At 10,000' you're shoulder-to-shoulder with waves of snow-capped peaks that extend to the horizon. You look down at a wide glacier below. You look up to the scattered lone peaks that poke up to nearly 20,000'. You're not on air traffic control radar and you haven't been able to reach Flight Service on the radio for 20 minutes. You're alone among the mountains enjoying views that, without an aircraft, would require three weeks of trekking and climbing to reach. This is general aviation in Alaska.

 

These are some excerpts from "Bring your own ropes -- a guide to flying to and in Alaska" by Philip Greenspun. I highly recommend reading it to anyone who hasn't seen it before. Please click through for the rest, aimed more at real-world flying but also some good "flying tourist tips" and to add to the page impressions for the very unobtrusive advertising.

 

Alaska is unforgiving but it need not be challenging. Winds in the summer are often calm. Runways at public airports are usually paved and long. Remember that most Alaskan towns are without a highway connection. Things that a small town in the Lower 48 would get by truck come in via air freight. You can tour every region of the state for weeks without landing on a runway shorter than 5000'. Density altitude is not an issue in Alaska: runways are long, elevations are usually within a few hundred feet of sea level, and temperatures are fairly cool even in summer.

 

The unforgiving aspect of good-weather flying in Alaska stems from the mountainous and sparsely settled nature of the state. Fuel mismanagement and mechanical problems are much more serious when you are 100 miles from the nearest airport. Sightseeing around coastal Alaska involves a certain amount of flying over water that is sufficiently frigid to make a lifejacket a mixed blessing.

 

Truly bad weather isn't much of a challenge in Alaska, either. The forecast will call for 300' ceilings, rain, and 1 miles of visibility. Most little airplanes won't have sufficient fuel reserves to plan an instrument flight under these circumstances because the nearest suitable alternate airport will likely be 200 nautical miles away. Summer clouds on a bad day can be solid from 2000 to 20,000 feet with a freezing level at 6000' and icing forecast from 9000 to 16,000. The minimum enroute altitudes will be from 7000' to 10,000', i.e., right where the ice can be expected. Because air traffic is so sparse there won't be any pilot reports for your planned route and altitude. If you drive out to the airport you'll find that the scheduled airlines have cancelled all of their flights.

 

Marginal weather is the most challenging situation for the aviation tourist in Alaska. The local pilots won't think twice about flying up a river valley if there is 500' or 1000' of separation between the ground and the cloud, even if the visibility is low due to rain. These guys know every twist and turn in the path, they know exactly how high they must be to clear the obstacles, and their airplanes are usually sufficiently slow to afford a lot of time to think. The Alaskan employees of the FAA have installed weathercams in many of the mountain passes that serve as transportation corridors for the state.

 

Strong winds aloft on an otherwise clear day can also be considered marginal weather due to Alaska's dramatic topography. Mountain flying is easy if the winds are less than 20 knots: no wind--no mountain wave; no wind--no downdraft on the lee side of a range; no wind--no turbulence in the pass; no wind--no gales coming out of gaps between ranges. Mountain flying becomes tough on the pilot and even tougher on the passengers when the winds pick up.

 

Flying safely in Alaska is a function of patience. A typical local plane is a Piper Cub or a Cessna dragging around a couple of huge floats. These guys aren't going more than 95 knots. This gives them time to enjoy the scenery but, more important, time to evaluate the weather and terrain ahead, and, most important in mountainous areas, a tight turning radius. You'll use up a lot of horizontal distance doing a 180-degree turn in an airplane that is moving forward at 150 knots. If you put out flaps and reduce power until you're moping along at 75 knots your airplane can execute a surprisingly tight turn.

 

In the Lower 48 airplanes are for rich people and rich companies. The average small plane that comes in will be a $5 million jet delivering the CEO's kids to their horseback-riding camp or a plastic surgeon goofing around in his brand-new $300,000 Cirrus. In Alaska by contrast the average plane is a 40-year-old Cessna piloted by a plumber. For him the $35,000 airplane is the only way that he can get to his customers.

First time I flew into Merrill field VFR, I was at about 1500' and thinking that I was lining up with the runway for a straight in approach. The pilot with me said, " Do you realize that you are lined up to land at the Air force base....? whoops!!!!!!

First time I flew into Merrill field VFR, I was at about 1500' and thinking that I was lining up with the runway for a straight in approach. The pilot with me said, " Do you realize that you are lined up to land at the Air force base....? whoops!!!!!!

 

LOL, my first student flight into Montgomery, I almost lined up with Maxwell AFB. CFI with me gave me some grief over that, suggested I look at my DG more than just out the window. :Waiting:

180-degree turn in an airplane that is moving forward at 150 knots

 

Just do a nice, agressive chandelle and clean up what your passengers leave behind (lunch) when you get to the landing strip.

At 10,000' you're shoulder-to-shoulder with waves of snow-capped peaks that extend to the horizon. You look down at a wide glacier below. You look up to the scattered lone peaks that poke up to nearly 20,000'. You're not on air traffic control radar and you haven't been able to reach Flight Service on the radio for 20 minutes. You're alone among the mountains enjoying views that, without an aircraft, would require three weeks of trekking and climbing to reach. This is general aviation in Alaska.

 

These are some excerpts from "Bring your own ropes -- a guide to flying to and in Alaska" by Philip Greenspun. I highly recommend reading it to anyone who hasn't seen it before. Please click through for the rest, aimed more at real-world flying but also some good "flying tourist tips" and to add to the page impressions for the very unobtrusive advertising.

 

Alaska is unforgiving but it need not be challenging. Winds in the summer are often calm. Runways at public airports are usually paved and long. Remember that most Alaskan towns are without a highway connection. Things that a small town in the Lower 48 would get by truck come in via air freight. You can tour every region of the state for weeks without landing on a runway shorter than 5000'. Density altitude is not an issue in Alaska: runways are long, elevations are usually within a few hundred feet of sea level, and temperatures are fairly cool even in summer.

 

The unforgiving aspect of good-weather flying in Alaska stems from the mountainous and sparsely settled nature of the state. Fuel mismanagement and mechanical problems are much more serious when you are 100 miles from the nearest airport. Sightseeing around coastal Alaska involves a certain amount of flying over water that is sufficiently frigid to make a lifejacket a mixed blessing.

 

Truly bad weather isn't much of a challenge in Alaska, either. The forecast will call for 300' ceilings, rain, and 1 miles of visibility. Most little airplanes won't have sufficient fuel reserves to plan an instrument flight under these circumstances because the nearest suitable alternate airport will likely be 200 nautical miles away. Summer clouds on a bad day can be solid from 2000 to 20,000 feet with a freezing level at 6000' and icing forecast from 9000 to 16,000. The minimum enroute altitudes will be from 7000' to 10,000', i.e., right where the ice can be expected. Because air traffic is so sparse there won't be any pilot reports for your planned route and altitude. If you drive out to the airport you'll find that the scheduled airlines have cancelled all of their flights.

 

Marginal weather is the most challenging situation for the aviation tourist in Alaska. The local pilots won't think twice about flying up a river valley if there is 500' or 1000' of separation between the ground and the cloud, even if the visibility is low due to rain. These guys know every twist and turn in the path, they know exactly how high they must be to clear the obstacles, and their airplanes are usually sufficiently slow to afford a lot of time to think. The Alaskan employees of the FAA have installed weathercams in many of the mountain passes that serve as transportation corridors for the state.

 

Strong winds aloft on an otherwise clear day can also be considered marginal weather due to Alaska's dramatic topography. Mountain flying is easy if the winds are less than 20 knots: no wind--no mountain wave; no wind--no downdraft on the lee side of a range; no wind--no turbulence in the pass; no wind--no gales coming out of gaps between ranges. Mountain flying becomes tough on the pilot and even tougher on the passengers when the winds pick up.

 

Flying safely in Alaska is a function of patience. A typical local plane is a Piper Cub or a Cessna dragging around a couple of huge floats. These guys aren't going more than 95 knots. This gives them time to enjoy the scenery but, more important, time to evaluate the weather and terrain ahead, and, most important in mountainous areas, a tight turning radius. You'll use up a lot of horizontal distance doing a 180-degree turn in an airplane that is moving forward at 150 knots. If you put out flaps and reduce power until you're moping along at 75 knots your airplane can execute a surprisingly tight turn.

 

In the Lower 48 airplanes are for rich people and rich companies. The average small plane that comes in will be a $5 million jet delivering the CEO's kids to their horseback-riding camp or a plastic surgeon goofing around in his brand-new $300,000 Cirrus. In Alaska by contrast the average plane is a 40-year-old Cessna piloted by a plumber. For him the $35,000 airplane is the only way that he can get to his customers.

This post may have just convinced me to buy Alaska right away instead of waiting for MSF to get more sim features.

This post may have just convinced me to buy Alaska right away instead of waiting for MSF to get more sim features.

 

May have? May have? Fine, here's a little more, from his trip report of that journey across Alaska as well as much of the rest of North America:

 

Our host was an expert seaplane pilot whom we'd met at the airport on our first day in Anchorage. As we waited for the grill to warm up he showed us his collection of 200 guns and some gold nuggets that he kept for when the U.S. currency collapses. When asked how he'd managed to get a machine gun license and learn how to use all of the guns, he answered that he'd served in the Special Forces during the Vietnam War. When he left the table to check on our 3"-thick steaks, Kyle nervously whispered to me "I think he's going to kill us". I laughed and said "Oh no, he's just an average guy for Alaska."

 

The treasures of Alaska include 6000'-high glacier-covered mountains right at the ocean's edge, endless tundra, old mining towns, bears fishing for salmon, a Massachusetts-sized region of 20,000'-high mountains cut through with low glacier-carved valleys. Almost all of this is inaccessible and invisible unless you're flying around in a small airplane. So that's what we did for six weeks.

 

One thing that you learn from traveling 3000' above the ground is just how mountainous western North America is. Roads are built in valleys. When you drive on a road you see a mountain ridge on either side but you have no idea what lies beyond those ridges. The viewpoint from an airplane flying above the road is of mountain after mountain receding to the horizon. The structure of geography is more apparent from the air. You see the glaciers on top of the mountains. You see the waterfalls on the mountainsides where the glaciers are melting. You see the rivers carrying the melt water through the valleys. You see the smaller rivers combining into one big river. You see the big river emptying into the ocean.

 

It is impossible to capture the experience of flying in Alaska with a photograph. Up in a small airplane one is immersed in the landscape, not looking at a small square image of scenery. It might be possible to transmit some of the feeling by taking three high-resolution panoramic images from the airplane. Image 1 would be of the sky; Image 2 of the scene straight ahead; Image 3 of the ground below. These images would then be printed 2 meters wide and wrapped around the viewer in a hemisphere.

 

It is also pretty much impossible to capture the experience of being in wilderness Alaska with words and in this day and age of cheap air travel you might as well go and see for yourself.

 

Weather determines everything for the tourist in Alaska. Unusually clear and calm weather enabled us to make a spectacular flight up the Copper River Delta, 1000 or 2000' above the river and 5000' below the mountain peaks on either side, to the old mining town of McCarthy/Kennecott. Unusually windy weather trapped us on an island in the middle of a lake in the middle of nowhere (Katmai National Park) for two days. The wind howled through the tents. The mosquitoes sa**ed anyone who ventured a few steps towards the island interior. Rain came through periodically. There was nowhere to sit. For two days we stared out at the whitecaps on the lake, back at our rental kayaks with no spray skirts, and directly into the wind at our destination on the other end of the lake. After two days we gave up and kayaked downwind for 5 hours, looking over our shoulders at the 2-3' swell that threatened to swamp the little boats. Finally we reached a camp where we could radio for a float plane to come in and ferry us to the comparative civilization of Brooks Lodge. We took a scheduled Penn Air flight back to Anchorage from King Salmon (our little airplane was in the shop for a 100-hour inspection). The flight attendant greeted our local friend Marion by name. They didn't mind us carrying pocket knives on board (most of the other passengers had guns) but there were a lot of signs relating to the proper packaging of dead animal parts such as antlers.

Okay, okay, I'm in.

:Party:

Great stuff!!!