During the summer of 1992, a friend and I learned of the wonderful outdoor activities available in Idaho and decided that we should fly there. Being fairly experienced mountain pilots, we strengthened our resolve to seek out additional training before attempting the Idaho mountain strips alone. We headed off in my Cessna 182, spending three days living and breathing aviation in an intensive training course with one of the finest backcountry instructors.
Then, in 1995, I had the opportunity to head back to Idaho with my wife for a week of flying and camping. I visited our CFI again for refresher training, with landings at each of the strips that we planned to visit.
After completing the training my wife and I hopped over to Thomas Creek in Stanley, Idaho, for a day of hiking before flying to Johnson Creek in Yellow Pine for the night. After a long hike we returned to the strip around 6 p.m. Because of high density altitudes, our CFI had stressed that we go into and out of these airports in the morning and evening only. It was still hot, so we decided to wait another hour or two before departure. At 8 p.m. we took off. Acceleration was normal, and my 182 lifted off Thomas Creek's 2,100-foot gravel runway as well as it had on previous occasions.
Immediately after crossing over the departure end of the runway, we hit a wind shear like none I had ever experienced in my life. In a split second we went from the best rate of climb airspeed to stall speed with the warning horn blaring. We immediately lost about 50 feet of altitude, with barely enough airspeed to stay aloft. My biggest fear was the trees that were obscured by the airplane's nose because of our high nose-up angle. Luckily, the tops of the trees that I could see were spaced just far enough apart to get between them with only shallow turns. A few seconds later we popped out of the trees, looking square at a hill on the other side of the river. I was busy trying to figure out how to make a forced landing or get enough airspeed to get back to the desirable side of the power curve. At that moment, I remembered a pointer that my CFI had stressed — if you are departing downstream, the river is descending. I positioned the airplane over the center of the river, pointing the nose down to pick up speed in ground effect. It worked. Soon we were climbing out of the canyon, a little shaken but very much alive. After that incident I didn't want to land at Johnson Creek, so we headed back to McCall, where my instructor lived and where I felt confident in landing.
That evening I discussed the experience with my instructor to figure out what had happened. She surmised that Thomas Creek's runway sits about 50 feet above the Middle Fork of the Salmon River. During the day the land had absorbed lots of heat and was radiating much of it back. At the end of the runway we crossed from a region of lifting air — courtesy of the heat-radiating land mass — to a region of descending air generated by a cold river. I had experienced similar occurrences in the Colorado high country, but nothing nearly this severe.
After returning home, I discussed the adventure with another friend, who replied, "Experience is an interesting teacher. It gives the test first and the lesson later." Unfortunately, you must pass the test to get to the lesson. On that day, I learned a number of lessons that will stick with me forever. First, no matter how prepared you think you are, you don't know it all. Second, those tech-niques that we all learned during our private pilot flight training should not be ignored as just a training exercise now that we have our certificates. Being able to fly at the minimum controllable airspeed saved our lives. Finally, always fly within the abilities of the pilot and the aircraft, with a margin for safety. Had I chosen to go into a shorter/tighter strip, I would probably not be alive today.
I have been back to Idaho since, thoroughly enjoying each trip. Yet those lessons are right there, in the forefront of my mind each time.
Joel Larner, AOPA 846108, of Fort Collins, Colorado, is an instrument-rated private pilot with 1,300 hours. He now owns a 1972 Cessna U206F.
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