When they gather in ramp and dispatch offices, airline pilots frequently pass the time hangar flying. A favorite subject involves unusual and challenging airports into which they have flown. At such a time, someone is bound to mention Hong Kong's Cheung Chau approach, where the crew mushes along with landing gear and flaps extended at only 780 feet above the wind-swept waters of the South China Sea. After passing a nondirectional beacon, they descend while aiming for a 400-foot hill adorned with a pair of large, illuminated, orange-and-white checkerboards. When these warning signs fill the windshield and one of the pilots begins to squirm, the other makes a sharp right turn to avoid the obstacle and align the aircraft on short final approach.
This is a thrill, but general aviation pilots know that they often cope with airport-related hazards that are totally unacceptable to their airline brethren. Lightplane pilots routinely deal with one-way strips, unimproved surfaces, threatening obstacles, and so forth. There is even an airport in Africa for which this permanent notam is published: "Caution: braking action nil [because of] worms on the runway."
I thought I had heard it all until I picked up a book with the seemingly innocuous title, Fly Idaho!, by Galen L. Hanselman. It is filled with beautiful color photographs of and details about the airports of Idaho's back country.
It takes an active imagination to call some of these minuscule patches of real estate airports. It is difficult to believe that pilots fly into these places. At one airport, for example, there is not enough room to make a go-around after crossing the runway threshold. Another has a blind approach, and others have runways where one end cannot be seen from the other.
A note regarding the Simonds Airport (which is 900 feet long and at an elevation of 5,243 feet msl) cautions the pilot that when the grass is wet, the steep sideslope of the runway can cause an airplane to slide sideways.
A pilot must be particularly cautious when taking off from the 1,100-foot-long runway at Vines. This is true because "the morning sun [will blind the] pilot" during his climbout into the steep and narrow canyon in which the airport is situated.
The runway at Elk City is shaped like a macaroni noodle, yet is numbered 16/34. According to the diagram, it should be numbered 16/02 or the like. The pilot would then be warned to expect his magnetic heading to increase substantially while taking off in one direction and decrease when departing in the other.
According to Hanselman, the most hazardous airport in the back country is Mile Hi. This natural clearing is on the side of a mountain. The runway — if you can call it that — has an elevation of 5,831 feet msl and is 1,100 feet long (of which the first 540 feet of this one-way strip is unusable for landing). Not to worry, though. The usable end of the "runway" has a 20-degree upslope to aid deceleration, and by veering 45 degrees right after landing, the pilot is afforded 500 feet of overrun that parallels a steep uphill ridge.
Some of these airports contain notes warning that they should be used only by experienced mountain pilots flying Super Cub-type aircraft. But this does not discourage some pilots from overrating their proficiency and aircraft performance. An almost predictable number of airplanes are converted annually into crumpled sheet metal.
Even if a pilot never plans to fly into Idaho's back country, the book is worth perusing for its entertainment value.
Hanselman has devised and describes a clever Relative Hazard Index that numerically rates every airport in the book. This RHI takes into consideration runway length, elevation, proximity of mountains and other obstacles; abrupt turns required before landing or after takeoff; runway surface conditions (such as the lack of markings, no wind sock, and deterioration due to animals); and so forth. Handy tables are provided so that a pilot can use this system to similarly rate any airport into which he contemplates operating.
Mile Hi Airport receives Hanselman's highest rating, a 50. Most normal airports have indices that vary between zero and five.
John Deakin, a friend and 747 captain for Japan Air Lines, owns an immaculate Beech Bonanza bedecked with a Robertson STOL conversion that includes full-span flaps and spoilers for roll control. Deakin is challenged by Mile Hi Airport and has been working out the physics to see whether it would be feasible to land there. I pray that his motivation is purely theoretical. Otherwise, his historic landing at Mile Hi could provide fascinating grist for this writer's mill, especially the part about how a large truck was maneuvered into the area to extricate him and his flying machine. (May I have the exclusive, John?)
Unfortunately, many pilots do not pay sufficient attention to airport conditions and tread where others fear to go (Deakin is not one of them).Some of them pay the piper for their lack of planning.
Perhaps cemeteries should be built adjacent to these hazardous airports, which is the case at Yurimaguas, Peru. According to local legend, the cemetery at the end of the runway there is for the convenience of pilots who fail to survive their foolishness.
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