Thursday, March 7, 2013
ANVIK -- Day four of race flying was spent waiting for snow to stop falling in the Iditarod checkpoint community of McGrath. An early morning pickup of the journalists in Nikolai (they had slept there in the school/checkpoint) was followed by a very long weather delay in McGrath for all four of us.
By late afternoon, we had made arrangements to rent a friend's snowmachine and send our journalists on to Takotna on the ground, thought to be about a two-hour ride when the trail is good. Fortunately for them, the sky cleared in McGrath for a very short window. That gave us just enough time for the quick ten-minute flight to Takotna. They would be spending their second night in a school, but with the comfort of a lively group of mushers around the checkpoint, many on their 24-hour breaks.
(Takotna is a much-loved checkpoint scene for all, from mushers to reporters, given the excellent and generous portions of food and most of all, dozens of homemade pies).
For us, the evening in McGrath was made totally delightful by the beloved guitarist, singer and songwriter "Hobo Jim", himself expecting a longer-than-planned visit due to weather. Hobo gave us a four-hour concert in McGuire's Tavern, a place with a long and colorful history that stretches back decades and includes some great country music. It made for a great treat for the smallish but enthusiastic audience, as many Iditarod race volunteers and followers had moved on down the trail earlier than expected due to the faster-than-expected race times so far.
So much of bush flying in Alaska is about waiting for the weather to change. It creates a whole mindset of its own, and even the musicians sing about it. It's either Hurry-up and go before the window closes, or sit it out for days until the sky clears.
BYPASS IDITAROD
Thursday morning brought clearer skies and much more wind (with even windier conditions forecast). That turned out to be a false alarm. In fact, it was just a perfect flying time. Yes there was wind, but not strong enough to change any plans. The real problem instead has been caused by snow.
Warm temperatures made for sticky, wet snow in the river landing site at the Iditarod checkpoint. With a heavy load, that meant we could not even attempt it.
The Iditarod checkpoint is at an abandoned village site from the gold rush years; we had hoped our photographer would get a chance to capture its eerie presence and reminder of a life now long vanished, but it wasn't to be. So our journalists had to be dropped two checkpoints down the trail in the beautiful, hillside Yukon river village of Anvik a little ahead of schedule, taking advantage of its well-maintained air strip.
FLYING IN SNOW
The second shuttle of the day involved both pilots flying gear from McGrath to Anvik in late afternoon. This time, the snow actually did become an issue. From high overcast in McGrath, conditions started to deteriorate in the hilly country near the village of Shageluk.
We had to descend from a cruising altitude of 4,000 feet to 600 feet to be able to see under the falling snow. So with visibility as low as a few miles, that required a turn to the North to join the winding Innoko River and follow its low drainage around the hilly terrain.
ACTUAL VERSUS FORECAST WEATHER
Just a dozen miles outside of Anvik, we overheard a weather announcement proclaiming near-perfect conditions, hard to believe given our limited visibility.So we hopped briefly over the flat ground to get to the wide Yukon river, and flew along its shores downstream toward Anvik, still in snow. Sure enough, just as the airstrip came into our sights, the weather lifted. They had been right. But who knew that their report was only correct on the terrain within sight of the airstrip!
The announcements are one of many characteristics of Iditarod flying different than short-distance hops around Anchorage. The Iditarod Air Force has its own radio frequency all across the thousand-mile race. This makes it possible to share information about weather and conditions with other Iditarod pilots in real time.
A few other pilots mentioned Thursday that they'd encountered the same challenges but In slightly different locations. We heard one turn back to McGrath ("and a good, safe, warm, bed") while others followed different courses (a deviation to the south) and made it to Anvik at about the same time we did.
REMOTE AIR STRIPS
Last obstacle of the day: how to tie down the airplane on a very windy airstrip with no tie-down spots. In the Bush, these sorts of things can always be solved by the local spirit of ingenuity: Our Anvik friend Floyd Huntington was waiting for us on the airstrip with two lag bolts with an eye welded to the top. He was easily able to hammer and screw them into the frozen ground to make tie-down anchors. And he even had a third one to give another pilot with a similar need.
The wind was blowing 20 knots when we left the airstrip but it's forecast to build overnight. At least our plane will be intact in the morning, in the place where we left it.
The big question now is how the Bering Sea storm that's forecast to roll in overnight will flummox mushers and dog teams on Friday, day six of the race. We hear that Martin Buser crossed through a river of running water up to his knees earlier Thursday. Boots came off to stay dry. Another photographer on the trail was kind enough to share photos of other mushers crossing the open water, 10 miles from the Iditarod checkpoint.
Between wind, snow and 40-degree temperatures along the trail today and whatever is farther to the West, it is impossible to know what Friday will bring for pilots along the trail.
TO THE COAST
The race plan put us in in the delightful village of Unalakleet by late Friday, where the Iditarod trail emerges out of the Interior and its mountains and joins the Bering sea coast. But what the day will bring is anyone's guess. The "prog" charts are forecasting low ceilings and visibility while the Unalakleet terminal forecast is expecting VFR conditions -- which we would need -- but with strong and gusty winds.
The name "Unalakleet", we are told, is derived from the local Inupiat dialect word for "where the wind blows," Last year it was unusually calm there. This year might be more like the village's normal.
Today's Keywords: weather standby, interrupted by brief flying windows; Weirdly warm; snow, snow and more snow (showers); Yukon River; Kuskokwim River; Bering Sea coast, weather warnings
Burke Mees is senior pilot for Alaska Dispatch. Contact Alice Rogoff at alice(at)alaskadispatch.com
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
McGRATH -- Although we've been on the trail four days, this is the first day we've had time to reflect on the flying so far.
We left Anchorage for the delightful Rainy Pass Lodge of the Perrins family (the stars of the reality TV show "R5 Sons") on a beautiful Sunday, as the rest of the crowds were on the ground in Willow for the race restart. With Puntilla Lake still mostly unoccupied by airplanes, that was a beautiful, peaceful start to the journey.
Our airplane is a fairly new Cessna 206 on Fluidyne hydraulic wheelskis. This is not exactly your average skiplane: it is a nosewheel plane configured for snow flying. A nose ski means more total ski area than a tailwheel skiplane, and that makes for better flotation in deep snow. But it also has more drag in sticky snow, which can make for a much longer taxi and takeoff roll.
Sometimes we get around just fine when the snow is too deep for the tailwheel airplanes, but at other times we have performance problems when they do just fine. We've got a few modifications to help out with our performance, such as wing-tip extensions, a STOL kit and vortex generators. And we have a Garmin 1000 glass-panel for extra navigation aids.
Leg 1 - Anchorage to Rainy Pass Lodge (Puntilla Lake)
Leg 2 - Rainy Pass-Rohn-Nikolai-McGrath-Takotna-McGrath
Keywords to describe the trip so far: winter mosquitoes, Alaska Range criss-crossing, unmaintained landing strips, snow and wind conditions, flat light ski landings, weather delays
We are poised between a high pressure system to our north and a low pressure system moving up from the Bering Sea. The big southerly wind flow is bringing uncommonly warm temperatures and very big, wet snowflakes. No one can be certain which influence will dominate this week. At the moment, we are waiting out snow along the boundary that keeps us from flying west to the race checkpoints in Ophir or Iditarod.
Fortunately, lots of others are waiting it out, too. Weather delays can sometimes turn out enjoyably, especially if you're lucky enough to be in a village like McGrath.
Conditions along the trail
FLAT LIGHT: As any skier knows, flat light is the enemy of good visibility on snow. Without the contrast provided by sunlight, snow surfaces all blend in the mind's eye to a light gray. Without the contrast, it can be hard to judge landing conditions and height above the ground on final approach.
Our altimeter showed a pressure reading of 30.45 out of Anchorage on day 1. At Rainy Pass, it was down slightly to 30.33. Fortunately, Steve Perrins has a nicely maintained landing strip on Puntilla Lake that he's marked with spruce boughs for flat-light landings in cloudy conditions or late in the day.
The altimeter reading was down to 29.91 in McGrath on Tuesday.
MOSQUITOES! We were greeted by mosquitoes -- yes, really -- on the lake. Some folks out here swear this means fewer mosquitoes during summertime, since the early arrivals will freeze, thinning out the population. We can only hope.
WEIGHT: This is always an issue for us in getting good performance out of our airplane on skis. With four occupants, that means either shuttling between stops or, in this case, sending one passenger away on snowmachine (Outsiders might call it a snowmobile or SnoGo).
From Rainy Pass Lodge, Alaska Dispatch photographer Loren Holmes headed up to the summit of Rainy Pass, then descended on the western side of the Range, bound for the Rohn checkpoint. That meant a ride through the infamous Dalzell Gorge, one of the two most treacherous stretches of terrain on the 1,000-mile race route. (Be sure to see his photos taken that day.)
FLYING THROUGH RAINY PASS: With clear skies and light winds, we expected the same calm crossing of the Range that we'd had during previous Iditarod crossings.
Tragically, the day before, a plane had gone down in a false pass nearby. We had no idea of its exact location. Although there was some healthy "moderate" turbulence, it was uneventful for us.
ON THE OTHER SIDE: The first obstacle was now behind us. With flat terrain heading into the Kuskokwim River valley, the flying seemed more routine. We followed the braided south fork of the Kuskokwim down to Nikolai, a picturesque, friendly and welcoming town. A hand-painted sign mounted on moose antlers at the airstrip says "Welcome to Nikolai."
A delightful young man was offering 4-wheeler rides into the village, and anything else we might need. Food was for sale in the gym and wireless Internet access in the school dining room, critical in this day and age and an open line to Alaska Dispatch editors, back in Anchorage.
Last year's food proceeds paid for a school cross-country ski trip from Nikolai to McGrath, about 50 trail miles. This year's fundraising will pay for a school, 100-mile canoe trip on the Kuskokwim. This year's menu: grilled cheese, chips, pop and coffee.
NIKOLAI-McGRATH: Calm, beautiful flying conditions. With the Iditarod Trail winding under us, in and out of the trees and along the river, we had a good view for seeing and photographing the dog teams.
Essence of Bush flying over Iditarod Trail
The last run of our day was to be a night flight, shuttling journalists. Conditions for the short hop were high overcast, with no moon. The visibility was excellent. Flat terrain and short distance makes for safe night flying, which we know from prior years won't be true often on this trip.
The very dark night with no moon meant you could see sled-dog team headlamps from an altitude of 2,500 feet at a distance of 30 or so miles. We could see 10 or 12 teams on the ground along the trail just by the light of the headlamps worn by the mushers. In fact, coming into Nikolai, it was even possible to see headlamps from the teams heading in from Rohn.
That's the essence of Alaska flying: everything and everyone seems to stand out in the Bush. You can see the lights from the tiniest headlamps thousands of feet below, as far as 40 miles away. So it feels intimate, despite the vastness. The small-town character of the country's biggest place is a theme we'll encounter in many ways down the trail.
More tomorrow. Not sure where we'll be. Hopefully, somewhere to the west. Anvik. But of course that will be Mother Nature's decision.
Alaska Dispatch senior pilot Burke Mees reporting. Contact Alice Rogoff at alice(at)alaskadispatch.com