EXERCISE WHOOPER FINN: FIELD REPORT NO. 10

Steve Hutchison safely departed Edmonton, to be replaced by Steve Harvey, who arrived on Monday 19 June. There had been no flyable weather since we arrived at Edmonton, and so the situation remained until the following Thursday. We sat and watched as one front followed another, bringing leaden skies and cool, strong, gusting winds. We were based in the small public terminal of Cooking Lake Airfield just to the East of the city. Orville Hewitt, the President of the Airfield Committee, kindly let us take over the building for a few days, and we were reasonably comfortable until the water supply ran out on Wednesday. The alternate facilities were adequate, if a little draughty, and must be quite challenging to use in the winter.

It was fortunate that we were marooned in Edmonton, and could amuse ourselves in the West Edmonton Mall whilst we waited for the weather to improve. This is one of the world's largest shopping centres, with an indoor beach, wave machines, dolphinarium, a fun park, golf driving range, etc. as well as shops!

I visited the weather briefers at NAV Canada on an almost daily basis to get updates. On one of my calls they gave me a book of weather hazards in the mountain passes of British Columbia and the Yukon. It gave more information than I needed to know. Essentially, the weather reporting stations through the mountains were so far apart that in anything other than perfect conditions they were of little use. The onus would always be on the pilot to make appropriate assessments based on what he could see around him. It was quite possible that the stations at either end could be having excellent weather yet the passes between could be shrouded in low cloud and be not flyable. Something to look forward to!

Finally the weather improved to allow our departure to the Northwest. The first flight took us directly across Edmonton airspace where a narrow corridor exists between the city to the North and the international airport to the South. It wasn't long before we left the agricultural fields behind and were flying across forest again. The first port of call was Whitecourt, an airport in the middle of the woods used mainly for forestry operations. The helicopter maintenance crews were amused and amazed to see an ultralight in this part of the world. I don't think the re-fuellers made much profit from our 6 gallons! From there we flew to Grande Prairie, a busy civil airport, where we waited for the ground crew to catch up. Well named, the approaches open up into miles of flat agricultural land with straight gravel roads running from horizon to horizon. The flying conditions were good so we pressed on to Fort St John. En route, we flew past Dawson Creek, 40 miles from Fort St John. This is Mile Zero on the famous Alaska Highway, a road we were to follow for its entire length of 1,390miles. It ends at Delta Junction about 100 miles south of Fairbanks in Alaska. In a landscape which up to now had been devoid of major features, the Peace River Valley came as a surprise, an impressive gash in the relatively flat surroundings. The river itself is up to a mile wide at the bottom of a steep, 800-foot gorge.

The approach to Fort St John caused some confusion. We had been given an airport landing card by the staff at Grande Prairie, but were unable to match the runway pattern to this card. I was looking to land on a runway that didn't exist! Once we were on the ground we examined the card more closely, to find that it was for Fort Nelson. What was worse was that I had telephoned the wrong airport operator to let them know we would be late arriving! We were made very welcome by the staff at Fort St John who allowed us the run of their facilities, including bunk beds, which made for a comfortable night's sleep.

The next day's flying started early, even though the cloud base was lower than I would have liked. The first flight was to the abandoned gravel strip at the interestingly named Sikanni Chief beside the highway. Fortunately, the ground team wasn't too far behind and we managed to refuel before the mosquitoes completely drained us of blood. The next flight took us directly to Fort Nelson, over low mountains running up to 4,000 feet. Despite this being fairly wild and unpopulated, it is criss-crossed by straight cut lines that divide it up into various sectors of oil field. Every few miles an oil well was pumping oil into a network of underground pipes. Some of these had flares burning excess gas at the top of a small tower. Others dispensed with this system and the flare burned in a pit dug into the ground. This was surprising given the hundreds of square miles of forest surrounding the oil wells, but it must have been a successful method as there was no sign of burned trees.
The flying began to get rough as the day progressed, with the wind blowing over the mountain ridges and mixing with thermal activity, so it was goodbye to the mountains and back to the route following the road.

We had a warm welcome from George Fife the owner of Skynorth Fuels. He was the one I had phoned from Grande Prairie, expecting to be late, but we had a good laugh about our confusion, and he offered us the use of his facilities for the night, which included the most welcome use of a shower. The ground crew were allowed the run of his gas barbecue, and Gary, the team cook had to be restrained from cremating an entire box of beef burgers. He brought a whole new meaning to flame grilled. Still, to be fair, it was his first introduction to this type of cooking apparatus, and it took him a little time to discover that the gas could be turned down by using the knobs on the front.

A good night's sleep at Fort Nelson preceded an early flight into the first of the big mountains and the narrow mountain passes. The Alaska Highway takes a Westerly route from here, into the mountain valleys. Steamboat Pass takes the road to 3,500 feet, overlooking the Muskwa River, and for once we saw the vehicles on the road above us as we followed the river at 3000 feet.

Thirty miles further on, Summit Pass brings the road to 4,300 feet. We crossed the pass and the small but scenic Summit Lake with 500 feet to spare. The valley wind gusts gave us a gentle reminder of where we were, and I spent my time concentrating on the best flight path to minimise the turbulence as the bare rock walls rose up another 2,500 feet on either side. I was beginning to think that wheels on each wingtip would be a good idea, when the valley opened up. Our problems were not over, however, as the valley turned sharply North, narrowing again, and I could see an active shower blocking our way. A shortcut was available, and by climbing to 5,500 feet we crossed the mountainside, only to begin a rapid descent to the airstrip at Mile 422 or Toad River, as it is more commonly known, where a gravel runway lay parallel to the road at 2,400 feet.

The downwind leg was restricted by the mountains on either side, and a tight turn was needed to take us directly on to final approach. We taxied to the end of the rough strip and tied down. After a welcome breakfast in the Café, we taxied across the road to fill up at the pumps. The ground crew caught up complaining of the steep slopes, long stretches of gravel on the highway and delays at road constructions. We were in no mood to sympathise as the weather looked threatening. After waiting for the traffic to pass, which consisted mainly of caravans of expensive American Recreation Vehicles (RVs, as they are affectionately called), we took off from the tarmac highway to minimise the damage to the propeller. A light shower falling from high cloud became a heavy shower, however there was little option but to press on as the conditions were still VFR and we soon flew out of the worst of it.

The next stop was Laird River, having flown over the very beautiful, but less attractively named, Muncho Lake Provincial Park. Fuel requirements necessitated another stop at this gravel strip, between the fast flowing river and the highway. The tall trees screened the runway from the road so we manoeuvred the aircraft down the short access road to make finding us easier for the groundcrew. This turned out to be a little tricky as the road is 20 feet wide and the wingspan is more than 30 feet. With a little patience anything is possible, and we finally emerged at the side of the highway in a good position to take off again. The mosquitoes were particularly aggressive here, and both Steve and I took refuge in our Bug Shirts, anti bite suits specially designed and made in Canada to defeat their other national wildlife. We were amused to be visited by a group of young native Indians, or First Citizens as they are political correctness requires they are called. The mosquitoes just buzzed around them not even landing, while they clung to the outside of our Bug Shirts in the vain hope that we might expose a square inch of succulent flesh. The kids were interested in the aircraft and what we were doing and we spent a short time chatting. I am sure they were equally amused by our outlandish appearance; however, they were supposed to be helping with the preparations for a tribal get-together at the weekend so they headed off after 20 minutes.
The groundcrew caught up again, but as we had lunch and fuelled the aircraft, the wind picked up and was strong and gusty. Discretion dictated that we held there until the evening, when the wind usually calms down. We snoozed in the van, sheltering from the biting insects. The afternoon heat rapidly developed into a thunderstorm in the surrounding mountains. Fortunately, conditions improved in the aftermath and we were lucky that only a few drops of rain fell on us. We took off from a quiet tarmac highway to reach Watson Lake by late evening.