AOPA Pilot Magazine - February 2024 - 66

Don't dawdle
The dawn sky is clear for the part of the trip I've been
looking forward to the most: a low-level flight up the
Gulf of Alaska to Anchorage.
We'll cross Glacier Bay, skirt the ice fields at the
base of towering Mount Fairweather, get an up-close
look at the even taller and more imposing Mount
St. Elias, and cruise over the Malaspina and Bering
glaciers. We'll get close to waterfalls and overfly hundreds
of miles of trackless beaches.
But as we arrive at the airport in Sitka, I'm
strangely uneasy. I've only flown this route once
before (in the opposite direction, from Anchorage
to Juneau), and that flight nearly ended in disaster.
That day started out with blue skies and a benign
forecast just like this one. But it ended in heavy rain,
low ceilings, and a diversion to an alternate airport
in a VFR-only airplane with a dangerously little fuel
in reserve (see " Alaska Misadventure, " August 2016
AOPA Pilot). Rapidly changing winds and weather and
sometimes vast distances between airports are realities
that Alaska pilots deal with every day, but the
helpless feeling of watching the fuel gauges bounce
around near empty over rough terrain and icy water
that offered no place for a precautionary landing is one
I'm determined never to repeat.
Tulis shoots a few photos of red-tinged, early
morning clouds and jokes about the " red sky at morning,
sailor take warning " truism.
Unfortunately, adverse weather really is on
its way from the southwest. We're leaving well
ahead of it, yet it's a reminder not to dawdle. The
sunshine we've been enjoying is an aberration, and
our weather window is going to slam shut in 24
hours or less.
Tulis asks for a low approach to the Sitka
seaplane base before we depart so he can record it
on the action cameras he's mounted to the Caravan
wing, tail, and windshield, and I'm happy to oblige.
The airplane is only moderately loaded, and the
cool, still morning makes it nimble as we approach
the harbor from the east. We lower the flaps, cross
over a bridge, and drop down to a few feet above
the water. I'm tempted to touch down but instead
add power, climb, and point the airplane toward
Glacier Bay, our next waypoint.
Pilots are beyond fortunate
to see the world from an
aerial perspective.
Even though we're only flying 1,000 feet above
the water, a 20-knot tailwind speeds our progress
toward Yakutat, a coastal town that will be our final
fuel stop before Anchorage. Along the way, the scale
and variety of Alaskan terrain dazzles. Fjords reminiscent
of Norway; alpine peaks and braided rivers
like New Zealand; ocean water with colors that rival
the blues of the Bahamas; and massive glaciers sliding
down to the sea like Greenland.
I grew up surfing in Southern California and am
tempted to rent a board and a wetsuit and surf in
Yakutat just for the pure novelty of it. But the Icy
Waves surf shop there is closed, and our pathway
ahead to Anchorage is still wide open.
About 75 miles from Anchorage, I climb to
Several hotels near the Lake Hood Seaplane Base
provide close proximity to the airplane docks that
ring the busy lake. Alaska pilot and Super Cub owner
Patrick Carter takes his big-tire airplane on a local flight
over the glaciers near Homer.
6,500 feet to top the mountain pass leading to the
Turnagain Arm waterway and Alaska's largest
city. The place is an aviation marvel with an
international airport, U.S. Air Force base, general
aviation airport, and the world's busiest seaplane
base all within a few miles of each other.
I check in with an Anchorage approach controller
who vectors us to a visual approach to Runway
7 Left at Ted Stevens Anchorage International
Airport. There we follow a long line of cargo Boeing
747s and make our way to the south side of the
66
AOPA PILOT / February 2024
AOPA Pilot Magazine - February 2024

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