“Oh no, I’m gonna hit,” Jack exclaimed in disbelief.
In his panicked state, he searched for a location that would yield the softest impact. On the right side of the saddle was a ragged cliff and some boulders. On the left side of the saddle, he spotted some dense looking bushes hugging the steep upward sloping terrain. This was it. If he was going to crash, the brush would be his only chance for survival.
As he flew along the left side of the mountain, he banked slightly right toward the saddle and headed for the brush. Suddenly, he caught a slight updraft. Looking out in front of him, he was now moving slightly higher than the saddle.
Jack saw a glimmer of hope.
Jack knew that, on his present course, he was going to impact the mountain. His chance of survival was practically nonexistent. His only hope for survival was the slight updraft he was now flying in. He calculated that if he continued on his course and banked sharply toward the saddle at the last possible second, he might clear it before the downdraft forced him to impact the mountain.
Jack was mere feet from the side of the mountain, his wingtip nearly touching it as he flew. He could see he was a couple hundred feet above the saddle and inching higher. It was now or never.
In one fast movement, he snapped the stick full right and stomped on the rudder, breaking his flight path off right at the last second of impact. He was now out of danger of impacting the mountainside, having cleared it by a few feet, and was now skimming across its side as he headed into the downdraft.
Jack stared directly at the saddle. It formed a U shape, where the tops of the U were the mountaintops and the bottom of the U was the bottom of the saddle. He was rapidly descending from the left side of the U into the saddle, with less than one hundred feet of clearance. The further he moved into the downdraft, the faster he descended.
Frantically, Jack searched his mind, hoping to find another solution that would yield a safe outcome – but there was none to be had. He wasn’t sure if he was going to clear the saddle. It was going to be close.
As Jack began to enter the saddle, he watched the ground race up toward him. He glanced at his gauges and took note that his altitude was temporarily holding.
With his floats just feet above the rocky land, Jack worked the controls and anxiously waited for impact.
As he crossed the apex of the saddle, he could see the needles of the tiny pine trees that sparsely lined the top of the ridgeline.
Suddenly, the plane’s floats caught one of the bushes, causing it to slow and pitch slightly forward.
“Shit, noooo!” Jack blurted out.
Jack, quick in reflex, felt the sudden deceleration and instinctively pulled back on the stick, hard. As the momentum of the plane forced the floats through the brush, he heard the sickening sound of branches against metal.
Jack’s reflexive input on the controls raised the nose just in time to clear the ground. The floats broke free from the brush’s grasp as the saddle now began to drop away, down the other side of the valley.
The plane, having slowed form the soft hit, was now descending again, but descending down into the valley.
As the land began to fall away, Jack allowed his altitude to descend as he kept his nose low to build airspeed.
Moments later, the tiny plane had built up enough speed for Jack to raise the nose. He was now gaining altitude and in the clear. Far out in front of him, the valley now opened up and spread out wide before him.
“Yesss!” Jack yelled out in exhilaration. “Made it!”
Jack stared briefly at the broken twigs that clung to his floats.
“Wow, I don’t think I could get any closer without dying,” Jack said to himself.
Jack retrained his eyes on the valley ahead of him. With a sudden gasp, he saw it: Destination B.
“Oh my God, there it is!” Jack exclaimed.
Looking off to his right, he gazed upon the majestic mountain that had been the object of his dreams for over two years now.
Destination B was the highest mountain in the area, soaring 17,254 feet above sea level. The shape of the mountain was that of a pyramid, and it sat on a flat plateau like an altar. From a distance, it appeared as if something had scraped the snow off the mountain with a rake from top to bottom, creating long vertical furrows in its faces. The approach to the mountain looked difficult and the climb itself looked even harder due to the long, icy, fluted trenches that spanned the entire height of the mountain.
As Jack neared the mountain, he started to gain altitude. The maximum altitude the tiny plane could climb to was roughly 13,000 feet. It would take some time to get there, so he made large sweeping circles around the mountain as he inched higher. Thirty minutes later, he had finally reached the limit of the plane’s ability. He could fly no higher.
The valley around the mountain was as beautiful as it was rugged. There were deep canyons and rivers, as well as high snowcapped mountains that filled Jack’s field of view. At the lower elevations, he could see lush green forests and tiny rivers. At the higher elevations, the forests became sparse and less green, taking on a more brownish color due to bare ground showing through and becoming more visible as the vegetation thinned. Still higher, vegetation was limited to patches of scrub brush that dotted some mountaintops and passes. The elevation above 12,000 feet contained heavy snow and ice, a condition that remained all year long. As he circled Destination B, he marveled at its magnificence. Nowhere in the US could this kind of dramatic scenery be found. Jack was in awe of his surroundings and snapped dozens of photos as he flew.
By the time he leveled off, he had spotted a point of interest on the eastern side of the mountain. Even though the fluted trenches covered all sides of the mountain, there were two ridges, nearly 180 degrees apart, that rose up from the plateau below and connected to the mountain higher up. If someone were inclined to climb this magnificent beauty, they could eliminate half the arduous task of climbing from the bottom by traversing the easier terrain along the ridge, then continuing from the halfway point to the top.
At the base of the main mountain, and cradled between the two side ridges, sat a snowfield no bigger than a football field. It was relatively flat, but dropped off dramatically 3,000 feet or so below the plateau, then gradually descended over rough, rocky terrain to the valley floor below. As Jack flew slowly by it, he mentally etched it into his memory. Checking his altitude, then scanning back to the snowfield, Jack estimated that it sat at an elevation of nearly 10,000 feet.
“Wow, that's over seven thousand feet of climbing from the plateau to the top of the mountain,” Jack said to himself. “That's a butt load of climbing.”
Rechecking his gauges, Jack noticed his fuel level at the halfway mark. He'd been flying for almost two hours and decided that he wasn’t going to take any unnecessary chances in such a hostile environment. With the push of a couple of buttons on the two GPS receivers, Jack dialed in his return route to the airport.
“A gas gauge is only accurate when it’s on empty,” Jack said, coining the old aviation adage.
He glanced back at the snowfield, then the ridge, and worked his eyes up the fluted snow cliffs to the summit, taking in the striking profile of the mountain one last time for the day.
“Amazing,” he said to himself.
As he turned to fly out of the valley, he looked nervously at the saddle between the two mountains that had nearly killed him only an hour earlier. Now flying at 13,000 feet, he was well above the danger zone and he breathed a sigh of relief. He made a mental note not to repeat the same mistake the following day when he returned.
Flying back, passing from one valley to the next, he was filled with euphoria. He had finally seen the unnamed mountain he had spotted in a magazine, and it was even more impressive than anything he imagined. Fighting the turbulence, he lost himself in the memory of Destination B.
The Adventure:
DAY 1
Jack examined the skis where the floats once sat. During the design phase of
his plane, he knew he would need to be able to swap out the floats for skis, so he created a mechanism for quick disconnect. He was able to quickly remove the floats and attach the skis with a single bolt and cotter pin, a procedure that took less than ten minutes to complete. With the skis and tires in place and with a flick of a lever, he could transition from tires to skis and back to tires again in an instant.
Jack stood back and looked at his plane. He had neatly repacked most of his gear into it, leaving only the pilot’s seat empty. Having checked the weather for the next few days, he found that a slow moving low-pressure front was moving in through the area and would prevent any travel by the following day.
Jack’s nervousness pierced through varying degrees of severity. He could almost see his heart pounding through his fleece pullover.
“Well, Jack, this is it. It’s time to grow some nads,” he said to himself, hoping the humor would relieve some of his anxiety.
He took one last look around the airport, exhaled deeply and hopped into his plane. With his flight sectional laid out on top of his gear next to him, he scanned the map one more time for completeness.
“Stop procrastinating. you idiot. You didn’t fly all this way to admire the view,” Jack scolded himself once more.
“Clear,” he hollered out his side window.
Jack reached down and began to turn the key. He watched the propeller windmill momentarily, then the engine came alive. Immediately, he glanced over to the engine’s gauges. Everything was in the green and operating normally. With a quick check of the area around him, he added a touch of power and began to roll.
Jack taxied to the beginning of the runway, then ran through his checklists to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything. A few minutes later, he stowed the lists and crept onto the runway, lining up with the centerline.
Looking up into the clear skies, he checked for any aircraft that might be flying near the airport. There were none. Jack hesitated momentarily, second guessing his plans, then slowly advanced the throttle forward.
With a full load, the tiny plane moved forward slowly, then, after a few feet, started to pick up momentum. Nearly seventy feet down the runway, he had reached his departure speed and pulled steadily back on the stick while adding a slight bit of rudder to keep the plane from drifting off-course.
Jack’s climb rate was about 1,200 feet per minute – nowhere near the 2,000fpm he experienced the day before when the plane was empty. He was climbing to 13,000 feet, the maximum height he had reached while flying around Destination B. This would ensure he cleared the deadly saddle that almost claimed his life the day before.
At the higher elevations, Jack’s engine performance was greatly reduced. He could only expect about three hundred fpm above 10,000 feet, and much less above 12,000 feet. In all, it would take him at least forty-five minutes to climb to 13,000 feet, almost the exact time it would take him to get to the saddle. If he arrived too soon, he wouldn’t have the altitude to clear the ridge. He decided to circle the small town while climbing, ensuring he would have the altitude well before he reached the saddle.
After fifteen minutes of circling, Jack had climbed to the 10,000 foot level. With only 3,000 feet left, he knew he would clear the saddle with time to spare. With that, he exited the valley to the east, following the directions displayed on both GPSs.
Forty minutes of light turbulence later, he could see the saddle in the far distance. Apprehension swept over his body as his eyes locked on the spot he almost gave his life to the day before. He was about 1,000 feet above it, and still lower than the snow-covered mountain tops that suspended the saddle between them.
As he passed over the ridge, right on cue, the wind that was being driven over the top of the saddle like water over a dam caused him to lose altitude as the downdraft forced him lower. He watched as his altitude unwound from 13,000 feet down to 12,700, clearing the ridge by 700 feet. He learned his lesson and felt good because of it.
“Oh yeah! Jack, two; saddle, NOTHING,” Jack said out loud, mocking the inanimate mountain pass.
As the valley opened up in front of him, he no longer needed the flight sectional to guide him. He headed for the northern side of Destination B, where he had spotted the snowfield and the two ridges. Working his way around to the ‘front’ of the mountain, looking out the right passenger window as he flew, he watched as the football field-sized snowfield came into view, the two ridges bracketing each side.
Jack’s heart started to pound. He had butterflies in his stomach as he moved in for a closer look. As he flew closer, he lowered his flaps to the halfway point, allowing him to lower the nose of the tiny plane without picking up unnecessary airspeed. He now had a commanding view of the mountain through the windshield as he descended.
Minutes later, he judged his altitude to be a thousand feet above the snowfield. He reached down, pulled the throttle control and reduced his power to idle. Jack’s heart was now pounding and his hands were wet with sweat, as he thought of landing under such extreme conditions.
As he descended, he took a hard look at both the ridge and the snowfield. Aside from a couple of exposed rock climbing pitches that looked easy, the ridgeline looked like an easy snow hike. He looked down toward the field. It looked flawless, without a single depression or bump along its entire surface.
“Wow, this is unbelievable,” he shouted to himself over the roar of the engine. “How lucky can I get?”
At about 250 feet above the field, he could tell that it was much bigger than a football field; twice as big, if he had to guess. Pretending to land, he flew over the snowfield and straight at the mountain. With a quick glance down at the snow below, then back to his altimeter, he determined that the field sat at an elevation of about 11,700 feet.
“Ok, fun’s over. Time to get the hell out of here,” Jack said to himself as he stared at the imposing mountain in front of him.
He added full power, banked hard left and circled out away from the mountain as he slowly climbed.
“Climb, baby, climb,” Jack shouted out as the engine strained in the rarified air.
Keeping an eye on the field, he flew away from the mountain until he was a mile or so away. As he reached 12,200 feet on the altimeter - 500 feet above the field – he started to slowly bank back toward the mountain. Coming back around, he stared at the snowfield.
“Damn, that thing looks smaller than my mom and dad’s backyard,” Jack said, his anxiety now peaking.
With as much determination as he could find, he took a deep breath and headed to the right side of the tiny snowfield.
Jack reduced the power to almost idle and lowered the flaps to the final setting. He pushed the control stick forward and lowered the nose of the plane, once again drawing in the impressive view.
Heading for the ridgeline on the right side of the snowfield, Jack examined the ragged cliff that rose up from its base. He could see massive blocks of rock and ice that had fallen off the wall and landed at the base of the cliff.
“Holy shit, some of those blocks are as big as a house,” he exclaimed.
The sight of such a powerful and dangerous environment sent a chill through his body. Wiping the nervous sweat from his hands, he regripped the control stick and focused intently on his descent.
Now stabilized and descending at five hundred feet per minute, Jack checked his speed and heading: fifty knots and heading exactly west as displayed on his gyroscopic compass.
The excitement and fear sent Jack’s heart pounding wildly. He could see his jacket expanding and contracting with each pulse.
Once again, his hands trembled and became slippery with sweat. He wiped them off on his pants and then shook them out in the air, one by one.
Jack could see that the winds were blowing to the north, as the tiny plane drifted off-course with the wind. He turned slightly into the wind to counter the drift, finding a heading that kept him moving in a straight line. The altimeter continued unwinding, now down to 11,950 feet; 250 feet above the fie
ld.
Jack sharpened his focus further now, scanning the instruments, then the field, back to the instruments and then back to the field again in an unending cycle that resulted in precision flying.
Wiping the nervous sweat from his brow, he noticed his speed had dropped slightly below fifty knots. Jack added two hundred rpm of power, stabilizing the speed at fifty. As he flew lower, he was continuously buffeted by turbulence that forced him to ‘work’ the throttle in a constant struggle to maintain his proper speed. It was exhausting and stressful work.
Jack peered out the pilot’s side window. Looking down, he was no longer flying over the frightening and treacherous valley that led up to the snowfield. He was now directly over the snowfield and flying up it’s right side.
He looked back at his altimeter. He was now 200 feet above the field and less than 1,000 feet away from the mountain.
Hidden Courage (Atlantis) Page 6