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Editorial: Copperstate '97

By Tracy Crook. Originally published in the Rotary Aviation News, Issue 5, 1997

The nervous anticipation of this trip had been building for weeks. It was by far the longest trip I had planned and my first one east of the Mississippi river. Even the sectional charts for this trip added to the feeling of visiting a strange new place. Being a flatlander from the southeast, all the charts I had previously used were pale green and blue. These were various shades of brown showing the higher elevation and mountain ranges. I had never even seen a mountain from my plane let alone flown over one so I did a little reading up on mountain flying. With the RVotter loaded to maximum gross with every piece of camping gear I own, I flew to Shady Bend for an all too rare wash job before heading out.

One of the most important safety items you can take with you on any airplane trip is plenty of time. I’m sure the pressure to meet a tight schedule has killed more pilots than engine failure. The NTSB reports may call it weather related or pilot error but it often boils down to being pressured to fly when you shouldn’t.

Theoretically, I could have made the Florida to Arizona trip in one day since you gain three hours on the way but only if everything goes perfect. Any delay like slow fuel stops, flying around a patch of bad weather or head winds can throw your plans out of whack.

Rob Johnson (building a Velocity XL with 20B rotary) made the choice to split the trip into two days very easy by offering a place to stay. Frisco Texas was almost exactly the halfway point and gave me a chance to see the “Big D” during my visit. Many thanks to Rob and his wife Julia.

A light rain started about 10 minutes before I landed in Texas and low ceilings kept me grounded until almost noon the next day. McKinney airport had a DTN weather terminal so I was able to keep close track of a front which looked like it was parked over east Texas. The field finally went VFR and radar showed enough breaks in the front to give it a try. I threaded my way around several storms and broke out into open skies about 60 miles west.

I was indicating 135 mph which should have been about 150 TAS at my current altitude but was shocked to see only 98 when I checked GPS. A call to flight watch confirmed high headwinds from three to twelve thousand feet. The late start and high winds were not going to get me to Copperstate before sunset at that speed so it was time to use some of that reserve rotary power. My strategy at this point was to throttle up until the GPS indicated that I would arrive before sunset. My TAS varied between 192 and 170 until just 100 miles from Williams Gateway airport where the winds finally subsided. I constantly marvel at how much easier navigation and flight planning is with this little 8 ounce piece of equipment. Its easy to forget that it wouldn’t do anything without a zillion dollars worth of satellites overhead. Here’s one of the few times I feel like I get something for my tax dollars.

The higher speed and fuel burn required an early fuel stop but it did demonstrate that the engine was capable of constant high throttle operation without overheating or other adverse effects. I am now quite sure that reliability of the engine does not suffer either.

I can’t begin to describe the thrill I got from seeing the terrain change as I flew westward. Everything from Florida through central Texas looks pretty much the same until you get to the “badlands” of west Texas. For better or worse, the worry about what it would be like to have an engine failure out there was completely erased by my enjoyment of the view. Only the anticipation of crossing the mountains ahead kept me from dropping down for a closer look at the canyons and plateaus below. There was an endless variety of new things to see as I crossed into New Mexico. Dry river beds, rocky cliffs dropping off to wide flat valleys and dozens of other things which I had never seen. My brother Barry and I have long wanted to make a trip out here with our Kolb Twinstars so we can explore it at close range.

My fuel stop in New Mexico was at an elevation of 6600 feet. Sandia East had one of the narrowest runways I ever saw but it was almost 6000 feet long. The reason for the length became obvious when I departed and had the longest takeoff roll ever. I paid careful attention to indicated airspeed before rotating but the airplane still wanted to settle back when I raised the half flaps I normally take off with. Despite the thin air, the RV easily climbed over the 9500 foot mountain range just west of the airport and it was mostly down-hill from there on the final leg of my route to Copperstate.

I arrived 20 minutes before sunset and this time I remembered to call Laura and let her know I was still alive (I forgot to in Texas). This was on Wednesday, a day before the official start of the show and there was almost no one around. The weather was just right for camping so I pitched my tent and watched the sunset reflected off the Superstition Mountains I had just flown over. It was the perfect end to a memorable day of flying.

Copperstate is a tiny fraction the size of Oshkosh. Its only a little bit of an exaggeration to say that there are more T-shirt vendors at Oshkosh than there are people at Copperstate. That’s not to say its any less enjoyable. I actually prefer the more relaxed and informal atmosphere of smaller fly-ins and the percentage of hard-core airplane people is much higher.

I fell into the now-familiar fly-in routine of airshows, junkfood, auto engine forums, and of course swapping stories about engines & airplanes. I had a break from camping on the following nights due to the hospitality of Larry and Ginny McRae who have a house near Mesa AZ. Is life good or what? Larry is building a Glastar with a 13B for power (of course!) .

The awards banquet was on Saturday night. I never expect to win any awards with my plane because the winners are invariably planes which had more time spent on their paint jobs than I spent on building. Copperstate has a little different focus than other fly-ins and gave awards for the longest distance flown overall and longest distance for an auto powered plane. I was just 150 miles short of winning the overall award but nobody even came close for the auto powered distance so I got to carry a nice plaque home.

As I departed for home early Monday morning I radioed the tower with what I thought was a hazard. “Gateway tower, eight four Tango Charlie, be advised there are dogs on runway at the intersection”. “Negative Tango Charlie” the tower replied, “Those are coyotes, looks like a flight of two”. What a greenhorn from back-east I am.

Since I had a strong headwind on the way in, I was hoping for a tailwind on the return trip but mother nature doesn’t always pay you back. Climbing out of the Gateway area I found a 15 mph wind right on the nose which increased with altitude. By the time I was above the mountains to the east it was 30 mph. The difference in ground speed is not that big a deal but the psychological effect is enormous.

After clearing the last mountain range I started dropping altitude looking for the most favorable winds. They were pretty much the same at any altitude but closer to the ground they diminished due to friction with the earth. At 500 feet AGL I was going substantially faster than up high. Eastern New Mexico and west Texas is high in elevation but mostly flat, treeless terrain with few signs of civilization. In this kind of area it wouldn’t matter if the engine quit at 50 feet or 5000 feet so I flew hundreds of miles skimming low over the desolate landscape. There were a few small deserted houses, their roofs collapsing, doors and windows open or gone.

Further into Texas I encountered isolated but occupied houses which I assumed to be ranches due to the small pitiful looking herds of cattle nearby. At one of them, a boy I would guess to be about 12, was outside. An airplane must have been a rare sight because he excitedly waved and jumped up and down as I passed. I rocked my wings in reply and wondered what future effect the passing of my plane might have.

Further into Texas, I noticed the smoke from a distant fire was blowing eastward above the haze layer. The top of the layer turned out to be at 10,000 feet but it was well worth the climb. At 11,500 the GPS was showing 185 mph with a fuel burn of only 5.5 gph!

After another overnight visit with Rob Johnson in Frisco TX, I took off and climbed looking for that great tailwind. Finding it again at 10,000 ft., I kept climbing as long as the GPS numbers got better. I stopped at 12,500 because I don’t have an oxygen system.

Just as the weather briefer had predicted, I saw that same weather front that had been over east Texas on the trip out. It was now over Alabama and drifting ever so slowly eastward. As I approached, I could see that there were two cloud layers associated with it. I was above the lower one which extended out many miles beyond the higher clouds which had tops well over 20,000 ft. From my seat 2 ½ miles high the front looked like a wall extending north and south as far as I could see.

The right decision at this point would have been to land and wait for the front to pass but I was tired and after a week away, I wanted to be home. Promising myself not to do anything stupid, I turned north hoping to find a hole in the front. After flying 70 miles it was apparent that there was no break within reasonable distance and I resigned myself to waiting it out on the ground. Just as I was preparing to turn back, there was a small patch of blue sky showing between the lower and upper cloud layer. It looked tantalizingly close and lured me on top of the lower layer toward it. Telling myself that it must only be a few miles to the clear skies promised by the patch of blue, I followed it. If dead pilots could talk, this would probably be a common story.

The “tunnel” could have closed up leaving me stranded in mid-cloud with out a gyro, but it didn’t. The air was smooth and not a drop of rain fell but the patch of blue turned out to be 60 miles away. I thanked my guardian angle for protecting this fool and flew the remainder of the trip in clear skies.

Including weather detours and some fun flying around the pattern at Copperstate, the trip put 28.2 hours on the Hobbs and burned 163.8 gallons of fuel. The rotary’s steady hum was absolutely confidence inspiring and other than the weather, the biggest problem I had was deciding which CD to listen to. Only the news of John Denver’s death in his Long-eze prevented this from being a perfect trip. Total time on the engine is now at 553 hours.