No Destination. It couldn't be a prettier day for flying. In front of me, the Red River meanders through farmland for a few hundred miles, past Grand Forks and Winnipeg, until it empties into Lake Winnipeg, which itself then empties into Hudson Bay. I have no real destination in mind. I'm simply in the sky to go exploring, and today I want to follow the river.
River flying is one of our oldest forms of navigation. Long before moving maps or VOR radials, our airborne navigation was entirely earthbound. Follow the railroad, we said, until it crosses the river. Follow the river until you see the bridge. Follow the road until….
Published in 1921, a book called Pilots' Directions: New York—San Francisco Route, begins this way:
"Miles.
"Hazelhurst Field, Long Island.—Follow the tracks of the Long Island Railroad past Belmont Park race track, keeping Jamaica on the left. Cross New York over the lower end of Central Park.
"Newark, N.J.—Heller Field is located in Newark and may be identified as follows: The field is 1� miles west of the Passaic River and lies in the V formed by the Greenwood Lake Division and Orange branch of the New York, Lake Erie & Western Railroad. The Morris Canal bounds the western edge of the field. The roof of the large steel hangar is painted an orange color.
"Orange Mountains.—Cross the Orange Mountains over a small round lake or pond. Slightly to the right will be seen the polo field and golf course of Essex Country Club. About 8 miles to the north is Mountain Lake, easily seen after crossing the Orange Mountains."
Scenic Flying. River flying remains one of the great thrills of flying. Despite the Hollywood images of jets shooting through canyons above small streams at Mach speeds, river flying is scenic flying at its very best. Air and water are both fluids, and I believe pilots have a special love for moving water. Once, on a boat that was trying to pull into a dock through a strong current as well as a strong breeze, I joked with the captain, who was also a pilot, that he should just consider it really thick wind. "So you want me to slip into the slip?" he asked.
"Exactly," I said.
If you are planning a cross-country trip or just building some solo time, few flights will be more rewarding than a river flight for a feeling of having traveled. Much more than the math of your stopwatch, sectional, and E6B, river flying makes you feel the distance passing under your wings. River flying gives you a story at the end of the day that you can locate on the Earth.
If something goes without saying, then probably it should be said all the time: River flying has some special things to keep in mind. Nearly all of them are common sense, which is why they are so easily forgotten.
Altitude. The best river flying is low and slow, which means attention to altitude is especially important. It’s very easy to get caught up in some sight on the ground and lean back or forward a bit as your body turns to watch the show. Without any effort at all you can find yourself suddenly 500 feet or more off your intended altitude. Also, forget the Hollywood image of skimming the water with your wheels. Most small rivers turn harder than an airplane can turn. And even if you are absolutely sure that no power line or bridge is going to say hello to your forehead, the federal aviation regulations are clear:
“91.119 Minimum safe altitudes: General
Except when necessary for takeoff and landing, no person may operate an aircraft below the following altitudes:
A) Anywhere. An altitude allowing, if a power unit fails, an emergency landing without undue hazard to persons or property on the surface.
B) Over congested areas: Over any congested area of a city, town, or settlement, or over any open air assembly of persons, an altitude of 1,000 feet above the highest obstacle within a horizontal radius of 2,000 feet of the aircraft.
C) Over other than congested areas: An altitude of 500 feet above the surface, except over open water or sparsely populated areas. In those cases, the aircraft may not be operated closer than 500 feet to any person, vessel, vehicle, or structure.”
Ditching? In a river? Paragraph C above needs to remember Paragraph A. Several years ago, flying up the Missouri River in North Dakota on another warm summer day, I found myself flying straight down the middle of Lake Sakakawea, created by a dam in the river. The water colors looked like the Caribbean over coral reefs. The hard brown buttes and high desert prairie were breathtaking. I felt lucky to be able to see all of this from altitude. For some reason, then, it occurred to me that this is not a small lake. I could see both sides easily enough, but I was only 1,000 feet over the water. If the engine were to fail, there was no way I would make either shore. Not only had I not made any plans for possible ditching, I hadn’t even imagined the possibility. A little more altitude, and a move a little closer to one shore solved the problem right away, but it was a good lesson. Yes, I am a prairie pilot. Yes, I might someday need to put an airplane down in water.
Photography. River flying will present some wonderful scenes to capture with a camera. But rule number one is always fly the airplane. Any camera that requires you to look through a viewfinder should be left at home. And don’t spend any time trying to compose a shot if you are the pilot in command. Set the camera on the widest scope and point it in the general direction of what you want to capture. Shoot until your finger gets tired. Most newer digital cameras are good enough that you can zoom in and crop the shot on your computer at home. Anything that takes your attention away from your instruments and scanning the sky for more than just a moment is not a good idea.
Where does this river run through it? You may know where the river flows near your home, and you may know that the same river passes near a place you want to go. But do you know how it gets there? Do you know how many streams or tributaries join the main river? Following a river is pretty easy, but it does not relieve you of the obligation to plan your flight. Look at your sectional. Spend some time with Google Earth. Even Lewis and Clark once had trouble deciding which fork in a river to follow.
Filing a flight plan. When you file a flight plan, you’re asked for departure and arrival times. If you’re flying in a straight line, this is pretty simple stuff. But what if you’re meandering as much as the river? You can tell the briefer what you’re doing and come up with an arrival time that seems best. You can also change other default assumptions of the plan.
Once, when I planned to fly up the Red River, following an early air mail route, looking for 1930s barn tops that had painted arrows for pilots to follow, I told the flight service briefer my point of origin and point of arrival, and then I said I could be as much as 10 miles either side of the direct line. He told me the normal search pattern is 10 miles on either side of the direct line, but he would extend it another 10 miles to accommodate my exploring. When he asked for an arrival time, what I actually said was “Oh hell, I don’t know.” Then I gave him an answer based on the airplane’s range (in hours) and what I guessed to be my luck and patience. It gave me a time to shoot for. The direct flight was normally about an hour. The time I gave him was three hours, and I landed with only 20 minutes to spare.
Fuel. An airplane’s fuel burn in gallons per hour will stay pretty constant no matter how many turns there are in the river or how many turns you make in the sky. While endurance in hours stays the same, range in miles can change drastically. Just as you adjust fuel to distance because of winds, adjust fuel to distance based on your meandering time. Mountain climbers have a turn-around time whether they’ve reached the peak or not, and scuba divers have a head-to-the-surface time to allow for decompression; you need to have a time to level out and head for the avgas pump.
Unexpected introductions. If it’s a splendid day and you’re heading out for a little river flying, keep in mind you may not be the only one with the good idea. And those other pilots will be flying just as low and slow as you are. The stipulation in FAR 91.152 that sets your VFR altitude based on your cardinal direction of flight doesn’t apply below 3,000 feet agl—so you may face other traffic at your altitude. Also, rivers attract birds—lots of birds. River flying gives you great scenery below your airplane, but you need to be especially aware of what may be right in front of you and closing fast.
River flying teaches you how the Earth moves. Heading back home today, I saw deer in fields, traffic on the interstate, trains on the north/south tracks. I saw flocks of geese following the same river I was. I saw how close everything was to this simple river. Rivers were always our first way in to any new land. Rivers remain a way we move our freight. A thousand feet above the water, you can almost tell what type of fish is jumping above the surface. You can rock your wings at every fisherman, and nearly all of them will wave back.
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