|
The availability of self launching motorgliders was the solution to our problem.
In 1995 we tested our idea for the first time in long distance gliding without ground support.
We were flying cross country from South of France over the Alps through Italy, crossing the Adriatic
and following Greece to its south tip. We discovered, that flying without ground support was easier
than to be bugged down by the slow moving trailers. We were able to avoid bad weather and had
rarely a day when we were grounded. We started to trust our engines when it was necessary to
pass over open water or when the thermals had died down and it became necessary to reach the
next airport.
The next year we flew from Germany via France and Spain to Morocco where we experienced the
awesome high Atlas mountains. In 1997 we went via Italy and Greece to Turkey where the mysterious
mountain Ararat at the border to Iran was our final turning point. We both agreed that this type
of gliding to new and far horizons was the best we had ever done. And we would continue.
What would be next? We were somewhat tired about the problems we had encountered on the airports
in Greece, Morocco, or Turkey which were either large commercial places where we had to compete
with airliners or they were military airports with even more dramatic and negative consequences.
The language was another problem; German, French or English was not always sufficient to get fuel
or a spark plug for our motor. So, why not try North America, the paradise of general aviation
where the AVGAS-truck would appear before you got out of the glider and where the motels would
send a courtesy car to the airport to get your business. Being a university professor I used
the privilege of an upcoming sabbatical to transport in April of 1998 my ASH26E with trailer
and car per ship to Galveston, Texas and to spend a few month at the Department of Biology
at the university of Utah in Salt Lake City while my glider was waiting for me in Heber City.
The early summer was a mild disaster. It was mostly rainy and cold in Salt Lake City and I made
just three flights out of Heber City. I tried to get information about gliding in Alaska and got
WAC's as the most suitable map material and collected the coordinates for the airports along our
projected tour.
It was July 11th 1998 when I met Fritz who arrived in Houston, shortly after his new ASH26E had
come by ship. We needed half a day to get our 18 m ships ready. We had very little space for all
the necessary equipment, thing like 5 liters of the special oil for the two stroke Wankel engine,
a minimal tool set, a mini tent, sleeping bags and thermo mats. Material for tie downs, films,
camera, a cellular phone and minimal set of things like underwear, parker and tooth brush had to
find their places. Both gliders were equipped with altitude encoding transponders. We wanted the
option to pass through C-type airspace and, if the situation would arise, we would not hesitate to
file a IFR flight plan in the air. It never came to it but we were ready. Our flight computer/GPS
was the Zander SR940. To be on the safe side we both had in addition a Garmin195. This instrument
turned out to be essential. It helped us to follow under marginal VFR conditions and under power
the Alaska-Canada highway and it was the sure source for data of any desired airport.
We had enough solar panels (on top of the instrument panel and on the engine cover) to be
completely independent of an external power source to charge our batteries.
Our plan was to start in Galveston, fly through Texas into New Mexico to reach the
Rocky Mountains abeam Albuquerque. Then we would follow The Rocky Mountains via Denver into Canada.
I counted on the wave along the Rockies hoping for high speed over hundreds of miles. This was a
misconception since in July the wind was no longer blowing from the West, but the thermals along
the Sange di Christo Range were no less dramatic. Once in Canada, the map showed these long
narrow valleys beginning North of Cranbrook and Golden, framed with high mountains which reached
into the North-West and extended with some interruptions into Alaska. They were called trenches.
They marked the way, but to the East and North of the trench the mountains reached dimensions
familiar to us from the Swiss Alps. In Alaska we had to play it by ear. I was set on reaching Mt.
McKinley, but Fritz wanted to go further. He had read all about Bering and the West passage.
He wanted to see the famous Bering Straight and possibly visit Russia. I was unable to get
information about the thermal conditions in Alaska and "Big Dog", a friendly glider pilot to whom
I had confessed the idea to glide into Alaska from Texas, promised me that it was so cold up
there that no thermals would ever develop and on top of that we would be eaten by the mosquitoes
which in Alaska were as big as dinner plates. The bet was that we would make it into Idaho (maybe).
Dreaming along the Rockies.
We had a total of 33 days (Fritz's airliner back to Germany would
leave from Houston on August 14) and the projected total distance to Alaska and back was about
12-14000 km. If we would take into account that we could not fly on 8 days due to bad weather
or other misfortune we would have to cover a daily distance in the order of 550 Km or more.
This put some strain on our flying but it turned out that it was easily to achieve. In the
beginning we tried to take off between 11 and 12 am local time, before the thermals had began,
climb to about 3000 m and then glide into the developing thermals. Later, specially in the
more northern hemisphere (with the longer daytime) we could afford to wait until the sky
was painted with the first white and fluffy clouds. Aside from the first leg from Galveston
to Pleasanton (where the cloud base was low and the thermals weak) we had no problems with
lack of thermals and we rarely had to use the engine. Only when we had missed the next
thermal and were low over the ground we remembered the magic trick in our back. After we had
reached New Mexico the cloud base rapidly increased into the 5000 m dimension and as soon as
the Sangre di Christo Range was under our wings we had problems to stay under 18000 ft
flying Dolphin from one cloud to the next. In the early days we had to avoid over development
in the evenings and in Boulder after nearly 700 km dreaming at the cloud base over the Rockies
we landed in light rain. The mornings were always clear and the good conditions continued to
the North even though the Rockies no longer formed this dramatic edge of steep rocks over
the flat as in Denver and occasionally we had to be careful in passing extended and cloudless
pancakes. But symphonies in Blue had their own charm. Without great effort and with cold
engines we reached Canada in Cranbrook, BC. The controller in Cranbrook was not happy with us:
No flight plan, no notice to the Canadian customs and our performance on the radio left
much to be desired. But the verdict was mild: only my two apples, the major part of tomorrow's
energy supply were confiscated by the friendly customs lady.
The next two days were fantastic. Shortly north of Cranbrook the trench continued. Steep mountain
ranges on both sides were ideal providers of strong thermals. The chain of clouds was clearly not
as high as over the Sangre di Christo Range down in New Mexico and Colorado, but comfortably over
the mountain tops and ever extending to the North West. It did not take long and we turned to the
right, away from the trench and up into the higher mountains and the higher and stronger clouds.
For two days it was the Alps of Switzerland for a distance or more than 1400 km. There were
hardly any traces of human activities, no roads, no towns, only glaciers, steep rocks, deep
blue green lakes and endless cumuli on the horizon. It was nature pure. Mackenzie was on the way,
a town devoted to the tree and wood cutting. But we found a Greek restaurant and for once we
did not have to eat the biggest steak in town.
The dream ended at Watson Lake. We had left the mountain and traversed the wide plain by long
glides. The dark and heavy cloud that brought us up to the altitude for the final glide into
Watson Lake was an early messenger for the overcast and the light rain waiting for us on the next day.
The eighth day of the tour brought us the first experience with the "no thermal" and "marginal VFR"
situation. After it became clear that the weather would not turn better in the near future we
decided to push through. We followed the Alaskan-Canadian (ALCAN) highway at low altitudes to the
North-West, plagued by rain and poor visibility. Clearly, the motor of the ASH26E was not made
for this kind of activity. Level flight at reduced power setting but normal rpm made the engine
run rather rough but climbing at full power followed by long glides (the usual mode of travel
for the ASH26E, recommended by the book) was not possible since the cloud cover was rather low.
Openings in the cloud cover made me once escape and climb on top. For a short while I enjoyed
the sun and the cleanly running engine. But looking ahead and seeing the ever closing white
menacing cloud layer under me made me dive down hovering again in miserable conditions over
the doubtful safety of ALCAN. For the first time we realized that our ideas about the range
of our engine was far too optimistic. With strong head winds (and of course we always
experienced head wind) and with water on the wings creeping along under a low cloud cover
reduced the range of our combined 45 liter of fuel to 400 km at the most. After that it was
better to be close to an airport (and some of them could be far apart). This time we landed
in Whithehorse after just 357 km and nearly empty tanks but like professionals, cleared to
land, roger.
The awesome Alaskan Range.
The weather in Whitehorse cleared in the evening, but from the flight
service station we learned that it would turn sour again in the middle of the next day, even
before the thermals would start. We decided to start at eight into the clear morning to escape
by engine power the bad weather approaching us from the South East. It was a fantastic flight.
After climbing with Wankel power to an altitude of more than 4000 m we had a gorgeous view of
the majestic white Alaskan Range that was rising to our left into the clear sky. In front of
us dark green hills with azure-blue lakes and to our right the endless Tundra. We had reached Alaska!
The tanks were empty again when we landed after 426 Km long before noon in Northway, Alaska and
long before the thermals started. We were lucky, and had escaped the bad weather. There were as
usual some pilots around who had seen gliders before. But nobody could understand how we had
managed to get from Texas to Northway. "And where is your tow plane"? Our usual
Propeller-Out-Of-The-Sack-Show never failed. Wow, we always were the center of attraction.
After coke and BLT in the Northway cafe we were discussing our next move. We wanted to see Denali
the holy mountain of the natives, known as Mt. McKinley to the high altitude mountaineers.
The map showed us that mountains of the Alaska Range formed a huge horseshoe with the opening
in the South. Denali, located on the lower Western portion of the horseshoe, seemed far away.
If we could not pass the range we would have to fly around the horseshoe maybe as far as
Fairbanks and Delta Junction, an action of some 6-700 Km. The time was not a problem, the
sun would still be on the sky at 22:00 local time, but the flight service station was not
so optimistic for the western part of Alaska. However, within the horseshoe the sun would
heat the southern flanks of the range and we could follow the arc of the horseshoe on the
inside and if we were lucky the weather would only reach us south of Denali.
For me, what followed was the most exciting day of the tour. It was not an overwhelming series
of strong lifts or a high cloud basis, at most we reached 3500 m and rarely did we meet a lift
of more than 3 m/sec. Rather, it was the dramatic views of the majestic range of mountains with
their huge glaciers and their menacing precipitous rock walls that I will never forget. We had
left Northway after 2 o'clock in the afternoon and hit the thermals even before we reached the
foot hills of the range. It was a staircase into the paradise (at least for glider pilots).
Soon we were shooting along the range, never above the top of the peaks for they were still in
the clouds but breathtakingly close to the steep ridges, the glistening ice falls and the dark
rocks bathing in the sun. Then we dropped over a high pass to the other side and followed for
some time the band of clouds that clang alongside the sunny slopes of the range, far below of
their peaks. We crossed the famous Alaskan pipeline and slowly our heading turned to West and
finally to South. The bad weather hit us only in the evening. I had given up to see Denali today,
maybe it would be better tomorrow. Next to the sinking, wet and dead clouds we climbed under
Wankel power to reach the altitude for the final glide into Talkeetna. Fritz a few miles
ahead came over the radio: "look to the right". And here he was, the king of the mountains,
rising between the clouds far above its soldiers to his sides. Here it is the highest mountain
in the world, after all its 6195 m are rising from the level of the ocean and the sky is low.
Dwarfed by its towering height and still too far away there was no chance to conquer the crown.
It was the last we saw of Denali for the next days brought rain and other misfortune.
Unplanned vacation and other misfortunes.
The pilots in Talkeetna were very nice to us. They
helped us to tie down the gliders, they gave us fuel for our tanks and brought us to the
Swiss Motel in down town Talkeetna. One of them was the proud owner of an old Rhöhnlerche in
excellent conditions. His dream was to soar in the wave of Denali. It must be true: man live
from dreams!
We had reached Alaska, 6000 Km were behind us and in the next days I would try to climb Denali
by the power of the sun or the wind. So I should have been happy. But Denali will remain a
dream for some time in the future. Oil was dripping out of the fuselage of my ASH26E and it clearly
originated from the oil tank. The complete loss of oil would freeze the engine immediately.
That meant I was grounded. Schleicher in Germany told me to take out the engine and find the
leak and repair it. It turned out to be an innocent looking metal coated tubing that leaked
oil profusely. It would take 4 days until the spare part would arrive from Germany. Fritz
continued in the direction Bering Straight with the intention to be back before the arrival
of the precious tubing from Germany. As it turned out, rain and low clouds would prevent him
to pass the Range on his way back to Talkeetna and I would only see him again a week later
in Northway. He left for his set goal, the Bering Straight, under an overcast sky. But after
crossing the Alaska range in the West he found good thermal conditions up to Nome, before the
motor had to carry him to the Bering Straight. His turning point was Diomed Island on the border
to Russia.
Left behind in Talkeetna I got slowly used to low temperature, rain and good food. I talked
to Globetrotters, Denali climbers and never missed the soup in the Road House. On Friday at 4 pm
the tubing arrived from Germany by UPS and before the night fell was the motor in one
functioning piece. Nothing would have happened if not Barb Bobic from Aurora Air Repair had helped
me, made the critical safety checks and gave me moral support. He even appeared on Saturday
morning to put the engine back into the glider. It was raining nastily when the Wankel finally
came back to live and delivered full power. The escape from Talkeetna on the same day raised
my blood pressure. The low broken cloud layer and the occasional rain made it necessary to
request special VFR procedure for take off; I had turned into a motor pilot. Only the worsening
weather forecast for the entire next week and my desire for the sun made me overcome my
reluctance to climb into the rain. The friendly lady from the flight service recommended to
stay low over the highway and not to hesitate to land on it in case the occasion would arise.
What would I have done without the Garmin195? Most of the time I saw the highway better on the
moving map than in real. The miracle happened shortly before I reached the Nabesna Pass on the
Eastern part of the range. The sky opened and East of the pass the mountains were bathing in
the sun. I even became a glider pilot again circling under healthy cumuli before I entered
with a dry and shiny glider into the pattern in Northway. Fritz arrived only on the next day.
Due to the bad weather he was forced to motor around the horseshoe and the conditions he
encountered were anything else but good. His motor had acquired a bad cough and needed
medicine urgently. After several phone calls to Schleicher in Germany and futile attempts
to adjust the carburetor we realized that without expert help we were unable to get his
ASH26E into the air again.
Considering the alternatives and the distance to Galveston, Fritz decided to convince Karl Droß,
the motor expert of Schleicher, to fly commercially from Germany to Northway, Alaska and to fix the
engine. While waiting for Karl, the saviour from Poppenhausen, we enjoyed Northway, talked to the
tough but friendly and helpful people from the Northway café where we also found good shelter. The
steak was good despite the fact that we had to cook it ourselves. At noon four days later a somewhat
pale Karl stepped out of a Cessna arriving through the clouds from Fairbanks with the (metric)
tool box under his arm. Even though, soon thereafter under his magic hands the engine was turning
again with maximal rpm's and Fritz could safely take off under own power, Karl was not satisfied.
He suspected the regulator had the blues. But that one he could not fix, there was no spare part.
We were set on leaving the cold and rainy Northway and reach the sun again! The next morning
dampened our enthusiasm considerably. Once more low overcast and occasional light rain prevented
all thermal activity and again we became dependent on our engines. On the way to Whithorse we
had to make an emergency stop in Burwash. The engine of Fritz's ASH26E after initially running
smoothly was back in its coughing routine! Fritz had already organized a crane for lifting out
the engine (to exchange the carburettor) and I had to calm down the lady from the flight service
station. We had to declare emergency in order to avoid difficulties with customs
(we were expected only to land in Whitehorse). Fortunately, before it came to taking out the
engine we became lucky by simply adjusting the carburetor. With mixed feelings we continued
into Whitehorse. The activity to adjust the carburetor became routine for the next days
with varying success. But at least after taking off in Whitehorse the next day into a clear
and warm sky we had finally left the bad weather behind us and for the rest of the tour we
were again real glider pilots. Soon, we soared below high cumuli and were racing with sun power
along the peaks of big Switzerland in Canada.
Coming down from Mackenzie only a menacing thunderstorm would slow us down and forced us to
land in Golden, BC.
It was a nice and welcome change to be among glider pilots. We met Uwe, the master of all
thermals and chief of the gliding operation in Golden. Yes, he had flown his 1000 Km up and
down the trench and there was no engine in the back of his seat to make him forget to long
distances without a suitable landing place. We met Rüdiger Schulze, a German immigrant to
Canada and a devoted ultra light pilot who made his living as an aerial photographer.
In the morning he brought us to the best (German) baker in town for breakfast and became
our savior also on another level. Not only had he metric tools in his VW camper, but he
had the same carburettor in his ultralight as we in our Wankel and he knew all about it.
Finally, adjusting the carburettor had some scientific basis, the engines were running
smoothly and our confidence was building up.
|
The great deserts in Nevada and the unforgettable Grand Canyon.
Just north of Cranbrook
we deviated from the route that we had come from the South and turned right. The mountains
became smaller and after we crossed the border to the state of Washington only a range of
minute hills helped us to glide into the C-type airspace of Spokane. It was the only time
we had to use our transponder and that under a complete clear sky! The landscape had become
a pancake and it was warm again. After initial hesitation to fly into the great void we
learned to deal with the invisible but strong thermals of the dessert. At least there
was no problem to decide which cloud would be the best. To follow the predetermined
course was as good as any other direction. Only later in the day the sky would usually be
lightly painted. For days we needed the engine only for getting off the ground, the rest
was left to the sun. Pyramid Lake appeared under the left wing, and soon the Garmin195
allowed us to circle exactly around the West side of Reno airspace before we reached the
altitude for the final glide into the Carson Valley. A lonely cloud over the ridge that
separates Lake Tahoe from Minden gave me the freedom to visit leisurely the Pinenuts before
landing on the 34 in Minden Lake Tahoe Airport.
Tony Sabino, the Chief of Soar Minden had a package for us with bottles of oil and a spare
regulator from Schleicher. We replaced the small wheels on our wing tips not without the
expert help of a fellow glider pilot who had a hacksaw in his camper that was needed to get the
old broken wheel off the wing. We were surprised to hear that the weather was not very good here
in Minden up to now, and nobody believed that we had come from Lake View with cold engines.
When we mentioned that we were in Alaska a few days earlier I had the distinct impression that
our words were met with scepticism. Really?
We were late for take off the next day since Fritz had to have a haircut in town. Also, we realized
that by continuing with the same speed we would be a few days too early in Galveston. What should
we do? Should we make a leisurely flight down the White Mountains, land in Lone Pine and hike
Mount Whitney? For once we took off without a good plan, but we would fly to the South, the
direction where one goes when gliding in Minden; we would see what happened. I hardly had
turned right after taking off from runway 34 when my variometer was stuck on the upper position.
There was no need to cool the engine after shutting it off, the temperature had not even reached
yet the operating level. The conditions were clearly better as I had remembered from the days of
Ameriglide in 1990. Quickly, Carson Valley was sinking away and a deep blue Lake Tahoe came in
sight. The Pinenuts showed the first signs of short living cumuli and we danced happily to the
South. With Lake Topaz to the right I attacked Mt. Patterson and as usual good old Patterson did
not like me. Sweetwater airstrip passed under me with memories of an early outlanding eight year
ago. I circled over the Baron Hilton Ranch and touched base (cloud base that is). I think it was
the last circle for some time to come. Fast dolphin was almost an obligation. Soon,
Potato Mountain and Mono Lake appeared to the right and I could tell Fritz that the mountain
visible ahead of us were the famous White Mountains extending to the South, the place where you
could race up and down to make your 1000 Km from Minden. I had prepared Fritz for the spectacular
Owens Valley bordered by the White Mountains in the East and the Sierra Nevada on the West telling
him that here in Bishop the world altitude records had been done in the wave. When we were racing
down the White Mountains it did not seem that dramatic. The range under our wings were no match
to the mountains along the Canadian trench leading into Alaska.
Soon we had reached the altitude for the final glide into Lone Pine. But what would we do down there?
The cumuli were fully developed. Going further South would only bring us towards Las Vegas. Why not
go East? The map showed about 500 km dessert pure up to the border into Utah. Tony Sabino had told
me that some crazy nuts had crossed this barren place of planet Earth nearly free of roads towns
and airports. To cross the dessert was the best idea we had today. The cumuli were not as large
as over the White mountains but never lower (close to 18000 ft) and their strength was like a dream.
The colours of the bizarre landscape changed continually from salty white to deep red and purple.
Occasionally narrow and high mountain ranges would cut through this furnace from North to South
with some of their peaks still carrying snow in their high couloirs. When the sun got lower
Utah's mountain range appeared on the horizon and the Rocks of Zion National Park were glowing
red in the setting sun. Fritz, as usual way in front, landed in Parowan, a glider airport where
weeks before I had spend a few days during my travel from Salt Lake City to Houston and where I
had made friends with a bunch of glider pilots from Phoenix, Arizona. Times had changed. Fritz
was lucky not to crash on the runway. It was in construction and the only landable part had become
dangerously narrow. He could escape again while a helpful construction worker was running on his
wing. We both landed safely in Cedar City shortly before the sun was setting in Nevada. My friend
Bob Blakemore from Phoenix , called "Big Dog" by his friends would surely have called this day no
less than "awesome", would he have been among us.
The next morning we met a few glider pilots on the airport of Cedar City. They were not too
enthusiastic, the forecast was clearly by far not as good as yesterday and over the mountains
to the East we could recognize the first signs of over development. At the same time no trace
of cumuli over the near foothills. Nobody made a move towards the runway and there was no tow
plane in sight. We wanted to see the Grand Canyon today and did not want to be grounded by the
usually highly infectious communal glider depression. After take off I headed South for Zion
National Park. The initial reasonable lift deceived me. The endless glide through the gorgeous
Zion National Park that followed was breathtaking but ended hopelessly low over a safe landing
field. It took 20 minutes Wankel power to escape and reach the first blue lifts on the way to
the big Canyon. To the North and East the way was blocked. The clouds were shooting into the
sky and some had already burst into the stratosphere. The only free road was to the South. The
flat dessert was slowly rising before the earth opened in front of me. What a view! But I had
to hurry. Flying along the North Rim would not work. Dense smoke from the burning forest on the
Rim and most of all the labile air were moving in behind me. I was not quite legal in my
altitude when I glided across the canyon but I figured that the soft whistling of my wings
would not disturb the eagles or the tourists. It felt like flying on a different planet. Only
the compact cumuli that painted the blue sky over the South Rim brought me back to reality and
back to safe altitudes. It was a dream to follow the South Rim along the deep huge crevasse. I
could recognize Bright Angel Trail and Indian Ranch. And way down next to the green Colorado river I
could even see Phantom Ranch. Grand Canyon Airport passed under my right wing and I was happily
soaring along the Rim. But the situation changed. Healthy cumuli turned into large clouds with dark
bases and soon they began to leak. The big Canyon eventually turned North again and I had to make
a decision. To continue directly to the East was not possible.
The leak in front of me had developed into a grown up thunderstorm and a detour to the South
appeared dubious. To escape the thunderstorm I had to detour it to the left flying a big arc over
the canyon. The speed of my ASH26 was no longer reflecting a relaxed glide at minimal sink but
rather a race at high speed to escape the sink and the rain in my back and to reach as fast as
possible the last spot of sun over the Rim of the Canyon now extending to the North. I knew I
would make the Rim. The wind and the sun were in my back and the sharp dark base of a huge cloud
was hovering over the only remaining sunny spot on the Rim. Where else than high into sky would
the air of the canyon flow. And it did. With more than 5 m/sec I was lifted out of my misery and
could breathe normally again. It was high time. Behind me the canyon was rapidly engulfed in huge
towering clouds and thunderstorms flashed with nasty lightning. But straight into the East, right
on course, the sky was clean again and only lightly painted with small cumuli. The dessert had us
back again. Relaxed we were dancing into the East. On the border to New Mexico Fritz got his
birthday present: he fell onto a lift with 8 m/sec, the strongest on the entire tour. When I
reached the same place it was only 6 m/sec, but I did not have birthday either.
The end.
The high points of our adventure were over and our enthusiasm had died down. Fritz wanted was
longing for his work back in Munich and I was looking forward to make "normal" vacation with my
family in Maine. We continued without any difficulties through New Mexico and Texas. At Alexander
Airport in Belin, New Mexico, the fuel man told us that in 1948 he had been flying DC3's into
Berlin at the time of the blockade. When we landed in Ozona, Texas the only living soul on the
airport was Jim Hearne. His wife Mary Jo was the airport manager and he was judge. He proudly
showed us around in town and brought us to the motel of his friend where the prize was right.
On the last day we were dangling along weak lifts over the flat countryside of Texas. We saw
lots of gliders lined up on the runway in Uvalde. It must have been a national competition. But
not much was going on. They certainly did not miss much. We were barely able to stay in the air.
The carpet of cumuli 2000m above the flat pancake Southeast of San Antonio Texas abruptly ended
about 180 km West of Galveston. We climbed with the help of the smoothly running motor to 4000m,
high enough for the relaxing final glide into Schooles Airport in Galveston.
The ice cold coke which the blond girl from the fixed base operator offered us on the runway
marked the end of our tour together with picture that someone took after this glorious moment.
Actual route figures follow:
|
Date
|
Starting
Point
|
Landing
Point
|
Km
|
Heading
|
|
12. 7. 98
|
Galveston, Texas
|
Pleasanton, Texas
|
357
|
264°
|
|
13. 7.
|
Pleasanton
|
Portales, New Mexico
|
734
|
321°
|
|
14. 7.
|
Portales
|
Boulder, Colorado
|
674
|
346°
|
|
15. 7.
|
Boulder
|
Red Lodge, Montana
|
660
|
330°
|
|
16. 7.
|
Red Lodge
|
Cranbrook, British Colombia
|
694
|
315°
|
|
17. 7.
|
Cranbrook
|
Mackenzie, British Colombia
|
804
|
322°
|
|
18. 7.
|
Mackenzie
|
Watson Lake, Youkon
|
632
|
328°
|
|
19. 7.
|
Watson Lake
|
Whitehorse, Youkon
|
357
|
283°
|
|
20. 7.
|
Whitehorse
|
Northway, Alaska
|
426
|
304°
|
|
20. 7.
21. 7.-25. 7.
|
Northway
I am
waiting in Talkeetna for the spare part from Schleicher to fix the oil leak
of my engine. Fritz continues to the Bering Straight.
|
Talkeetna, Alaska
|
422
|
260°
|
|
21. 7.
|
Talkeetna
|
McGrath, Alaska
|
290
|
284
|
|
21. 7.
|
McGrath
|
Unalakleet, Alaska
|
278
|
292°
|
|
22. 7.
|
Unalakleet
|
Nome, Alaska
|
233
|
287°
|
|
23. 7.
|
Nome
|
Wales, Alaska
|
176
|
314°
|
|
24. 7
.
|
Wales
|
Unalakleet, Alaska
|
396
|
119°
|
|
25. 7.
|
Unalakleet
|
Fairwell, Alaska
|
378
|
114°
|
|
25. 7.
|
Fairwell
|
McGrath, Alaska
|
100
|
300°
|
|
26. 7.
|
McGrath
Due to bad weather Fritz cannot cross the Alaska Range into Talkeetna.
He flies around the Range via Delta Junction and Fairbanks into Northway.
|
Fairbanks, Alaska
|
458
|
66°
|
|
27. 7.
|
Fairbanks
|
Northway, Alaska
|
316
|
127°
|
|
26. 7.
|
Talkeetna
After
the repair of the oil tubing I fly from Talkeetna via Nabesna to Northway to
meet Fritz.
|
*Palmer, Alaska
|
104
|
147°
|
|
26. 7.
|
Palmer
|
*Tahneta Pass
|
99
|
65°
|
|
26. 7.
|
Tahneta Pass
|
Gulkana, Alaska
|
100
|
74°
|
|
26. 7.
|
Gulkana
The
engine of Fritz's ASH26E does not work any longer. Karl Dros from Schleicher arrives in Northway and fixes
the engine.
|
Northway, Alaska
|
201
|
75°
|
|
30. 7
|
Northway
|
Burwash, Youkon
|
231
|
140°
|
|
30. 7.
|
Burwash
|
Whitehorse, Youkon
|
216
|
187°
|
|
31. 7.
|
Whitehorse
|
Watson Lake, Youkon
|
357
|
103°
|
|
1. 8.
|
Watson Lake
|
Mackenzie, British Colombia
|
632
|
149°
|
|
2. 8.
|
Mackenzie
|
Golden, British Colombia
|
603
|
137°
|
|
3. 8.
|
Golden
|
Felts, Washington
|
402
|
183°
|
|
4. 8.
|
Felts
|
Madras, Oregon
|
447
|
221°
|
|
4. 8.
|
Madras
|
Christmas Valley, Oregon
|
163
|
166°
|
|
5. 8.
|
Christmas Valley
|
Lake View, Oregon
|
121
|
170°
|
|
5. 8.
|
Lake View
|
Minden, Nevada
|
355
|
171°
|
|
6. 8.
|
Minden
|
*Bishop, California
|
217
|
146°
|
|
6. 8.
|
Bishop
|
Cedar City, Utah
|
465
|
86°
|
|
7. 8.
|
Cedar City
|
Belin, New Mexico
|
624
|
118°
|
|
8. 8.
|
Belin
|
Ozona, Texas
|
624
|
134°
|
|
9. 8.
|
Ozona
|
Galveston, Texas
|
632
|
105°
|
*waypoint, no actual landing
Afterthoughts
It seems that for these long distances that we had to overcome in order to reach Alaska from
Texas at least I should have changed my "gliding mentality". Beside the fact that Fritz was the
faster glider pilot of the two of us, he also did not hesitate to use the engine as soon as he run
out of decent thermals. In contrast, I usually put up a fight trying to survive in weak lift, with
the result that I lost time and might have to use the engine after all.
I found it of some disadvantage that, due to time restraints, we could not pause along the route
or stay for an extra day in an area of good thermal conditions. On the other hand, surprisingly,
we did not suffer much from sitting for a long time in the glider, usually more than 6 hours a day
and sometimes even 8. In contrast to our earlier adventures in Greece or Morocco we decided not to
camp out and sleep below the wings of our gliders. I was not sure about the rattle snakes and to
have the comfort of a decent bed with shower in mornings was a luxury that we thought we could
afford. And where survival was concerned we found that beef-jerky and coke from a screw bottle
was all we needed in flight. Dinner in the evening usually meant lots of beer and contained the
largest steak in town. For breakfast it turned out that North America is standardized from
Galveston to Talkeetna. Two eggs sunny side up (for me) with hash browns one gets everywhere,
only the choice of bacon or ham is not always available.
Our instruments (Zander SR940 and Garmin195) always worked. I had a spare hand-held radio with me
as well as a cellular phone, just in case we would be hopelessly stranded. The latter was useless
in the wide open spaces of Alaska and only worked near towns and not a all in Canada. It was good
to have some spare parts. We did have to exchange the tail wheel and the small wheels at the end
of the wings. And it was worthwhile to a have a few metric tools.
Probably we were lucky with the weather. Only on 4 days I did not have thermals and had to rely
on the engine for getting out of bad weather. One advantage was to see the national weather on
television in the evening. We could make changes in the route to avoid bad weather. We were
never grounded because of weather only because of trouble with our engines. Schleicher, the
manufacturer of our planes was very helpful and even sent a technician to fix our engine.
Would I do it again? Definitely yes, but I would take much more time, hang around for some
time where the lifts are strong, or the mountains are high and beautiful. Maybe I will do
it again when retirement catches up with me.
Winfried Boos
|
