A bush pilot goes to the beach
Most of my 15,000 hours of flying time has been in Alaska. I’ve been involved in aviation in Alaska since 1972, when I purchased a Piper J–3 Cub in Lincoln, Nebraska, and flew it to Alaska with no radio. In 1981 I purchased a Cessna 180, which I still own and use in conjunction with our fly-out fishing lodge and air taxi service. I usually operate from our 1,300-foot dirt strip or on skis in the winter. I’m an IFR-rated VFR pilot commonly flying below 5,000 feet msl and one hour in duration. You might say I am a bush pilot.
Last summer I told my wife, Felicia, to pack up tropical clothing because we would be flying the 180 south to the Bahamas. “Where?!” she exclaimed. I told her that I wanted an adventurous “flying vacation.” Settled! From time to time she lets me make a decision.
My Cessna is basically VFR equipped. For this trip I purchased a Garmin 796, which is capable of providing us with navigation, traffic, weather (not available in Northern Canada or Alaska), airport frequencies, even hotel and courtesy car listings. Besides my 406-MHz ELT, I bought a DeLorme tracker.
On October 5, our day of departure, foggy conditions in Anchorage kept us on the ground until 3 p.m., which left us with just enough daylight to make it to Tok, Alaska, on the Canadian border. We cleared customs in Whitehorse, Yukon, and flew direct to Watson Lake, Yukon. From Watson Lake, we navigated southeast through the “trench,” an almost-direct, mostly roadless shot to Kalispell, Montana. From Kalispell, an easy three days of flying put us on my friend’s farm field in Georgia.
Alan Sikes, a fellow pilot and past employee who now farms in Georgia, and his wife divided up the loads into two airplanes, my 180 and Alan’s 185. We filed as a flight of two to Fort Pierce, Florida. It was the first time I would fly in Class B airspace. I thought it would be simple to fly as a flight of two—all I would have to do is follow my friend, right? Wrong. Alan and I lost communications and I was forced to explain my dilemma to a very busy ATC and asked to jump in on my own. After landing, we loaded up on fuel, filed the dreaded eAPIS (Electronic Advance Passenger Information System), rented a raft and life jackets, and flew southeast to North Eleuthera, Bahamas.
Over lots of water! We flew east an hour and a half over almost all water. Figuring I’ve spent most of my life flying over grizzly bear- and mosquito-infested wilderness, why would I sweat flying over warm, shark-infested water?
We flew four to seven hours a day, stopping for a couple days at places of interest. Being accustomed to small dirt or gravel strips, landings on 8,000-foot paved runways or flying into Class B airspace challenged my wilderness flying abilities. I found most of my ATC experiences quite pleasant. When entering busy airspaces, I usually mentioned that I was from Alaska and not familiar with the airspace. Voices slowed; some were even inquisitive about our flight.
One evening, amid building thunderstorms, we landed at Tuscaloosa, Alabama. A rival football game was taking place the next evening—no hotel vacancies within 30 miles. The FBO gave us a small open hangar to park our airplane. After setting up our camp under the wing, we tried to sleep through one of the fiercest thunderstorms I’ve ever experienced. The next day the weather prevented us from flying so we settled in and watched about 100 private aircraft, mostly jets, arrive with folks going to the game. One runway was closed just to park aircraft.
Being so far from home, one of my major concerns was a major breakdown. But we flew 75 hours without a hitch. I do most all the maintenance on my aircraft and did bring a bag of tools for a minor fix. I found flying at 10,000-plus feet interesting to a pilot who rarely gets above 3,000 feet. It was strange that one day we’d be flying through temperatures in the 80s, and a couple days later I would be duct taping my cowl and landing at minus 20 degrees Fahrenheit.
Already we are planning our next trip “outside,” but our plans have a date change—leave Alaska in April and return the first of May. At that time days are long, no fall or winter storms, and the temperatures well above minus 20 F. Flying through Northern Canada and interior Alaska during late November is not an enjoyable ending to a wonderful trip.
Mark Miller is the owner of Talaheim Lodge in Anchorage, Alaska.
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