My last day's flight would be a short one, and, as I wasn't anxious to skedaddle while visiting with a cousin I hadn't seen in years, I slept in a bit (as I had the past couple days) and would enjoy a leisurely breakfast as well. That plan worked out well as, when I looked outside the window after getting up, thick fog shrouded the abodes of the neighbors, the trees, and other things I'd be interested in not crashing into after getting off the ground. The fog was solid up against the western side of Cascades all the way up into Canada and wouldn't clear up until afternoon, so we enjoyed our breakfast at Sheri's and continued to catch up. After that, we visited a couple houses that were for sale (he's in the market) and finally went to the airport about noon. I knew I wouldn't be off the ground for another hour or so, and it looked like I'd have flyable weather by then.
While fog was still visible in the distance, I'd learned that that was common with fog or smoke. To wit, if you looked through the weather, it might look bad, but if you could see several miles, then as you went, you might always be able to see that far ahead, so you could keep going just fine.
My plan was to fly relatively low all the way from Lebanon to Puyallup. My route would keep me over rural or sparsely populated areas, and I would also fly under a couple of the shelves of Portland's class C airspace. I'd gotten at least some of the kinks worked out on my Stratus Insight software and saw lots of planes being reported via ADSB, especially around Hillsboro, although I tried to keep my eyes outside the window for the most part, scanning for planes that might not be reflected on the iPad.
Flying over the Willamette River was beautiful and it's plenty big to give lots of space to a slow-flying plane like my Luscombe. Still, on occasion, I felt uncomfortable at a corner that I knew was coming up, based on the map on the iPad, so I climbed above the trees and cut the occasional corner, in the event that it was a particularly sharp bend. Staying down low and coming up on a corner I couldn't make didn't sound fun, although in that case, I most likely could've just climbed up above the trees as required. Doing it ahead of time is better, though.
Approaching the Columbia River was pretty cool. That is one big river! No concern about making turns there! Where I was flying, it was around a half mile wide. There were lots of pleasure craft out, as on the Willamette River and the Cowlitz River farther along, but not only were there small boats on the Columbia, but massive tankers and other large ships. I love the hustle and bustle of commercial activity, seeing some of what helps the world go 'round.
I'd planned on landing at Kelso, but decided on Woodland State instead (W27), an airport at which I landed on my first solo cross country. Its runway is 1,953 x 25 feet and the approach is interesting. I overshot final by an embarrassing amount and was high to boot, but managed to get back on the centerline and slip over the trees and the Lewis River to make a not-altogether-horrible landing. Didn't even need to use brakes, something I try and avoid, generally. I still felt mildly like a loser, but got over it pretty quickly. After a short break and the changing of a couple batteries, I took another look at my iPad and got a refreshed picture of what the last leg on my trip would look like.
I cut back over to the Columbia, followed it for a few miles, then hung a sharp right up the Cowlitz. Quite a few people were waving on this last day of my trip, which I thoroughly enjoyed. It's a lot of fun to see things from up above, but I also can appreciate the joy of seeing an airplane flying over from ground level, and knew that the folks down below were enjoying aviation, too, just from another perspective.
Over the course of this trip, I've observed many sets of wires, train trestles, bridges, and towers, all from their level. It's a fun way to fly. Most of those things are easy to see. Some wires are even easy to see, especially the ones with "visibility marker balls" or "overhead wire markers." I remember when flying low over Rio Grande headed west out of the Amistad Reservoir, I flew over some wires that had either no marker balls or a single broken one way off to the left. I flew over others with no marker balls. Don't count on wires having the visibility marker balls.
Ahem. So, I came around a bend in the Cowlitz River. There was a pickup truck that had pulled out onto an island in the middle of the river. Cool! What a great day to be enjoying this beautiful river in the great Pacific Northwest. I had debated sharing this since I don't want everyone to know that I'm a huge idiot, but maybe it will help someone. At some point, I looked up (where I should've already been looking or at least glancing less infrequently) and there were wires dead ahead. Pretty quickly, I yanked back very sharply on the stick. I didn't yank back far or for very long as it was clear I was going to make it over the top of the wires. In fact, I might not have had to climb at all to clear the wires. However, for quite a bit of the day up until then, I had been lower than I was at that instant (particularly over the Willamette and Cowlitz rivers). Now if that doesn't get your blood pumping.... One thing I can guarantee you. For the rest of that flight, I was highly confident that I was the dumbest human being on the face of the planet.
I enjoyed several more miles of the Cowlitz River and surrounding landscape, albeit from just slightly higher up. When I saw Mt. Rainier, I knew I was close to home. After flying past the windmills and clearing the Cascade foothills just north of the Cowlitz River, the Puget Sound lowlands opened up before me...sort of. Off to the west was solid overcast. It was 5PM and a large part of Puget Sound was still socked in. Not Thun Field, though. I listened to ATIS and to some local pilots flying in the pattern for a while.
Gal in the pattern: Pierce Count 362, uh, left, final, base, sorry Pierce County 362, base, left 35, Pierce.
Me (to self): Huh?
Someone else: Left base final.
Me (to self): Was that dude givin' her crap?
Same gal as before: Pierce County 362 turning final, 35 left, Pierce.
Me (to self): Huh?
Another guy on the radio: Pierce County Traffic, 94-fox, turning downwind, runway 35, Pierce.
Me (to self): Right downwind [it's left]? Okay, you know what? I'm not going to criticize anybody right now since I almost killed myself today because of stupidity. So, no criticizing people for talking on the radio imperfectly in the pattern.
My radio had somehow just begun working. I did a radio check and was in business. Whatever. I'll talk to my A&P about it. However, if it's working, troubleshooting will be difficult. We'll see.
I made my first call: Pierce County Traffic, Luscombe 1-8-1-3-kilo, 10 miles to the south, straight in, runway 3-5, traffic allowing.
Long story short, it was pretty busy, so, a few minutes later, I announced I would head a few miles to the west and enter the pattern on a 45 for runway 3-5. A Cessna had just turned downwind as I drew near. I announced that I saw him and would fall in behind him and follow him in. My approach was excellent and my touchdown was about perfect. That's a good way to end the trip.
I taxied to my tiedown which was occupied by another airplane. Our airport is having some work done on it and some planes have been shuffled around. Clearly some people parked in random spots rather than in spots they were told were actually available. I called the airport manager and explained the situation. She sighed and let me know of a few nearby spots which, in fact, were available. I taxied over and parked. One final unpacking. My friend drove up and we chatted and loaded up his car with all my stuff.
Not a few miles from the airport, it went from beautiful blue sky to thick fog. While most of the white stuff that I saw in the distance during the final flight was fog, there was a bit of smoke, too, but not much. The first day of the trip and a few days before the end contained by far the most smoke. It was a virtual miracle how good the weather was for this trip. I missed severe smoke in the Pacific Northwest which would've grounded me if I'd left a few days later, I got out of Brownsville, Texas just a day before some pretty heavy duty cyclonic activity, and, while I had some thick smoke around Carson City, Nevada, I know I missed the worst of it.
I don't imagine this trip could've gone much better. I learned a lot, but thankfully the lessons came in pretty easily digestible doses. I flew over 70 hours (well more than tripling my total flying time as PIC), climbed to almost 11,700 feet, landed at almost 50 new airports, and flew over 6,600 miles. I have a couple other trips in the works, but for the time being, I'm just going to relax. Oh. The Luscombe is also getting a brand new panel.
Talking to my cousin Randy before firing up the old Luscombe.
Flying over the beautiful countryside of northern Oregon.
Willamette River (I think)
Willamette River (I think)
Willamette River (I think)
Willamette River (I think)
Terrible final approach at Woodland State Airport (W27). Lewis River off to the right. I-5 off to the left.
Terrible final approach at Woodland State Airport (W27). I-5 off to the right (from this view).
The mighty Columbia River.
The mighty Columbia River.
