A Vacation a Year in the Making
July 4th festivities have been over a year in the making. Though they’ve evolved, the foundation of getting kids and grandkids together was always there. The first 4–5 days of the month are always busy (translation: “mandatory”) for me at work, so with the 4th falling on a Friday, it was a chance to get away. The final plan was camping at Bear Lake on the Utah/Idaho border, time at the beach, and catching some fireworks.
Kathy drove up on the 1st in our new truck, despite not wanting to be the one to “break it in” with scratches or worse (more on that later). I stayed behind to work the 1st–3rd, with plans to fly up the morning of the 4th. She picked up our son in St. George on the way, and after spending the night at her daughter’s on the 1st, they were at the Paris Springs Campground, setting up camp on the 2nd.
Fullerton to Delta
I’m not too worried about the weather getting in the way of completing the flight. Afternoon thunderstorms are frequent in the mountains, but if I leave early, they shouldn’t be a factor. Even if some pop up, they usually move along quickly, and I can pick my way around them. By July, the daily marine layer from May and June isn’t as prevalent, and if it’s there, I’ll just pick up a clearance to get on top.
Kathy wants me there as early as possible, so I keep my normal weekday alarm of 4:30 a.m. set. I have everything packed the night before, I just need to get up, get dressed, let the dogs out for a few minutes, and head to the airport. I’m halfway to the airport when I realize I didn’t have them top off the tanks last time I was there. Rats… now I get to pump my own fuel.
When I found out that becoming a lifetime member of the Fullerton Airport Pilot’s Association got you self-serve prices from the fuel truck, I signed up immediately. The membership paid for itself hundreds of gallons of AvGas ago. After topping off the tanks at the fuel island, I taxi back to the run-up area and go through run-up and pre-takeoff checklists.
I have an IFR plan on file, and the ceilings are overcast at 1,600 feet, but just to the east, I can see the sun and clear skies. The tower won’t be open for an hour and a half. I could call up SoCal on my phone through the Bluetooth connection to the audio panel and pick up my clearance—there would likely be little delay this time of morning—but I decide to head out VFR. I have a great audiobook I’ve been listening to, and that’s not possible with the radios on an IFR plan.
I take off and level out at 1,200 feet on the downwind leg for just over a minute, at which point I’m in clear skies and climbing to my cruising altitude of 9,500 feet. I monitor the approach frequencies until I’m in the quiet land of the Center Controllers, where I switch over to monitoring Guard and turn on my book. The children on Guard with their catcalls and other nonsense make me rewind every now and then, but it’s tolerable. We’re getting into “fire season” here in SoCal, and a few small fires have left a haze over the high desert.
Approaching Hector (HEC), I notice another plane on my tablet headed northeast and overtaking me. He’s up at 11,500 feet, and like any good, self-respecting Mooney owner, I want to know what he’s flying if he’s faster than me. I search the tail number: it’s a Bonanza A36, and it belongs to a friend of mine. I shoot him a text, asking where he’s headed, along with a screenshot of both our planes passing a few miles apart. It’s often a small world in General Aviation.
Finally, passing by Signal Peak just south of Cedar City, the haze from the fires clears up. There’s a TFR for a fire burning near Pine Valley, and I can see smoke rising from the mountain along with firefighting aircraft on my tablet, but the winds are pushing it all to the east.
I’m planning to land in Delta for fuel. The winds were favorable, and I could have made Bear Lake County Airport (1U7) in one hop. It would have been right at 4 hours of flying time, leaving me with my 1-hour reserve. However, my briefing showed a convective outlook for northern Utah and southern Idaho, and I wanted extra fuel for loitering if I needed to wait for a storm to pass. Also, full disclosure: I put a different camera under the wing that theoretically has a 4-hour battery life, but I didn’t want to chance it being dead as I flew over the azure blue waters of Bear Lake.
Delta to Bear Lake
So, I land in Delta, taxi to the pump, and get out to see that the camera under the wing has died. It was only a 2-hour-52-minute flight, but there’s the camera with no light blinking. Something isn’t right. I wasn’t expecting 4 hours of battery life despite the marketing claim, but I should have had at least three. After fueling the plane and making a quick stop at the restroom, I pop a new battery in and check some settings. I find the culprit: I hadn’t turned off the Wi-Fi on the camera, and it ate up the battery too fast. A short 36 minutes after landing, I’m back in the air. It’s longer than my average 30-minute turn, but I did mess around with the camera—hopefully, it will be worth it.
It’s a beautiful flight over Utah Lake and up Provo Canyon past Sundance, Heber, and Park City. The mountains are green, and the lakes are blue. I’ve stopped taking video on my phone because I’d just have it out all the time, there’s always something else to look at. I’m passing Park City with about 40 minutes left in the flight when my phone starts ringing. It’s Kathy.
Me: “Hello?”
Kathy: “There’s a big storm over the lake right now. It’s moving east.”
I had been looking at the ADS-B weather on my tablet and saw the dark red splotch along with lightning symbols.
Kathy: “I didn’t know if the timing would work for you, and there’s lightning and thunder.”
Me: “Yeah, I can see the lightning strikes.”
Kathy: “Okay, it might be gone in 20 minutes. I knew you could see it, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
Me: “I can see it on my tablet—the radar return and the giant towering thunderhead ahead.”
Kathy: “So, do you want me to head to the airport, or do you still want to try and fly over?”
I was planning on making a pass over North Beach, where they’re set up, on my way into the airport.
Me: “No, we’ll just wait and see.”
Kathy: “Okay, see you soon.”
I still had about 100 miles to go and figured the storm would be well east of the lake by the time I arrived. I come over the hills south of the lake and start a descent from 9,500 feet to 6,900 feet to set myself up to fly over the beach.
A Fly By
Then I have a thought: my friend’s house is right on the way, just a little over a mile from the shoreline. I could make a slight detour and fly right over it. I bank left and head for the curve in the highway coming out of the mountains. I can’t see his house yet, but I know I will in just a couple of minutes. Sure enough, there it is, and I fly over at a respectable altitude of 7,200 feet, about 600 feet AGL, on my way back down to the shoreline.
I’m cruising along the western shore when I hear another Mooney check in on its way to the airport. It sounds like my friend Tom, but I can’t remember his tail number. I think about asking on the radio, but although there’s nobody else on frequency, I decide against starting a conversation.
The water in Bear Lake is amazing. It’s been nicknamed “The Caribbean of the Rockies,” and once you see the water, you understand why. I’m continuing up the western shore, about 1,000 feet AGL, until I hit the north end of the lake and turn east to fly right over the beach. Reaching the end of the beach, I roll into about a 45-degree right bank and come around to cross the beach, headed to the airport.
I make a straight-in approach to runway 34, touch down, and begin taxiing to the fuel pump. Just before shutting down, my phone rings. It’s my friend whose house I just flew over.
Me: “Dan.”
Dan: “Hey, our Civil Defense just notified me that a Richard Brown has entered our airspace.”
Me: “Are you home?”
Dan: “No, I’m on my way to the airport right now.”
Me: “Oh, I buzzed your house on the way in.”
Dan: “When I figured out it wasn’t Tom, I figured it was you.”
Me: “I think Tom landed right in front of me, but I couldn’t remember his tail number.”
I look up the row of hangars and see Tom headed toward me on a 4-wheeler.
Me: “Yeah, that’s him. In fact, he’s buzzing down here. I’m going to lose you when I shut off the avionics.”
Dan: “I’ll be there shortly, and we’ll get you a hangar parking spot.”
Me: “Alright, cool.”
Tom and I catch up while I fill the tanks, and then he tows me over to a hangar and opens the doors. We push my plane in and tuck it away next to a beautiful Carbon Cub. I’m grateful to have it indoors with the approaching storm clouds to the west. Dan arrives shortly, and we spend some time chatting while I wait for Kathy to arrive.
If you’re taking notes, write one down that says, “Don’t drive through small towns during the middle of the day on the 4th of July.” Paris, Idaho, was essentially shut down for their parade, and Kathy had to take the long way to the airport. We followed our friend back toward town, thinking the parade would be over—it wasn’t. After making the 227-mile flight from Delta to Bear Lake in 1 hour and 22 minutes, it felt like a crime to take over an hour to make the 17-mile trip from the airport to North Beach.
Oh, one last insult for the trip: our new truck, with less than 5,000 miles, is in the body shop. As I was pulling past a minivan at a gas station, the guy in the front passenger seat opened his door into us, putting a dent just in front of the left rear wheel. When it happened, I looked at Kathy and said, “Well, now you don’t have to worry about being the one to break in the truck.”
We did have a great time camping, enjoying the beach, and watching fireworks, despite the parade traffic and the dent in the truck.
