Category Archives: Flying

Since I recently flew from Chicago to Los Angeles with a window seat, a clear day, my trusty Canon Rebel xTi, a full battery, and an empty memory card, I’ve been sharing the things that I saw. First there were the small and sometimes not-so-small airports and towns, then some obvious landmarks and way points.

Today, it’s proof that it wasn’t all “clear and a million” along the way. There were clouds.

Over southwestern Kansas, it’s real obvious where the frontal boundary is. Lots of clouds north and east of the line, very few south and west of it.

Way off in the distance (probably at least 30-40 miles away at this altitude) there was some convective activity, the humid, unstable air heating and rising, building up thunderstorms.

Over New Mexico we were seeing very thin layers of clouds near us, looking almost grey or black in contrast to the white cumulus clouds building in the background.

The cumulus clouds kept building, the thin layers above them got more broken. Despite all of the clouds and convective activity, I didn’t see any sign of any actual rain, so badly needed out here.

Crossing into California, there were some pretty good sized cumulus starting to build over the Mohave Desert. Normally dry as a bone this time of year, and at the tail end of a historically severe four-year drought to boot, this day brought some moisture up from the Gulf of California, another remnant from a tropical storm or hurricane off of Baja.

This has happened very, very rarely in the forty-plus years I’ve lived here. Normally the tropical storms start well south of Cabo san Lucas and head northwest toward Hawaii. This year we’ve already had three or four times where instead the storms steer almost due north up the coast. Normally this would kill the storms, since the waters there are cold and the storms get no energy from the water to feed on. This year the water is significantly warmer (building up to a record-breaking El Niño year?) and the storms survive long enough to batter Cabo and Baja and then get sucked up into the US Southwest.

When all those things happen it can lead to some incredible flash floods in the desert. Remember the picture from yesterday of Big Sandy Wash in Arizona? Notice how wide the wash is, despite the fact that there may rarely be a significant amount of water in there? Something makes it that wide, and that something is an extremely violent flash flood. Even if it only happens every few decades, the scars it leaves on the landscape can last for hundreds or thousands of years.

Approaching Los Angeles, the San Bernardino mountains to our north, Lake Arrowhead at 5,174 feet managed to peek through a hole in the clouds.

On final approach into LAX we could see rain falling, but probably not finding the ground. (It was dry everywhere we went that afternoon and there was no sign of any rain earlier in the day.) Rain that falls but evaporates before it hits the ground is called “virga.”

That’s “v-i-r-g-a,” not “v-i-a-g-r-a-®.”

Completely different phenomenon.

Yesterday I showed pictures of airports (and their associated towns and cities) as seen from my recent flight from Chicago O’Hare Airport (ORD) to Los Angeles International (LAX). Today, let’s look at other stuff you can see on the ground, not necessarily all aviation related.

OK, so O’Hare is another airport, but this view of only a portion of it shows just how freakin’ huge it is. We had just taken off on one of those runways before turning left and left again to head southwest toward Los Angeles.

The Mississippi River is an easy landmark to spot. We passed over it just north of St. Louis.

When it’s clear below you, you can just follow the interstate highway system to keep track of where you are. I know, the folks up front in the big commercial jets all use GPS and an autopilot with backup systems to the backup systems’ backup systems. But for a little guy like me, if I’m flying at 8,000 feet instead of being up with the jets at 38,000 feet (probably a good thing, because I could get sucked into an engine and then we’d both have a bad day) with minimal backup systems and high tech, all of these nice, straight, divided highways are very useful.

The big highway here is I-35, the town is Cassoday, Kansas (population 128), and the smaller road running parallel to it and then crossing it is Kansas Highway 177. The small V-shaped lake at the right is Fox Lake.

Once you get into far western Oklahoma the plains start to vanish and the landscape gets carved up. These canyons are near Kenton Oklahoma, where the New Mexico, Kansas, and Oklahoma borders all meet.

Once you cross into New Mexico, it’s still relatively flat (for the moment) but it’s a chaotic landscape.

Easy to fly over at 38,000 feet, 425 knots, and air-conditioned comfort – must have been a real pain to travel in a wagon behind a pair of mules. Keep that in mind the next time you want to bitch about the TSA or not getting as much leg room as you used to.

This feature stuck out like a sore thumb, but even though I knew more or less where we were when I took it, it still took some hunting on Google Earth to find it. It’s the Capulin Volcano National Monument, sixty miles northwest of Clayton, New Mexico, just south of the Colorado border.

Just to the east of Taos, New Mexico, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains push up to well above 10,000 feet, with several peaks above 12,000 feet. Wheeler Peak is the highest point in New Mexico at 13,161 feet.

At first I thought there were patches of snow up there, but I doubt it now, even given that altitude. I guess it’s possible (anyone in the Taos region able to correct me?) but I suspect these are buildings of some sort, masquerading as patches of snow.

Once you get into Arizona it’s lots of land suitable only for lizards and snakes. (In my humble opinion.) Out here, water is more precious than gold, even before you get into a four-year drought. The dried up river beds still have some moisture, so that’s where you see the tiny swaths of green, often alongside a distinct flood plain.

This one is the Big Sandy Wash, notable enough to be a landmark listed on VFR flight charts. The small town at the bottom is Wikieup, Arizona (population 305) and the highway running alongside the left (west) side of the Wash is US Highway 93.

Finally back over California, the Mojave Desert stretches from the Colorado River to the metropolitan areas of Los Angeles and San Diego along the coast. The only reason the Mojave is “shrinking” is because people keep building cities in places like Palm Springs and irrigating the crap out of them in order to build golf courses.

Here we were north of Twenty-Nine Palms, above the Cleghorn Lakes Wilderness Area. (Cleghorn LAKES? I can only assume this is someone’s idea of a joke. Perhaps they have a yacht club as well?) In the upper right corner, just above that long cloud, you can see the Twenty-Nine Palms Salt Evaporation facility. Just beyond is the historic Route 66 and the ghost town of Amboy.

I’ll give credit to all of those who traveled this course on foot, on horse, and in covered wagons. They were tougher men (and women, and children) than I am. A comfy window seat at 35,000 feet works just fine for me, thanks.

Give me a window seat on a four-hour flight in decent weather during daylight and there might be just a few pictures taken. Some of those might not suck.

There’s a lot to see if you pay attention out of the plane window. Let’s start with the airports and their towns.

Bloomington, Illinois. I actually lived here for six months when I was four years old. I’m assuming you can see our house from here.

The airport to the bottom right of center is the Central Illinois Regional Airport At Bloomington-Normal (KBMI). The big runway (running left to right) is 8,000 feet, the slightly smaller one (top to bottom) is 6,525 feet. No sweat!

For reference, a Cessna 172 or the like can land easily in 4,000 feet. Something like a small business jet needs 5,000 feet or so (they fly out of Camarillo at 6,013 feet all the time) and a Boeing 737 needs about 5,700 feet. Note that all of these types of planes can, and often do, land routinely on shorter runways. The figures I’ve given are ballpark figures for what is “easy,” but given preparation, acceptable weather and location, and pilot preparation, they can all land in something like 75% to 80% of that distance.

Springfield, Illinois. I lived in one of the other Springfields (the one in Vermont) but have been here to see the state capital.

Abraham Lincoln Capital Airport (KSPI) has three big runways, 8,001 feet, 7,400 feet, and 5,300 feet. Being pointed off in different directions it’s easy to pick one that close to being in the same direction of the wind, with minimal crosswinds.

Columbia Regional Airport (KCOU) in Columbia, Missouri. The two runways are 6,501 feet and 4,401 feet.

Central Kansas has a lot of big airports. Near Hutchison, Kansas you can see the Sunflower Aerodrome (SN76) in the lower left and the Hutchison Airport (KHUT) just to the right above center.

Sunflower is a private airport operating as a glider port with three runways, the longest being 7,000 feet. Originally built as a Naval Air Station during World War II, it is now apparently a great place to go gliding, something I have yet to try. “Yet,” I said.

Hutchison has major runways of 7,004 feet and 6,000 feet, with a small third runway of 4,252. (Little guys like me usually get the smaller runway if it’s busy, but if the weather or the situation demands it we can ask for, and get, any of the runways. Even at a place like LAX or ORD.)

Pratt Regional Airport (KPTT) in the upper right, the town of Pratt, Kansas in the lower left. The only active runway is the big 5,500 foot one. The smaller runway that goes off at an angle is closed and out of service. My favorite comment in the official FAA listing of the airport is, “Do not mistake lighted cattle pens for lighted runway.” Good advice, that.

The triangular layout (even though only one of the runways is still in use and one is gone completely) makes me think that this is another WWII training base. A little research shows that indeed, this was the site of the Pratt Army Air Field where B-29 crews trained. Given that, it’s not surprising that there is an All Veterans Museum Complex being built, dedicated to the “Bombers On The Prairie.”

That’s the kind of thing that I just love digging up and discovering.

Hugoton Airport (KHQG), just north of the Oklahoma border, has a big 5,000 foot runway and a smaller 2,626 foot one.

In 1952 a Braniff DC-4 en route from Denver to Dallas made an emergency landing here with an engine fire. When the plane burned to the ground after landing there were some injuries, but no fatalities. Favorite comments from the incident report are, “…one of the hostesses advised the crew that the right wing was on fire,” and, “the nr. 3 engine fell from the aircraft and a pronounced buffeting was experienced.” Sounds like the captain did a hell of a job that day!

The airport in Lake Havasu City, Arizona (KHII) can be seen just to the right of center. While I’ve never flown in there (one of these days, it’s going to happen) I’ve driven by a couple dozen times, having been a regular visitor to Lake Havasu in the past. The Colorado River runs from top to bottom in this view, with California on the left, Arizona on the right, and Lake Havasu in the middle, formed by the backup in the Colorado River caused by the Parker Dam (just out of view to the lower left).

Ontario International (KONT), on final approach into Los Angeles International (LAX) but still about fifty miles out, in San Bernardino County. Ontario is a commercial airport, capable of handling all of the big jets. It’s fun to land a Cessna there, you could almost land sideways on the runway they’re so wide. It’s also fun to be out taxiing around with jumbo jets – as long as they don’t roll right over you or suck you into an engine. (Unlikely, but…)

Over the Los Angeles megalopolis, you can see a handful of small general aviation airports where once there were dozens and dozens. Just to the upper left of center here you can see Cable Airport (KCBB) in Upland. It’s a charming place to fly into, even if it’s only to have a “$100 hamburger” at Maniac Mike’s Cafe.

To clarify for the non-pilots, the food doesn’t cost $100. Pilots have to fly regularly to stay current, and flying around in a circle at your home airport doing touch-and-goes, while it will qualify, is sort of boring. Instead, pick a place and go for lunch. Lots of small airports have restaurants or cafes and it’s much more fun (and better practice) to fly somewhere different. It helps to keep you sharp on your navigation, radio skills, landing and taking off in different conditions and circumstances, and so on. But, by the time you fly off for a half-hour to an hour (Cable is about twenty minutes from my usual “home” airport, Whiteman) and then fly back, it can cost about $100 for fuel, plane rental, insurance… Thus, the “$100 hamburger.”

All of this makes me wonder – how can people NOT be looking out of the windows on a cross-country commercial flight? I know I’m in a very, very small minority on this one, but I’ll stick with my belief that I’m the sane one and that vast majority is the group that has forgotten how übercool it is to see the world from 38,000 feet.