Captain Dav1d, 1994-10-11

(This article was submitted by one of the club members. If you have flying experiences that you’d like to share with the club, submit them to the editor).

Vancouver harbour has been called one of the most scenic views in Canada. It is nestled in a "natural alcove" formed by the runoff water from the Rocky Mountains spilling into the Pacific Ocean. The north shore slopes gently upward, supporting some of the most luxurious homes in the vicinity, while the south shore boasts the office towers of the downtown core.

During a recent visit to Vancouver, I decided to fly the harbour and enjoy the spectacular scenery firsthand... no postcard required. Having made the decision, it was easy to accomplish.

About a week before leaving for Vancouver, I purchased the VNC and VTA charts for the area, made some photocopies of the relevant CFS pages, and began to study and plan my route. I called Boundary Bay Airport, and spoke to the CFI of Centennial Flying School. (I had flown with them last year, as a student, with one of their instructors, but I made it clear to him that I wanted to fly this one by myself).

I take every opportunity to fly, whether in my own home town, or when I’m travelling, so calling an airport and asking about their aircraft has become second nature. When I ask them if they have C152’s available, they almost always say "Sure, which credit card will you be using?". They insist on a check ride, as required by insurance regulations, but that’s not a problem. In fact, the ride gives me a good opportunity to have the call-up points shown to me from the air, rather than just a dry picture on a "do-not-use-for-navigation" photocopy. It also gives their DFTE an idea of the kind of pilot that will be taking one of their precious airplanes out.

The Vancouver zone is complex. There are probably 10 heliports and aerodromes within the harbour itself, plus many others nearby, owned by television and radio stations, logging companies, tour operators, and gasoline companies. It is not unusual to see helicopters, small planes, and sea planes all at the same time jockeying for position over the water. Vancouver is definitely an aviation community, and this is reflected in the VTA chart, which is actually composed of "mini-charts" showing procedures into and out of Vancouver Internation, plus other routes in the area. I spent more than a few hours reading the charts, and making mental notes.

Vancouver International Airport is south of Vancouver, and Boundary Bay Airport (ZBB) is south of that. There are about five flying schools that operate out of Boundary Bay, so it’s a busy little airport. In terms of "aircraft movements", they rank right up there near the top of the list of busy airports, even though the takeoffs and landings usually involve only a few people at a time. The U.S. border is less than 5 miles south of Boundary Bay, so it’s possible to fly over the border during a very wide circuit of the field, or during an extended final.

I decided that my trip would take me north to the harbour, flying east of the Vancouver Class "C" Control Zone, but below the Vancouver Terminal Control Area. Planes that remain below 2500’ and outside of the harbour control zone need not contact Vancouver Terminal. The harbour, though, is a Class "D" control zone, with contact required from surface to 2500’. The plan was to circle the harbour counterclockwise at 2000’ (all the time in contact with the harbour tower), and then exit to the west, out over the "Strait of Georgia", and then up and over the mountains. By the time I was ready to fly on Saturday, I knew the area cold.

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I drove to Boundary Bay airport on what must have been the most gorgeous day of the year. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, winds were light and variable, and the sun was warm. The weather channel promised a continued good day. I had the check ride booked for 1300h local, but I arrived at the airport at 1100h to complete the paperwork, check the FSS weather, familiarize myself with their procedures, and "get settled".

Then the paperwork started.

They needed to see my license, my pilot’s log, my credit card, and my route preparation. Then came the three-page written test. They let me use the Cessna manual during the test, as well as any other materials I had. It was a fairly standard test which included questions about the airspeeds, weight and balance calculations, fuel calculations, takeoff and landing distances, air regulations, and emergency procedures. With the information still fresh in my mind from the Transport Canada exams, and all the resources I needed spread out on the desk in front of me, the test took less than twenty minutes. I took it to the counter, and the instructor checked it over carefully to ensure that I knew the information to the 100% mark. Any questions that I got incorrect were explained to me, so that I really knew what he wanted me to know. (Interestingly, he didn’t mention too much about mountain flying, but he did question me about carb icing and the carb heat control). The last bit of paperwork involved the airplane’s documents, which contained all of the required information.

Finally, the DFTE gave me the "go-ahead" to do the walkaround.

The differences in procedures at different schools became obvious almost immediately. The airplane bag contained a "fuel stick", which is a piece of wood, meant for dipping into the wing tanks, with lines drawn on it representing 1/4, 1/2, 3/4, and full tanks. I had to specifically ask for a fuel tester. The checklist was also in the bag, and it differed slightly from the procedure I normally use, but only slightly, so it was no problem to follow.

The inspection also revealed some interesting information about the aircraft itself. For instance, Centennial is in the process of repainting their aircraft, so the few that had already been painted were all identical in colour. It was an impressive display to see them lined up in their parking spaces, ready to perform to their masters’ wishes.

They also all had an unsual (for me!) wire leading from inside the cockpit to the door hinges. It wasn’t until after I got into the airplane and saw the bright red ring on the pillar of the door that I realized what it was. The doors are fitted with quick-release hinges so that a flight that results in a forced water landing can have the hinge wire pulled from the inside, making escape into the water easier than trying to force the door open against the pressure of the water.

There were many other differences: lap belts, but no shoulders belts; PTT ("push-to-talk") switches built into the control yoke actually worked; and the roof had two skylights, making the plane seem incredibly bright. The seats seemed to be quite new, and the dash and interior spaces were extremely clean. There was a single radio, and a single VOR, but no Mode "C" transponder. And, the clocked was not only working, but it even had the correct time! (I decided not to trust it anyways.)

The check ride was routine. Jake (the DFTE) and I spent most of the time discussing the Abbottsford air show and past flying experiences, and these discussions were punctuated by course and manoeuver requests and clarifications: "Steep turn to the left please", "that train trestle is the inner reporting point", etc. The 45 minute check ride included steep turns to the left and right, forced landing, two airport landings (one with full flaps, one with no flaps), and radio procedures. At the end of the ride, I knew my way around the ZBB control zone.

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Back on the ground, I decided to fill my stomach as well as the plane’s long range tanks (I was going solo for an expected 3 hour ride). I had grilled cheese, the plane had 100LL. With all systems ready to go, I climbed into the pilot’s seat, ready to begin the adventure.

Climbing to the north, I had Vancouver at my 10:00 position, and the mountains dead ahead - well over 30 miles away. Ceiling: high. Visibility: high. Heartbeat: high.

The thrill of the first licensed solo outside my own backyard brought an unstoppable grin to my face, even with no-one there to appreciate it. I had practically walked in off the street and rented an aircraft to fly through Vancouver Harbour!

The highest point of the journey between ZBB and the harbour is a hill just east of Burnaby, where the dormitories of Simon Fraser University command a spectacular view of the city, framed by the mountains. The flatlands of the delta created through years of silt deposits by the mighty Fraser river spread below me like a large triangular fan, seemingly creating waves in the Straits of Georgia. The view began rushing by too fast -- I wanted to savour the panorama of the westward view.

Up ahead, only a short distance away, loomed the harbour. I could see the Goodyear Blimp maneouvering above the city, making its way back toward the east for the next load of passengers, while I headed north-by-northwest for the next visual tidbit. Overhead, commercial jetliners lined up on approach to Vancouver International.

I decided to contact Vancouver Harbour a little ahead of the prescribed call-up point, allowing me time to add the phrase "I’m unfamiliar with the territory, although I’ve studied the maps" to my ATC conversation. The controller asked if I knew about the standard call-up points for the harbour circuit, and if I would be able to recognize them. By now, I was close enough to have visually identified them ("Second Narrows Bridge", "Lion’s Gate Bridge", etc.), so I replied in the affirmative. I sat back deep into the seat to enjoy the postcard scene. No camera required... this will be burnt into my brain for quite some time.

I could now see from the air all of the heliports that I had identified on the maps. Wow! There were helicopters at almost every heliport, and a few floatplanes as well. This was definitely a "general aviation mecca".

The controller announced all other traffic to me, and I acknowledged every one. Mostly floatplanes and helicopters. Few presented any conflict to me.

The trip along the north shore was short, and before I knew it, I was ready to turn left, pass over the Lion’s Gate Bridge at the western edge of the harbour, and head south and then east over downtown Vancouver. I notified ATC, and the harbourmaster acknowedged, with a request to report in again when I got back to the eastern edge, at Second Narrows.

I thought about the controller’s job. He has this magnificent view every day, from his location atop one of the tallest buildings in the business district of downtown. He is virtually "in command" of the airspace over the harbour, with a complete view of all of it, encompassing some 20 aerodromes. I toyed with the idea of handing in my resumé...

I called ATC about halfway along the south shore, when I felt I was close enough to recognize the names crowning the tallest group of buildings. I asked which building housed the control tower facilities, and he pointed it out to me. I waved to him, knowing that he probably couldn’t see it anyways. I imagined him waving back.

We didn’t talk again until I called up over the Second Narrows bridge, swinging left through the north towards the west again, for my second pass over the north shore. The harbour tour was grand, but I was already looking way up at the mountains.

I graciously thanked my host as I left his zone to the west, this time ready to turn right into Howe Sound, to begin my climb to 7,500 feet. It took two full circles to climb to that height from 2,000 feet. At the 5,000 foot mark, I could begin to see over the tops of most of the mountains, off into the far east, back towards my home base of Toronto.

Some of the mountains were snow-capped, and some were bare. Many were connected by high ridges, making the "no-go-between" decision easy. At my intended altitude of 7500’, I was well over 500 feet above the tallest peak within sight, and as much as 7,500’ above the valleys.

Occasionally, when I passed over a small groups of mountains, I could see a small high-altitude lake snuggled within the mountain group. One such lake acted as a landing strip for a floatplane, and I realized my freshly-minted private pilot license represented only the beginning what could be a long and enjoyable love affair with flight. At that moment, I wanted to be that pilot!

Using the Vancouver VTA (AIR 1901) as my primary navigation tool, I went right to the top (north) edge of the map, and double-checked that every tributary flowing south to join the main river corresponded with the shapes on the map. I also double-checked every mountain peak as marked. But I also spent some time just gazing out over the peaks. The ones in the distance looked like eggs in an egg-carton, and the ones directly below seemed sharp and steep. (I thought back to my days of high-school geography when we used "stereo-focals" to look at side-by-side aerial photographs through side-by-side lenses. At the time, I mentally decided that the mountains couldn’t possibly be that steep... but they are!)

At the eastern edge of the map, I turned south, using Harrison Lake as my wide "driveway" to being me back to the Fraser River lowlands. This southerly route was chosen because it provided the widest tributary (for safety reasons), and the most scenic area (for personal enjoyment reasons). I descended down to 4500’ while heading south, and turned west at the intersection of Harrison Lake and the Fraser River, aiming west, into the sunset. The prison at the elbow of Lake Harrison provided the confirmation of my exact location.

Aiming west at an altitude of 4500’, I paralleled the tall mountains forming a wall to my right. The flatlands invited me to the west, pointing straight ahead, on an unerring path towards the Pacific Ocean, and the setting sun. I hummed "Follow the Yellow Brick Road..."

I stayed clear of the easily recognizable Chilliwack airport, home to many glider pilots, and "the best pies west of the rockies". There were many gliders playing in the foothills of the mountains, but all well below my height. No conflict. I waved to them too.

Abbotsford Airport was hosting the Abbotsford airshow, so I stayed clear. There was a special airspace restriction imposed for the weekend, which the examiner had made sure to point out to me, so I gave it the wide berth it deserved. As I continued my journey, ears locked on 126.7, I could hear pilot after pilot requesting that their flights plans be opened ("... returning to Penticton", "...returning to Prince George", etc), and each one got the same response: "All flight plans that were paper-filed will be opened automatically. Please keep this channel clear for last-minute filers." It was as crowded as a parking lot after a ball game.

As I approached Langley Airport, I saw the Goodyear Blimp preparing to land. It floated like a big, unwieldy whale, almost unable to remain buoyant... yet somehow managing to get close enough to the docking tower for people to grab its ropes and tie it down. I wondered if that pilot was enjoying his flight as much as I was enjoying mine. I didn’t wave... he was too busy landing.

I turned south-west before encroaching on the Pitt Meadows control zone, using the Vancouver VOR as my navigational tool to bring me back to Boundary Bay. There was at least an hour of sunshine left, and more than that in fuel in my long-range tanks, but I decided that after three hours of flying, and all the wonderful sights, it was time to put my aircraft down.

I tuned to the ATIS frequency, and scribbled down the station report, then switched to the tower frequency to listen to the airport traffic. As shown by the examiner, I called in at the train trestle.

The flight was over. I taxied in slowly, trying to eke out a few last minutes before shutdown. All the while savouring the 3.3 hours that I had just spent in the air over British Columbia. Wow...