fly back north to catch boats headed the opposite way. It turned out to be productive, and it was much easier than I expected–the only thing that would throw a hitch in our rhythm would be an enthusiastic group that just happened to drop their skier right before we got to them.

That track covers 45 minutes during which we flew about 30 miles (after that my iPhone’s battery was drained). After the track ends, we kept working south for another hour before heading down to KAND for a fuel stop. That’s where the next track picks up, after our last fuel stop. The lower end of Lake Hartwell is much more open. Even in the narrow area south of the bridge, our track is shorter and less aligned. It was late in the day and we eventually had to move to an entirely different area. On the east side, our track wanders southeast out of a popular party cove, where we were able to follow a few boats out. But after shooting those guys, we again had to move. After about 45′, we turned west and climbed above the lake to head back to our base at Gainesville (KGVL).

Great flying that weekend. After I left, the helicopter went in for its 50-hr service and for an alternator squawk (we’d noticed on our pre-flight that afternoon that the belt was loose–turns out the mounting bracket had come loose). It’s since moved to Kentucky, and will soon be getting mothballed for the winter unless a student needs it.

On top of it, the flying in Georgia was a little different than what we were doing along the California coast. On the inland lakes, the boats are smaller and we’re maneuvering a bit closer. Folks on the boat are able to see us and we can interact a bit more than we could with the larger boats that were operating offshore. It was also a long weekend, with sunny weather and a bunch of good people out having fun. We started off at Lake Hartwell–about 45 minutes east of KGVL–and spent Saturday there. Despite there being a Clemson game, the lake was packed. We spent a full day there before returning to KGVL right around sunset. Sunday we focused on nearby Lake Lanier, then moved over to Alatoona Lake (about 60 minutes west). Not my favorite place–Alatoona was smaller, narrower, had all kinds of obstructions on the lake (raised buoys mostly), and looked a little mucky. Monday we were back at Lake Lanier, working from north to south, and finished up the day back at Lake Lanier.

In total, I logged 24 hours–8 hours each day, starting around 9:00 and ending around 20:30. The last hour Monday was where I reached my mental and physical limit, and I was pretty relieved to be getting back to the airport that evening. Learned quite a lot about flying in hot, humid weather (a new one for me), dealing with the low level obstructions that you’d expect (the aforementioned buoys, birds, trees), cross-country flying in the South, and maneuvering with sometimes breezy conditions.

What was the best was the people, and I’m not kidding here. Almost everybody we photographed was pretty enthusiastic–not in the least because Joe was practically hanging out the helicopter waving at them. Got lots of people posing, waving, or dancing around. The jet skiers and fast boats were more than happy to show off for us, and we got some great shots of these guys sprouting massive rooster tails or flying over wakes.

Looks like I’m staying at home this weekend, but I’m looking forward to getting a few more weekends in before the cool weather sets in.

Our plan was for the 500-hr CFI to demonstrate a few of the maneuvers we’d be using in the Bay, then we’d head out to shoot a sailboat race near the Golden Gate Bridge. The weather wasn’t working in my favor though, and we quickly scrapped that plan and diverted to Lake Berryessa. Totally different environment (hot, higher, calm, and sunny) compared to the Bay (cold, low, windy, and foggy), but turned out to be a good learning environment. He’d flown it several times this year, so we knew where the obstructions were (wires on the southern inlets). I was able to grab a bit of fair quality video-I haven’t exactly had much of a chance to test my video set up, and it’s stowed so I can’t check it in flight. Okay, it’s a downright shitty video, but you can kind of get the idea of what the flying was like.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=T2_7iPxBoSY

I have to admit I was pretty nervous going out for this flight. Probably 85% of my flying is in the pattern, 14% off-airport, and the remaining 1% is maneuvering close to the ground. What surprised me though is that I had all the skills I needed to do it. By the end of the day, I was getting comfortable with maintaining my airspeed during the circuits around our subjects, had a good sight picture for our altitude over the surface, and maintaining good separation from the moving boat.

After a few hours at Lake Berryessa, we flew back to Napa (KAPC) to refuel (they pass out free bottles of wine if you fuel up enough there) and take a break. Then we flew into the delta east of our base at Concord (KCCR). This is a cool area-all these interweaving waterways, islands in the middle of swamps with a restaurant and bar, and ad hoc assemblies of boaters just hanging out. Here we also saw everything from the big dollar yachts to houseboats that were held together with plywood and wire. Flying here was even more challenging than over the lake, because most of the water ways were narrow. This concentrates the traffic (more evasive maneuvering) and put us over land during some passes (obstructions, wires). We got to working together pretty well, with both of us reconning the area, verbalizing instructions and the plan for making the photo pass, dropping in and taking the shot, and calling obstructions again.

After an hour or so, we made our turn back to KCCR and fought a headwind back to base. Definitely the most challenging flying I’ve ever done, and the longest I’ve been in the seat flying in one day. I was surprised at how quickly my basic skills came back and how much I learned. In one day we hit 2 class D airports, were on with NorCal Approach, went from sea level to 3200′ DA, flew low level and cross-country, and saw a few things I’d never seen before (that’s another post tho).

I used to hike all over the White Mountains in New Hampshire when I was living in Massachusetts, and I’d hit Mt Major every few years because it was close and a pretty easy day hike. One of my first up-close experiences with helicopters was on Mt Techumseh on an early spring hike. Waterville Valley Ski Area sits on one side of Mt Techumseh, and the top has a mess of ski lift equipment and towers. As I was getting toward the summit, a Bell whipped up the slope with sling, dropped it at the top, set down for a minute, and went back down. I hoofed it up the rest of the way and got to watch him set down again. The dog and I were probably only 50 yards from his LZ. When they finished doing what they were doing, the pilot saw us and came over. Gave me a little brief on the hazards of the tail rotor and told me what they were doing (repairing some radio equipment).

At the time I was also in a bit of a career crisis, and had looked at what it would take to get into flying. I already had a mound of debt from 10 years of school and living in Boston, and taking on more debt wasn’t a consideration. But I remember the pilot talking about the responsibility and freedom of getting to fly. “Best job in the world.”

If I’d really been thinking, I’d at least have gotten a ride off the mountain with him. Instead, the dog and I glissaded down the patchy snow on the ski slopes. Good day either way.

If you were wondering where the FL005 logo came from, it’s not just random. First, FL005 is flight level 005…or 500 feet. The symbol that makes up the zero on the left hand side is the cyclic control input you use on departure as you pass through ETL. The middle zero, well, that just had to be there. The symbol that makes up the 5 is the forward fuselage, mast, and blade of an R44. I’m not saying it doesn’t take a bit of imagination to see it. The colors are the same as on the gages. You can make your own shirt with this design, or combine it with any other, using the custom designer.

I’m not making fun of either of these attempts. I think it speaks to the universal thrill humans get at the idea of leaving the ground behind and seeing the world from above. Would be interesting to see if either of these home-made helicopters are really capable of flight, and whether the designers were able to overcome the many engineering challenges associated with rotary-wing aircraft. The low power-to-weight ratio of piston-driven engines was one of the challenges that kept early helicopters from even getting off the ground, where they would be subject to the aerodynamic challenges of spinning airfoils. Seeing as though these attempts all start with heavy components–like the junked car the Nigerian “inventor” used, or steel and wood blades and structures, it’s hard to believe these could really be getting too high up. Nevertheless, this last one, also from China, not only gets off the ground. If you believe the comments, he’s had it up above ETL. Unlike the first Chinese example, this farmer had help from detailed plans he obtained online.

I thought the flight was fine. It wasn’t as dark as I had expected. Still dark enough that, if we’d had to make an emergency landing, we’d wouldn’t have had much of an idea what we were going to be coming in on at the end. Scattered ranches and houses provided visual references all around us, and the times that I took the controls I felt like I had no more difficulty maintaining a cruise attitude than I did during the day. Navigating via Hwy 95/195 and the distant cities was pretty straightforward. There are always more small, lighted, and uncharted towers than the sectional shows–I like to use towers for night navigation, but I’d forgotten about that caveat. I think over cities the small ones get lost in the background clutter, but in the desert you can see every single one.

We put a little too much faith in the Standard Briefing, and I think were a little taken aback by the showers that started popping up in the Pullman area and further north.  I thought some looked sufficiently intense that I wouldn’t have attempted to penetrate them. Partly this is out of inexperience (my typical training flight, day and especially night, was CAVU++), but the blackboard that the towns in this area are dotted on made it hard to figure out if we couldn’t see through the showers or whether there was nothing to see behind them. Either way, the showers cooperated and held off to our east. We had light rain on the windscreen for most of the flight north of KPUW. That, BTW, is a pretty interesting airport–the beacon sits on higher ground to the north; as it sweeps around, you see that the runway is in a horseshoe formed by hills to the north, east, and south. When working the pattern there, I found myself more comfortable climbing until the terrain faded below the landing light, around 700 AGL.

We made it back pretty early, and I was in bed shortly after 00 PDT. As always, discussing flight training and helicopters with K.S. was enlightening and disheartening at the same time, and my dreams reflected what was on my mind at the time. These were the long, drawn-out dreams that come in the early morning when you’re half asleep. I won’t bore you with all of it. The set up was a stop-over in some po-dunk town while on a  cross-country drive with my parents, high school ex-girlfriend, and FAR/AIM. I know it was small town USA because the only place to eat was a McDonalds. I haven’t set foot in a McDonalds in probably 20 years–everything except the McRib I find pretty revolting. So I was pretty disgusted by the whole idea of having to eat there. I decided to make up for it by doing some studying, brought along the FAR/AIM and my usual barrage of books and set up shop at one of the booths. During the meal I got distracted by a spectacular Perseid showing and left my beloved FAR/AIM at the table, somehow expecting the McDonald’s clientelle to show it due respect. After psychoanalytically interesting (but otherwise irrelevant) encounters with the parental units, scowling ex-girl friend, and a runaway horse leading to a 9-1-1 call, I returned to find my booth overtaken by an overeating family. The McDonalds was greasy and getting ready to close. My FAR/AIM was nowhere to be seen.

The unsympathetic response from the staff wasn’t surprising. Why did I care about some stupid book? Probably didn’t help that I described it to them as “big, boring, and completely unappealing to just about anybody.” But my notes! My careful highlighting! God, it doesn’t matter that in a couple of months I’ll have to start anew, what mattered is all that I’d put in to this edition. I searched under every greasy table, behind the counters, and begged to dig through their trash. Finally they gave me access to their lost and found. And this was the surprising part of the dreamscape. McDonald had a library of abandoned books, to the extent that they’d taken to cataloging them between the vats of vegetable oil and hamburger buns. And, there was a whole section dedicated to…FAR/AIMs. Apparently this was one of the most discarded books at this neon red and yellow apparition. None of them were mine. I moped back to my room, and found my dog-eared FAR/AIM tossed carelessly on the floor. I picked it up, flipped through the florescent-highlighted pages, and read a few regulations. I was happy again. Complete.

Obfuscation aside, this dream was obviously about how heavily I still depend on that one book. Does it have to be installed, operational, in operation? For this certificate, when can I log night time? What’s the definition of night time for carrying passengers? For operation of aircraft lighting? Can I…? Like an examiner once told me, “You almost know the regulation. Where’s your FAR?” It’s the one book that’s pretty much always with me, there to clarify that last detail. Even though it’s not the friendliest read, without it I always feel a bit lost. That, and I’m irritated that I was out late and didn’t see a single damned Perseid.